Just Kimber

Celebrate Your Difference

2010-12-13T09:37:00.000-08:00

Good, Positive, Optimistic & Inspiring People & News Stories From Around The World

Creating a Positive Impact in Our World.

Celebrate Your Difference

Positive Impact Magazine | Dec 06, 2010 | Comments 0

By: Kimber Tabak

Too often physically challenged individuals are perceived as incomplete. As a result, they may be less accepted by society than those whose challenges are not as obvious. And it even starts when they are young. Children are frequently teased by other children; but for kids with physical disabilities, that teasing is usually more intense. Typically picked last for team sports and other group activities, they often feel different and alone.

Sarah Reinertsen was born with a condition called proximal femoral focal deficiency (PFFD) that left her with a deformed leg. She used a stiff leg brace until the age of 7 when she opted to have her leg amputated above the knee so she could take better advantage of prosthetic technology. She then decided to turn her physical challenge into an incredible and inspirational lifetime of success and has devoted her life to overcoming the challenge.

SaraBear summits Mount Everest with the other 23 members of the EVERYBody to Everest Climbing Team in 2010 • Photo By: Paul Fejtek

Because of her disability, coaches and teachers discouraged Sarah from engaging in regular play and activities that involved running. Even as a child, Sarah knew there was so much she could overcome and had a burning desire to make the world see her differently, but she didn’t have any similarly disabled role models. So she decided to become one herself. In 2005, she became the first woman with an artificial leg to complete the Hawaii Ironman triathlon, a 2.4-mile swim, 112-mile bike ride, and 26.2 mile run. She went on to become the first amputee to compete in the CBS reality TV show “The Amazing Race.”

Brian Lorenz, a longtime supporter of the Challenged Athletes Foundation, met Sarah during their annual fundraiser and was immediately moved by her drive and motivation. They became fast friends, and Brian grew to appreciate her amazing character and strength.

“I realized that Sarah was a very unique and special person,” Brian says. “She has incredible drive and motivation.”

Sarah and Brian talked often, and Brian began to wonder how different life is for people like Sarah – the stares, the comments, and the day-to-day physical challenges that she took in stride. What he discovered was that it wasn’t always easy and that many kids might not have the “Sarah-style” inner strength to overcome being treated differently.

Brian was so inspired by Sarah’s spirit that he began to brainstorm a way to change people’s internal and external perceptions of those with physical disabilities. His goal was to help society heal and accept people with differences. How could he help others better accept people with physical challenges? And, was there some way to increase the self-confidence of physically disabled individuals?

Brian founded Glabeebers, Inc., an organization whose mission is to be creative and have fun by combining thoughts that, at first glance, don’t seem to be compatible. The newest creation from Glabeebers is the SarahBear, a lovable teddy bear with a prosthetic leg device, created in honor of Sarah. A generous portion of the profits from the sale of SarahBears goes to the Challenged Athletes Foundation.

“We all are different in some way,” explains Brian. “It isn’t about our physical, mental or emotional capacity, it’s about love and acceptance – of others as well as ourselves.

A teddy bear with a prosthetic device is just as lovable as one without,” he continues. “Likewise a person with a prosthetic device is just as lovable as a person without one.”

Sarah is honored and wishes she’d had something like this as a child. “The SarahBear would have been an incredible gift to get in the hospital after my amputation,” she says. “To get a teddy bear that looked like me or had similar traits would have been incredible.”

The SarahBear is more than just a toy. It shows that it’s okay to be different and carries with it a strong message of love and acceptance.

To purchase your own SarahBear, please visit www.glabeebers.com

About the author: Kimber has spent her career working in marketing and traveling the world as an event planner. Her passions for volunteering and community service have led her to meet some incredible people. Becoming a freelance writer has given her a great vehicle to share the stories of the amazing people she has met along the way.

Would you choose a new car over a new tomorrow?

2010-12-02T20:47:00.001-08:00

Remember when what mattered most in life wasn't a plasma HDTV, a Coach bag or a Botox treatment?

There was an easier time. A time when our dreams were filled with the simplicity of just existing in a happier tomorrow. When we didn't focus so much on the materialism, climbing the corporate ladder, or besting our neighbors with a bigger house or faster car.

The other day I asked my soon to be two-year-old nephew what he wanted to be when he grew up.

him: "I wanna be 2."
me: "2? What about being a fireman or a policeman?"
him: "No Kimmy, just want to be 2."

Children can be such a beautiful reminder of what in the end, really does matter most... more tomorrows.

The "circle of life" is just death wrapped in a bow

2010-05-30T01:01:00.000-07:00

Do you ever just feel so emotionally drained that basic mental functionality becomes a luxury? How is it possible to experience extreme joy and extreme sorrow in the same moment? I am playing emotional pinball inside my mind and I don't know how to make sense of any of it.

Since my mom's cancer diagnosis, I have been bathed in this underlying anxiety that blankets everything I do. I've watched her endure chemotherapy and radiation. Our family has been on an emotional roller coaster that I wouldn't wish on anyone. We've cried together, voiced our frustrations and concerns and even painfully discussed all the possible scenarios that could unfold. Through it all, there were many wonderful moments of great comic relief; much needed inappropriate jokes to bring levity to otherwise stoic circumstances.

And now, suddenly, I am able to breathe and look to the future. A future that has my mom in it, thanks to a successful surgery to remove the last of the tumor. The doctors believe she is now cancer-free. While the recovery won't be the most pleasant of situations, she gets to be alive and continue to be an amazing part of our lives.

Extreme joy - what an understatement.

And as I was letting the joy wash over me, I received a call with news that floods my soul with sorrow so complete and finite that I am unable to stand, unable to speak, barely able to breathe. One of my dearest friends Khelly had been battling breast cancer for less than a year. She was a wonderfully spiritual woman that didn't take one moment of her life for granted. Her path to recovery was hard fought and filled with amazing discoveries for alternative treatment options.

I spent some time with her just a few short weeks ago. Her illness was not recognizable to the uninformed eye. She was beautiful, radiant and filled with an incredible spirit and illuminating energy. This was not a woman weeks away from her last breath. I am filled with shock and anger over such an injustice to the world.

The sadness is so penetrating that I have forced myself into numbness where I am almost comfortable not to feel anything, yet tragically when the moment passes, I feel everything.

It is the perversely perfect circle of life yin and yang. Life and death is so strangely obtuse and tragic yet at the same time so surprising and beautiful.

These two opposing stratospheres of temperament are dueling it out inside me and I am so at a loss of how to allow them to simply run their due course.

Let it be? I'm not built that way.

Warning: Ambien is hazardous to your wallet

2010-05-14T01:48:00.000-07:00

I suffer from insomnia. I just can't seem to quiet my mind long enough to put it to rest. I have learned to channel this energy and find that I am at my most creative and articulate in the wee hours of the night. There are times however, when I've gone for several days without real sleep and know that I am teetering on the edge of dysfunction. So I give in and take a sleeping aid. I have outgrown Melatonin and found that the only way for me to get solid sleep is Ambien. A wonderful and incredibly expensive drug (especially when one does not have health insurance - but that is a whole other blog). So I tend to use it sparingly.

I have to time it all just right. If I take it too close to going to sleep, there isn't time for it to process and insomnia still sets in. If I take it too late at night, I oversleep the next day. There is a small window to experience the thrill of the Ambien high right before peaceful sleep is granted. If I allow myself to indulge for too long in the high, it takes control and I am up for hours - incredibly productive, with almost no recollection. I've done some of my best writing in this Ambien fog of creative clarity.

I've had quite a few Ambien induced conversations with friends. They find it incredibly entertaining, and probably somewhat annoying, but nonetheless insist on sharing with me the next day all the rambling and metaphysical stories I unload on them. My memory isn't a total blackout, but there are pieces that are gone. It is almost like I am taking part in an awake dream and I can recall only vague snippets. It is oddly amusing and strangely fascinating to me.

Some time in the last 3-5 days I must have indulged in my favorite sleep aid, pushed past the short high and hung out in Nirvana for a few hours watching infomercials. All day I was interrupted with deliveries at my door that I can't remember ordering. The lure of late night channel surfing through all the latest hype of exercise videos, vitamins, software updates, hair restoration and self-help books - found their way to my family room floor, neatly stacked in brown UPS boxes.

I even have a package from the EDD with materials I apparently requested for providing special disaster relief insurance to all my employees. I don't even have any employees.

I've heard of horror stories of people on Ambien blindly raiding their refrigerators, eating their way through the night. Thank god I don't raid the cupboards, just my wallet! So I guess what happens while on Ambien, no longer stays a secret.

I sure hope all this stuff is returnable!

Wait...what time is it? Am I on Ambien right now??

Ever wonder what true love looks like?

2010-04-27T06:00:00.000-07:00

My dad's domain is his workbench in the garage. It is the one place my mother will never touch, never disturb, doesn't even glance at it as she climbs in the car. Over the years the workbench has taken on a life of its own - filled with tools, supplies and clutter. He knows exactly where everything is in his system of organized chaos.

So the other day, my dad was 5o feet in the air on a ladder painting the house so my mother found herself in front of his precious workbench looking for a paintbrush he requested.

I'm not sure she ever found the paintbrush. But what she did find was a priceless reminder of what truly matters in life: love.

Perched on its own makeshift pedestal and nestled amongst his other precious tools, was the top to their wedding cake.

For over 43 years of marriage, across 2 states, 9 different house moves and numerous garage sales - my dad, completely unbeknownst to my mom, had saved and preserved their original wedding cake top.

If you ever doubted that true love really existed....now you know.

It does.

Roots or wings? Why must I choose?

2010-04-25T16:34:00.000-07:00

I've spent a lot of years building a strong career and a stable life. I've veered off course a few times to fulfill my never-ending longing for adventure. I left a good career to work aboard a cruise ship for a year - a decision I will always be grateful I had the strength to make. Although there were definite consequences. I was never quite the same when I returned. A few friendships were sacrificed in my quest for self-discovery. I had to start over on a new career path as the economy had changed dramatically - or maybe I had just changed dramatically.

I remember a distinct crossroads I found myself in upon my return. I could either hunker down and stop running away from every adult responsibility and really begin creating a foundation for myself, or I could take flight and live out my dreams of travel and adventure. In the end the need for responsibility and security spoke louder to me than my quest for something new and exciting.

During my cruise ship days, I met some incredible people from all over the world that I continue to stay in touch with. One of those special Canadian souls happens to share the same kindred spirit for adventure that I do. His thirst for the unexpected is unquenchable. He lives in the moment and plans for very little. His life is filled with extraordinary stories and incredible experiences.

When he was at the same crossroads I was in life, where I chose roots, he chose wings without hesitation.

We often compare our lives and sit in wonderment on how two people with the same fundamental urge for excitement and a sense of belonging chose two completely different paths in life. I have a great network of lifelong friends and family, a house I own and a fulfilling career that I adore. Yet there is that nagging feeling every now and then that something is missing. My lack of courage to take flight has left me wondering what else might be out there.

He has the open road, no real responsibility, no attachments to anyone or anything and the luxury to answer to no one but himself. He has the ability to literally jump on his gorgeous motorcycle and go where the wind takes him. His life is filled with special moments in exotic lands. He has the freedom most of us only dream about. Yet his fear of settling down has left him without a place to call home.

I find that I am content, but not happy. He tells me he is very happy, but not at all content.

Is it possible to blend the two? Having roots shouldn't mean we have to clip our wings.

Maybe it's that we both have one more thing in common that neither of us are willing to admit - an all or nothing way of living.

These are the moments we live for

2010-04-03T17:39:00.000-07:00

My father is not an outwardly emotional man. He is strong, brave and keeps his feelings closely guarded. How I came to always wear my heart on my sleeve is one of those baffling twists in life.

It is almost impossible to surprise my dad. So when the opportunity presented itself, I jumped on it. All my cousins were in town to celebrate my mom's 70th birthday. As much as my dad enjoys a quiet subtle celebration, my mom loves to shout it all out from the rooftops. We planned dinners and teas and parties and ended the week with a festival extravaganza with our closest and dearest friends and family.

Everything was squarely focussed on celebrating my mom's life.

My dad's 70th birthday is just a couple of weeks after my moms. I began to hatch a secret plan.

My dad is an artist, yet rarely is able to find time to tap into his creative outlet. He has been consumed with taking care of my mother and making sure life still moved forward. He has been talking about taking a marble sculpture class for years. But it is incredibly expensive since you have to buy all the tools and materials.

We decided to help him celebrate his life as well and encourage him to tap back into a piece of him that brings him so much joy and relaxation. We presented him with a gift certificate for the entire 14 week course, tools and materials included.

My father that never shows too much emotion was overcome by love and relief and appreciation and joy. He was visibly shaken by our gesture and we were all moved beyond tears. The energy level of love and support in the room at that moment might just have been able to bring peace to the middle east.

After two cakes and singing happy birthday to BOTH mom and dad, I gave a little speech - presenting the card and gift to my dad who was a little confused and stunned that we were celebrating his birthday too.

Surprised and surrounded by his family, he began to read the card.

As he read the gift certificate out loud, the emotion started to hit him.

We believe in him and appreciate how deeply he loves my mom. His support of her is overwhelming.

My daddy - we love you so much! Thank you for all that you do.

He made me want to be a gay man

2010-02-14T09:53:00.000-08:00

I've spent 8.5 hours in hair salons in the last three days. To say I experienced a hair trauma is quite the understatement. I went into my regular salon for a regular cut and color. For whatever reason - the stars were misaligned, it was a full moon, I just don't know - but she decided to try some new product and technique on me without asking me.

My hair turned gold and brassy. Not Oscar statue gold, but tarnished stair railings at a museum that haven't been shined up in ages brassy.

I went back the next day - over three hours and 4 painful treatments later - my head was burned and blistered and the top of my head was yellow. I looked like a distraught Bozo the Clown.

The canary yellow hair can only be described as the following: picture a 55 year old, 3-pack a day smoker, wearing a stained powder blue tank top, gulping box wine sitting outside her trailer home not even bothering to wonder if something better was out there in the world - sporting a dried out home perm gone wrong with empty peroxide bottles at her feet. That's how bad it was.

I took my over processed head home for the evening with the anticipation of one more appointment the next day to get it all fixed. But the circle of trust had been broken and I couldn't handle one more hair experimentation gone wrong. I needed certainty that I wouldn't be having to wear a baseball hat for the next 3 months until is grew out.

I called up my favorite pretty boy Krav friend. I pleaded with him to help me figure out what to do. He was all about the solution. He knew exactly how to take charge and get it done. He hooked me up with his master stylist who promised he would take a look and be able to make some recommendations.

Off to Hillcrest, San Diego's artsy, eclectic liberal area, I went. When I walked in gasps of horror and amazement abounded and the gaping stares assured me that I was indeed akin to a circus freak. We consulted and they all agreed on what steps needed to be taken to rectify the unflattering situation. They wouldn't allow me to leave the salon looking like that so they were kind enough to fit me in. I just had to wait for a few minutes.

That turned out to be the best part of the whole experience.

I watched these beautiful men glide in and out of the salon and putter about making coffee and small talk. Everyone was greeted with kisses and hugs. I sat in the front of the salon in a huge bay window - as if on display for a before picture. But I also got to watch all the foot traffic on the streets. Oh my, what a show.

Everyone sported perfectly fitted jeans that hugged their man trophies in all the proper places. Supremely sculpted tushes surrounded my every visual pattern. I sat there and openly gawked at the wonderfully styled men and their long muscled limbs prancing back and forth. They were all so pretty.

My stylist was like King of the Manor and wooed me with his warm sense of humor and hard body. He had this sexy, confident voice that commanded respect. I felt like an awkward kid at the 8th grade school dance when he spoke. His easy smile drew me in and captivated me. My brazen and blunt communication style seemed a perfect match and we bonded instantly. The gossip flowed and we swapped stories like two long lost college buddies. He made my traumatic situation bearable and actually enjoyable in the end.

At the shampoo bowl I found myself locked onto his pulsating biceps that hung right at eye level as he gently massaged my aching scalp. As if on instinct, I reached up and slowly traced the smooth bulging muscle. Bold move? Maybe - but he loved it! He enjoyed the compliment and I sighed inward, knowing that wanting that bicep was a wasted dream.

What a fantastic salon experience. The people were so down to earth in a pretending not to be pretentious sort of way. And it actually worked. They were all so unique and it blended into this amazing family rainbow of absurd and wonderful personalities, each one warmer and friendlier than the next.

So is there actually a lesson in all this? Perhaps it was fate that my hair was about to fall out and I turned to my fantastically coiffed friend to direct me away from my chemical over-processing dependent hairstylist to his hip and exciting salon filled with visual enticements.

With so much eye candy to stimulate each fiber of my being, it's no wonder I had a brief jealous moment of wishing I was a gay man.

Cancer is as scary as it sounds

2010-02-08T08:56:00.000-08:00

There are certain moments in life that we will forever remember the exact details of where we were when the information was delivered to us. My memories are still vivid of where I was when I heard the news of the Oklahoma bombing, Princess Diana's death, the tragedy of 9/11 and the Berlin Wall coming down.

And most recently, the day I found out my mother has cancer.

The new year is for new beginnings, a fresh start, a time to let go of past mistakes and forgotten promises and start again with a clear outlook on what comes next.

New Years has always carried a cynical sense of loss for me. Many years ago I met my now ex-husband on New Year's Eve. It was a magical time in my life and I've allowed this memory to inflate itself in my mind's eye. So much so that nothing has ever been able to carry as much significance to replace that memory. So I tend to give New Years more validity than it deserves. I'm constantly waiting and wishing for some spectacular event to dislodge this New Year's Eve recollection and swap it out with something that doesn't make me wax poetic for a relationship that was never as good as I remember it to be.

Well, you've heard the saying - be careful what you wish for.

I was sitting on my bed in the middle of the afternoon on New Year's Eve, anxiously waiting to ring in a new decade. Clothes were strewn about as I weighed my different outfit options for the evening festivities.

The phone rang.

My mom's shaky voice came on the line. I knew she had been to the doctor that morning. There had been a lot of doctor's appointments in the few weeks prior. But she was never in any pain, never complained. So I never went there in my mind. I never imagined what was coming next.

"They found a mass. It's cancer."

I froze. My mouth went dry. My heart beat so fast I feared my breath wouldn't keep up. My hands shook with confusion. Instantly my mind was filled with millions of questions, yet I found no words to speak them. No words of comfort came from my lips. I uttered no words of fear or support.

I finally choked out a hoarse whisper of "I have to go". I hung up and sat there. I didn't cry. That would come a few days later as the processing took full effect. I just sat there frozen in the moment, thinking a thousand thoughts but not able to focus on one of them. After awhile, I called my mom back. I told her I loved her and we'd all figure this out together. Then I muttered something to the effect that I couldn't believe the doctor would deliver such devastating news on New Year's Eve. What was he thinking?

My mom didn't miss a beat. She said, "Finally you have something else to think of on New Year's Eve besides that ex-husband of yours!" No doubt she's always been the cup is half full kind of lady! Although - she is the one that introduced me to him on that night so many years ago. I just didn't think it was appropriate to bring all that up at this particular moment.

She is an incredibly strong and positive woman. She has never once acted defeated. From the moment cancer entered our world, she made the conscious decision to fight. I love that about her. I am in awe of her steadfast determination and strength. Whenever I feel doubt creeping in, I just look at her and we smile and I am reassured that this is a family fight we all intend to win. I find it so amazing that all this is happening to her, yet she can still find a way to comfort her child. It forces me to dig deeper to find my own strength.

When I talk with her I am full of hope and support. I make her laugh and focus on happy things. It's when I am alone that the panic blankets my being. The tears spring to my eyes, the fears creep into my every thought and my body aches with helplessness.

It's been a month and my life has been forever changed. I often haven't found the words to tell many of my friends. I can see the confusion in their eyes when I distance myself or show unfounded flashes of anger. The unconditional support from family and friends that do know, has been heart filled and comforting. While some have chosen to stay away instead of asking what has obviously changed in my world, I actually understand.

Because what I am learning is that this isn't about them, or me. It is about my mother and making sure she's still around next New Year's Eve.

And her fight has only just begun.

I guess clothes do make the lady

2010-01-23T10:24:00.000-08:00

I was hanging out with my 3-year-old niece Hadarya. We were having girl time and painting her toenails. As we started playing dress up with my Mardi Gras beads, she launched into all her different clothing options to wear to synagogue.

Hadarya: I'm going to services tomorrow.

Me: I know. How come you are going to services?

Hadarya: So I can look like a lady.

(Pause) Why don't you come to services too Auntie Kimmy?

Me: No thanks. Why would I want to go to services?

Hadarya: (deep sigh) I guess you don't like to look like a lady, Auntie Kimmy.

So, I'm a bit spooked. Was she channeling my Grandma Helen - whom she is named after - with that statement? Grandma Helen ALWAYS said that to me.

How do you measure a year?

2010-01-01T02:11:00.000-08:00

The year was filled with so many different experiences, accomplishments, disappointments, and adventures.

So much emotion wrapped into one year. A year filled with joy and sorrow; laughter and tears; fear and triumph; hellos and goodbyes.

I've learned a lot about myself this year. I've learned even more about the people around me. Some have surprised me with their thoughtfulness and kindness, while others have left me stunned by their selfishness.

I spent a lot of time worrying about trivial matters. I wasted a lot of moments focussing on what I don't have. I lost out on memories I could have created with some very special people had I just made more of an effort.

I accomplished things I never thought possible. I witnessed phenomenal acts of courage. I helped change people's lives. I discovered new possibilities and rekindled forgotten beliefs.

I learned that family really is what matters most to me.

I learned that certain friendships transcend time, distance and disagreement.

I learned that most people are good. They just need to be reminded of that once in awhile.

I learned that I am not as strong as I pretend to be.

I learned that big sisters can make you feel better, if you just let them.

I learned that heartbreak is not permanent nor fatal.

I learned that my family includes lifetime friendships that help hold my world together.

I learned that I don't always let people see how talented and intelligent I am.

I learned that I can make people laugh even when they believe they have no hope.

I learned that if I don't start living for today, my tomorrows will quickly disappear.

But the hardest lesson of all came today.

Reality can quickly steal away your dreams. Life is unpredictable. When the unexpected is thrown your way, the fear can paralyze your future and suffocate your soul.

And then you realize what matters most.

Because in the end, what matters most is:

How well did you live your life?

How well did you love?

How well did you learn to let go?

And I still have time to make some adjustments.

All this for a bowl of mac and cheese?

2009-10-23T08:07:00.000-07:00

I am a pretty independent woman. There isn't too much that frightens me. But we all have our breaking point, that one surprising thing that pushes us over the edge and fills our bodies with a fear so strong that we are rendered immobile.

Recently, I was forced to stare down the source of my ultimate trepidation.

It was after 7pm and I realized I hadn't begun to think about dinner. I was already cranky from the pain in my ankle from jacking it up the night before in Krav. So I hobbled into my kitchen hoping to miraculously find a cooked three course gourmet meal waiting for me. Reality hit quick as I stared into an empty fridge and bare cupboards. I pulled from the depths of my echoing pantry my emergency box of 50 cent macaroni and cheese. I knew there was a reason I had kept that thing around.

Just as I poured my macaroni into the pot, I swiveled around on my one good foot to grab the milk and that's when I saw it.

A bee.....in my kitchen.

It was hovering above me intent on stinging through the plastic covering of the fluorescent lights. At first I thought the worst - I figured it was trying to lay eggs and I imagined waking up to a swarm of baby bees buzzing at my head. I just stared at it. It was so focussed on this one particular square that I was almost mesmerized by it relentless efforts to penetrate the plastic. Over and over again it tried to jam its stinger into the cover and flailed its wings - getting more and more angry. I watched and I watched.

And then I freaked out.

Over the years I've tackled spiders, roof rats, maggots, flour beetles (don't leave open flour in your pantry for five years) and countless lizards. I'm sure the bile crept up into my throat on some of these occasions, but I never felt this powerless, debilitating fear before. Instead of tapping into that strong independent spirit I pride myself on, I ran to the phone to call my daddy. I begged him to come over and rescue me from this fierce predator.

He wasn't having any of that. He told me I was being ridiculous and to just kill it. His thought was to swat at it and as it torpedoed towards me, I could squash out its life with my bare hands. Right, and have the stinger penetrate my hand? Not working for me.

My fear was that I would miss and anger it even more and it would go straight for my eyes since I was looking up at it. After much childlike whining, I heeded my father's advice and grabbed a can of hairspray.

So there I am in my kitchen wielding a huge can of hairspray, my dad is on speakerphone and I am shrieking so loudly I am annoying myself. At this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if my neighbors called the cops in fear I was actually being attacked.

The bee is still compulsively grinding away at the plastic. I aim the can and recoil about 19 times. All the while my dad is on the phone coaching me through this. Now, to his credit, he isn't yelling at me yet, but his annoyance is becoming more and more apparent. I am oblivious to his sarcasm as I am truly gripped by this tension filled apprehension I am feeling toward this bee.

By now I have convinced myself that it is actually a wasp and it is about to turn and sting me between the eyes and I am going to have a massive allergic reaction and need to be rushed to the hospital. I saw all those Tom and Jerry cartoons. I know the power of bees.

And then I remember a lesson I learned in Krav. A strike can't hurt you much if you don't have any air in your lungs. You can recover much quicker because the wind doesn't get knocked out of you. So, I figure this could work with a bee sting, right? I gather this huge breath and let out this massive gut wrenching primal scream as I take aim with the hairspray bottle.

All chaos breaks loose. My dad starts flipping out on the phone because I am screaming so much he thinks a band of wild boar must have found their way into my house and attacked me. He's yelling to find out what's happening, I'm yelling because the bee is flying about in frantic spasms and I am spraying everywhere in my kitchen.

The bee lands on top of my refrigerator and I can't see it. I grab a chair and hop onto it - realizing that my injured ankle is taking a brutal beating as it begins to swell again. The bee has found its way to the rubber seal on the top portion of my refrigerator door. But it won't die. It is still flapping around. Since I don't seem to keep much food in there, I figure hairspray can't do too much damage to the fridge. I close my eyes and unleash the rest of the can all over the door seal. The bee finally turns to its back, legs gripping the air as it makes its final peace with Mother Earth.

I grab about 50 paper towels and scoop it up - taking one final look at my nemesis. And as it is inches away from my face, the wings begin to flutter. The roar of terror that escapes my lips probably deafened all the dogs in the neighborhood.

Still on speakerphone, my dad has lost all patience with his inept, cowardly daughter. "Smash it. Smash it already and be done with it," he bellows into the phone. With my heart racing, I squash it up in the paper towels.

The silence is so profound that I can hear the swoosh as my lungs fill with air and the repetitive thud as my heartbeat struggles to slow down.

I looked up at my fridge to see the sticky, dripping mess this episode had left behind.

My ankle is throbbing. I am sweating. My father is laughing and my mac and cheese has boiled over.

Is Krav Maga turning me into a redneck?

2009-10-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

I don't know much about guns. I've never really been a fan or felt the urge to even learn about them. Coming from a pretty liberal and wonderfully naive family, we tended to avoid any discussion that involved artillery. It didn't seem to be a necessity to expose ourselves to such a violent and hostile reality. I viewed guns as weapons that killed. They were dangerous and often mishandled and gun owners were reckless to leave them around where children could access them so easily.

My ignorance of guns caused me to fear them.

I immediately shunned the idea that people could shoot for sport. I threw out the notion that proper education and training could lead to safe gun usage. I shut my mind to any possibility of a positive relationship with a gun.

And then I began taking Krav Maga and I was exposed to gun defenses. I hated it. I was uncomfortable handling the rubber guns and it was awkward. The idea of being threatened with a gun had never even entered my realm of possibilities. I didn't take the gun training seriously as I had no situational knowledge to relate it to. This was so foreign to me and I could not figure out how to apply it to my own life.

I soon discovered that I was in the minority by not being a gun owner. Guns and Krav Maga seem to go hand in hand. It was a constant shock only to me when discussions turned to bragging rights about the contents of their own private arsenals. I had never known people who owned a gun or talked about it so openly.

Slowly, I could feel a shift in me taking place. I wanted to be exposed to this world I had always feared. I watched a few friends handle their guns in front of me and I was surprised as I began to feel a tingle of excitement course through my body. I knew I wanted more.

Turns out there is a gun called a Kimber. How fitting! I decided to find out for myself what all the excitement was about. I faced my fears and went down to the shooting range with some friends. My friend has a Kimber so I was super excited to have that as my first shooting experience. After an hour of gun protocol, proper handling and training, I was itching to get out there.

I had no idea what to expect and I let my body completely relax. As I squeezed that trigger and got the first shot off, I was stunned by the recoil. But I was instantly addicted. The power gripped my body and consumed me with an adrenaline force I had never experienced before. I couldn't get enough. I ripped of an entire magazine in seconds. I didn't have to think. I could just obliterate without thought. How strangely empowering.

My hands were pretty steady and I was focussed. I spent some time working on my aim and visualizing my target. It is amazing how the mind can drum up such specific imagery and then in a millisecond, you can destroy it.

I loved the smell of the gun powder and I relished in the sting in my eyes. My whole body was rigid with anticipation yet totally relaxed in execution. I can't wait to go back for more.

So I guess all these Krav Maga rednecks aren't as reckless with their guns as I had once thought! Seems like there is a method to their gun toting madness after all!

What is an apology?

2009-09-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

a·pol·o·gy (saying you're sorry)

noun

1. An acknowledgment intended as an atonement for some improper or injurious remark or act.

2. A voluntary admission to another of a wrong or discourtesy behavior done to her, produced by a desire to regain lost respect.

3. Expression of regret for hurting someone you once bared your soul to.

Because it seems some of us have forgotten our manners.

What is a coward?

2009-09-29T09:10:00.000-07:00

cow⋅ard

noun

1. a person who lacks courage in facing confrontation, danger, difficulty, opposition or pain, etc.; a timid or easily intimidated person.

2. a person who chooses selfish comfort or ignorance over actions and deeds that are good, true, and right, even when those deeds are difficult or frightening.

3. a person who is concerned more about preserving his ego than preserving the relationships he's built.

Just to be clear.

The Michael Franti Experience

2009-09-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

There is life in this love
There is love in this life

I went to the House of Blues the other night to enjoy a Michael Franti and Spearhead concert. What I came away with was an experience that provoked a sense of responsibility, a fearlessness, a new insight that we are limitless in our opportunities.

The passion, the energy, the love for music and people and a better world just spilled over from this phenomenal icon of spirituality. It wasn't just a concert. It was an odyssey into the possible. The surge of true belief for a better world electrified the audience and we all became a part of this journey.

You could feel the music soar through your soul as your body responded with every beat. Standing still and silent was not an option. The sounds ignited every cell in your being and propelled you to express your acceptance of the unknown through movement.

It is so difficult to explain through words the transcendence of emotions I went through that night. It wasn't a moment or a word or a song. It was a collection of the remarkable energy that burst back and forth from stage to audience. We all became part of the solution. We all became one unit of power and belief. We all wanted to love life.

So many time people turn their backs to you
Cause they don't wanna see what's inside of you
Cause lookin' inside of you they might realize
There's somethin' in side of them they might not wanna find

He is so connected to his fans. He is so genuine and sincere and makes you feel that just by being there, you've strengthened his musical output.

Every musician played and sang to the limits of human capacity.

God is too big for just one religion

Up next: the ganja, the gyrating sex, the concert Krav moves

Broken & dented - he was never really mine to lose

2009-09-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

“If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.“

But what if that something decides to leave on his own, before love is actualized?

I’m not certain you can lose something that was never really yours to begin with.

---------

I’m not sure anyone has ever told you before

I’d like you to know that you’re not the man you think you are

Outside you exhibit near perfection

All the while inside you are a wreckage of abused and neglected debris

I understand what it is like to be broken

As I’ve had to put my own pieces back together

That feels like ages ago

And now I am close to whole

Your own pilgrimage has finally begun

Casting truths to those well guarded and deeply tucked away secrets

“Why are you always so happy?”

Just asking me that shows me how shattered your soul really is

I look into your empty searching eyes

And know that the fault is not mine

Holding a gun and standing post, doesn’t give you strength

Character is born from the choices that are made in everyday life

You invited me into your past, forcing me to question

my own moral compass

As you dumped the evilness into my lap

Your past is a place I don’t belong

A place I never planned on trudging through with you

You explained away your uncertain future

Hiding behind systems and policies that were suddenly out of your control

I never pressured you to be part of this unpredictable journey

It was too soon to know if I even wanted to join you out in the unknown

All I wanted was your present; your today; this moment

But you’re too busy running from demons and chasing down simulated ambition

To realize that today is all I’ve ever asked for

Your busted up perception forces you to keep one eye staring

in the rearview mirror

While the other anxiously searches out a better tomorrow

Left blinded to what stands right in front of you

Shielding yourself from present day emotions

Choosing numbness over sensation

I married the military mindset once before

I know that I just don’t have it in me to do again

If that makes me weak or unkind or selfish

I’ll own it all.

This same self-indulgent narcissistic methodology came close to destroying me once

Who would I be if I allowed history to repeat itself, having learned nothing?

Could you wipe your conscience clean if you found the courage to answer why

You feel the urgency to volunteer to return to war once more?

Are you running to help a nation in crisis?

Or running away from a fear far greater than war?

…the dread of the unknown

…the horror of what comes next when war is no more

The answers you’ve been struggling to find

Don’t lie in the sands of Afghanistan

But you’ll soon discover

That those very questions you’re trying to escape from

will still be here to slap you in the face upon your return

Why did he get off the train?

2009-09-06T21:38:00.000-07:00

At the last minute I decided not to drive. I was burnt out and just needed to clear my mind. I walked into the train station with my morning coffee, ready for a little adventure. Since I had never taken the train, I wasn’t really certain of what to expect. But my mind was wide open with possibilities and I was just thrilled not to be burdened with the stress of driving through traffic. I walked towards the platform, climbed the stairs and began looking for a suitable place to make myself comfortable for the next three hours until I got to Los Angeles.

I noticed him the moment I turned the corner and silently cursed myself for choosing the comfort of jeans and a sweatshirt over something a little more fashionable for the trip. I could feel his energy drawing me into his personal space. My first thought, “Scrumptious!” My eyes danced over his lion’s mane of blond hair.

I chose the empty row of seats in front of him and as I lifted my bags up to the storage bin I slowly turned and gave him a very deliberate glance. I smiled, lingering a fraction of a moment longer than socially acceptable.

I flashed my dimples and cast my gaze downward until I locked onto his. I managed an almost inaudible, “Hi.”

He grinned back and said hello. It was in that unscripted exchange that I knew instantly of our mutual desire for one another. With a warm glow burning inside, I slid into my seat and waited.

It had only been a moment’s glance, but already etched in my mind’s eye were those inviting green eyes sprinkled with flecks of gold. I dozed off with images of his sun drenched long hair flying recklessly in the wind, surfboard tucked under his arm running down the beach in search of the next perfect wave.

After two hours of daydreaming, I was yearning to experience more of the reality. As I got up to stretch in the back of the train car I turned to him and smiled. I could feel our eyes burning into each other’s soul, searching, wanting, and silently asking all those things strangers never ask each other.

When I walked out of the lavatory, there he was, his eyes teasing me and daring me to make a play. I could feel the lust rising in my throat as I was silently begging him to push me back into the small compartment, thrust me on the counter and quench this unspoken desire we had burning between us.

Instead I returned to my seat. Moments later he leaned over the seat and the quiet lusting took on a voice as we began to explore one another through seductive banter. The chemistry was palpable and our growing connection was deepening each time his eyes bore into mine. We both felt the synergy. We were acutely aware that this went way beyond a chance encounter. The meaning would be far greater than either of us would comprehend at that exact time.

He leaned in and with an urgent huskiness in his voice he told me how sexy I was. My insides danced and my pulse quickened. My body was throbbing with such an intense yearning that I could barely utter a word for fear that my erratic breathing would leave my raw hunger exposed. That same necessity to quench a developing craving was reflected in his eyes.

Our time was limited. His stop was coming up, his departure from my life imminent. He didn’t want to get off the train. I desperately wanted him to stay on with me, but uttered not a word. I wanted his lust to boil over from within him, forcing him to make the decision to stay. He was unsure of himself and I understood. The force of our sexual energy was making my head spin and our judgment was being marred by the fog of our sheer physical needs waiting to be fulfilled.

We felt the magnitude of importance to not let this gift of fate from the universe slip away. We just stared at each other, hoping the other would understand all the things we were too uncertain to put into words. The urgency of desire and the pressure of time were engulfing us. We needed longer to explore the realm of possibilities that were staring us in the face. Yet our own hunger was making it impossible to live beyond the present moment.

As the minutes ticked by we knew we were being tested. There were too many needs left unmet, too many questions not yet asked. And we were lost in a magnetic attraction where time and space held no boundaries. We pushed away the outer world and breathed in each other’s intoxicating essence until the final call for his departure was heard.

With momentary defeat and unfulfilled desire thundering in his chest, he reluctantly stumbled off the train with my number in his front pocket and the glimmer of hope that one day soon we would capitalize on this once in a lifetime chance meeting.

Discovering reality in all those erotic visions wasn’t to be this time around. And yet with every fiber of my being, I know that there will be another encounter where we will fully explore the depths of these fantasies.

So for now, I am content in the knowledge that every time he mounts his surf board and rides a wave, he’ll be imagining, contemplating, romanticizing and he’ll absolutely be smiling in wonderment.

Boundaries? What boundaries?

2009-08-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

While my dad was busy succumbing to one of his greatest passions - laboring in the earth's soil planting flowers and gardening in his backyard, I was chatting with my mom on the telephone.

So goes the conversation:

Mom: "Your father just walked in from the yard. He is totally black from head to toe."

Me: "Oh that could be fun. You can go live out your fantasy of being with a black man."

Mom: .....silence

Me: (Laughing hysterically) "Believe me, it's pretty amazing."

Mom: "I think I'm gonna hang up now."

Where do I come from - for real?

2009-08-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

I was having this random conversation the other night with Dreamy Eyes after Krav class. We were talking about my last name and I told him it was German. I tell everyone that my name is German. I am quite proud of that heritage. In fact, when I was over in Austria, I was flattered to see my named splayed across building after building as it means tobacco in German. Very popular name.

Unmoved by my genealogy, Dreamy Eyes said if I pronounced it with a slight variation it sounded Israeli. He thought that was funny since I'm Jewish and we were in an Israeli martial arts class. For some reason I found this funny too.

Wanting to share the humor over the oddity of our family name, I repeated it a few days later to my father in another very random conversation.

Note to self - start having meaningful conversations that have some substance rather than random exchanges of nothingness.

My father just rolled his eyes, shook his head and made the most unexpected declaration I've ever heard.

"Our name isn't German. It's Russian."

I was aghast. "That's not true. It means tobacco in German."

"It means tobacco in French too. Doesn't mean you're French. My father was from Russia."

My mother pipes in. "I think my father's family was from Germany. But my father hated Germans because of the war."

So there is a small part of me that is German, although there is apparent reluctance to shout it out from the family tree.

I spent my entire life believing my name was German and I therefore was predominantly German. How did I not know my namesake, my direct lineage is Russian?

That must have been the third of me that's a Pollack.

Leap and love will catch you

2009-08-17T00:31:00.000-07:00

I lay awake at night

Can’t seem to stop the stream of tears that cascade down my cheeks

Questions and doubts fill my thoughts

And I feel a scream rising up from the bowels of my being

Confusion replaces confidence

As the uncertainty of tomorrow reveals itself

A gesture left unstirred, untaken

Burns deeply in the soul from which it was offered

Rationalizations swarm the parameters of the desperation

Attempts to harvest a barrier result in foolish mockery

You can feel it. You can want it. You can hope for it.

But you can’t lose what you’ve never really had

I understand that now more than ever

We make it into something it never was, not wanting to see it for what it really is, just because we are too afraid to admit that it could never be what we had hoped it would turn into.

But do I truly believe it was never mine, not even a flicker of spark was for me alone to own?

And so the sadness beckons and the healing must begin

As the pain proves to be the one prevailing constant – it is always the same

Even as the sorrow leaks from my eyes, I am reminded of a faint hope of what could one day be mine again.

For now the loneliness echoes in my head and my body hungers for a touch that will not come tonight

Yet I am still unafraid to feel, unafraid to trust, unafraid to love

So thankful for those precious few moments where I was once again reminded

Of what it’s like to let yourself be loved, no matter what

I have loved from my soul and I have loved with great magnitudes of strength, commitment and desire.

And that love once crushed me.

Living in that fear serves me no purpose. For now I know I can survive love at any level.

I will leap….and love will catch me.

Blurring the boundaries of family

2009-08-01T08:06:00.000-07:00

I have been searching for months for my linens to match my summer bedspread. I figured in my quest to purge the clutter, I swept them up with the other donations and sent them off to the thrift store for a second chance at happiness.

Fast forward to hanging out at my sister's house a month later and playing with my niece in her bedroom. My niece has me lay down on her makeshift bed, covers me with blankets and starts reading me a story. I know - super adorable. She decided I needed to be more comfortable and drags in this huge king size pillow for me to lay my head on. As I get situated, I gasp in total shock as I note the pattern on the pillow sham is an exact match for my missing linens.

Me: "Hadarya, where did you get this pillow?"

Hadarya: "It's mine Kimmy."

Cut me some slack - reasoning with 2 year olds is not my strength.

I hop up and ransack my sister's linen closet where I find the matching pillow sham.

I run into the family room with the evidence dripping from my grip and stare at her in utter disbelief.

Me: "How in the hell did my pillow shams get in your house?"

Sister: "I don't know. But if you had helped me clean out my linen closet like I asked, you would have found them much sooner."

Classic.

Are we showing compassion for our soldiers?

2009-07-24T08:25:00.000-07:00

When a soldier comes home, he finds it hard....

...to listen to his son whine about being bored.

...to keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.

...to be tolerant of people who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work.

...to be understanding when a co-worker complains about a bad night's sleep

...to be silent when people pray to God for a new car.

...to control his panic when his wife tells him he needs to drive slower.

...to be compassionate when a businessman expresses a fear of flying.

...to keep from laughing when anxious parents say they're afraid to send their kids off to summer camp.

...to keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather.

...to control his frustration when a colleague gripes about his coffee being cold.
...to remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog.
...to be civil to people who complain about their jobs.

...to just walk away when someone says they only get two weeks vacation a year.
...to be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house.

The only thing harder than being a Soldier...

Is loving one.

Pull up your pants on your own time

2009-07-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

I went to a client's office building the other day.

Working from home, I tend to forget the importance some people put on the corporate rat race and all the facets that go along with creating that perfect image and style just to compete with the guy in the next cubicle. So much time is spent trying to be who we think others want us to be without regard to who we really are. I find it all exhausting and downright silly.

Our true character always comes through in due time - no matter what.

So maybe it is my new calling - to keep us all in check of our authentic selves.

I'm walking out of the women's restroom - it is shared by multiple office suites. The door faces the men's room. Some overly coiffed guy is standing in the doorway, absently propping the door open with his much too obvious Italian loafers while zipping up his tailored suit pants, tucking in his Ralph Lauren designer shirt and adjusting his snakeskin belt.

I paused briefly and locked onto his arrogant gaze. His eyes suddenly betrayed him as I recognized his own acknowledgement to the fact that I had just cut through his facade and seen him for what he truly was instead of what he was pretending to be.

With an obvious edge of disgust, I threw out some timely advice. "You might want to try doing all that with the door shut next time."

With a downward glance he shuffled back to his office.

It won't ever matter how much money you spend to buy things to impress the people you don't even know - if you don't have the class to back it all up.

Some things just need to be said.

How will you remember Michael Jackson?

2009-07-05T06:18:00.000-07:00

There is no disputing that Michael Jackson was a musical genius. He changed the landscape of music forever and challenged artists around the world to be more creative and innovative.

I got it. Kudos to him.

Lest we forget that the man is also a pedophile. Now, I know technically, he was acquitted of the charges. But then again, so was OJ and how many of you still believe he's innocent? MJ paid off countless families in order to avoid possible molestation charges. How is there so much tolerance for such morally corrupt behavior? Why in his death is this all forgotten and forgiven?

And now his death has become a circus. Isn't it about time to put all this back in perspective?

Be sad. Mourn. Do the moonwalk in your driveway. I don't care - let's just not idolize a man that couldn't grasp that his actions with children were totally and completely inappropriate.

Genius aside - he was seriously disturbed and I am more than over the speculations and constant adulations.

Krav Maga: why do I do it?

2009-06-28T03:29:00.000-07:00

A little over a year ago I began taking Krav Maga classes. Since then I have embarked on a special odyssey. I was never really sure where it would take me or why exactly I was doing it. But from the start I was captivated by the excruciating physical demands of the techniques. The camaraderie that was quickly built amongst the students enthralled me and I couldn’t get enough of it.

I trained hard and I trained often. Probably too often as my body has taken its fair share of bumps and bruises along the way. Most people phase in and out of sports and activities. But there is something about Krav Maga that creates an adrenaline rush so strong that at times I feel empty without it.

With all the physical contact and abrasive nature of Krav, some question whether or not it is really the right fit for women. I have found that it is much more of a struggle for me to reach an acceptable level of aggression, something that comes much more naturally for a man. But fighting to get to where you want to be is the foundation for Krav Maga.

Yesterday I reached a major personal milestone in Krav. I took my level 2-3 exam. There was only one other woman besides me that took the test. If we pass, we will be the highest ranked female students at our gym. To me, that’s a huge accomplishment. As a woman, I felt I had to want it more and fight harder to prove that I deserved to be there.

I definitely felt a mental shift in me several months ago. I realized that I wanted more from Krav. I wanted it to mean more to me than simply a social gathering where I deposited enormous amounts of sweat on the gym mats. I noticed there were fewer and fewer women sticking with it and were dropping out. I wanted that to change. Krav Maga is really tough both on your body and your mind. I firmly believe that because of the combative and relentless nature of Krav, it builds character and changes your perspective on life. You find strength where you thought you had none. You learn to turn your vulnerability into empowerment. For me, it was time to make my mark, learn something valuable and set an example to the other women that attend classes.

I began to take myself more seriously, and I noticed my instructors began to push me harder. I took that as a sign of respect that they were willing to invest in me and my training. As I began to focus more on my goals, they too raised their expectations of me and forced me to train harder and not accept average from myself. I will always be grateful to them for believing enough in me to not let me manipulate my way through the training and for forcing me to fight to make every strike and kick mean something.

The test was a brutal 6 hours of intense drills that focused on technique, endurance and intensity. Just when we thought we had reached the end, we were instructed to suit up and begin a series of sparring rounds. It was more than physically exhausting. I have bruises on top of bruises, swollen muscles and twisted body parts. But in spite of the physical pain, I have never felt stronger mentally. At no point during those six hours or the weeks leading up to the test did I feel the urge to quit or give in to the pain.

There is a sense of empowerment and confidence that comes with training Krav, especially for women. Krav Maga teaches us so much more than how to defend ourselves. For me, I have reached a new level of inner confidence and mental strength. What I thought I could never achieve, I have exceeded. What I considered impossible, I have overcome. And what I believed I could never endure, I have surpassed.

There is so much power within me. My race is not yet finished. Whether or not I passed - I still think I deserve the title of "Bad Ass Krav Chick"!

Guys in drag I can take. The giant cross on the wall turned me off

2009-06-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

I always know I am in for a fun adventure when my friend Kim is the activities director. So the other night when she told me she was taking me out for a birthday celebration filled with surprises, I knew to expect the unexpected. After a great sushi dinner we headed toward the entertainment portion of the evening - no details were provided and I was excited!

To my delight, we arrived at a theater! I love watching plays so I was super excited to experience the arts for a night. The marquee should have raised a few red flags, but ever the optimist, I simply pondered to myself all the possibilities that "Bad Night In A Men's Room Off Sunset Boulevard" would hold. The fact that we were smack in the middle of the sexually liberal and all loving Hillcrest, never even crossed my naive little mind.

We sat in the very front row in this tiny little eclectic theater. I had no idea what was coming next. As I started reading through the program, Kim nudges me and tells me that there is a little more to this play than meets the eye. I get to the big passage where the debate about who can love whom or have sex with whom or marry whom is discussed. Despite the passage of Proposition 8 banning gay marriage in California, the topic is still a major hot button. I support gay marriage so a play articulating those challenges and struggles for equality piqued my interest.

Just before the lights went down, Kim informed me that there was only one female in the play and she was not the love interest. There were some transgender roles being played out. I looked up at her to respond, but my attention was taken up by this enormous wooden cross with a crucifix hanging in the middle of the set. The guys in drag didn't faze me at all. But I was contemplating walking out due to that oversized, out of place cross bearing down on me.

My mind was open as the play began. It quickly shut after about 10 minutes of the worst acting I had ever witnessed. The main character pees on the stage in quiet defiance, not really adding much to the actual conflict being set up. All these characters did was shout at each other. There was so much overacting and yelling that I thought I was in the middle of auditions for American Idol.

Every single stereotype you can think of played out in the first act of this play. There was alcoholism, incest, addiction, rehab, jail time, gender confusion, cross dressing, gender reassignment, bisexuality, child neglect, infidelity, depression, fame, and family dysfunction. It was unreal. And all the time they yelled at each other in their attempt to communicate. I was distracted by the phenomenal amount of cuss words, which saturated the script. It was difficult to focus on the meaning of the words hidden behind all those swear words.

Just as I was sensing the beginning signs of a yawn and praying intermission would interrupt my wandering mind, the climax came - literally.

The married but sexually confused Hollywood actor that was caught in a men's room enjoying sexual favors similar to those of Senator Craig and the flamboyant, doe-eyed transgender stage hand come together for a pivotal scene. They stare not so convincingly into each other's eyes and share an awkward embrace. Now if the acting had been less than horrible, perhaps I could have gotten lost in their passionate embrace and believed in their longing for one another. But because the acting was so forced and so disconnected, I didn't buy into this strange story of forbidden love.

So they danced together and kissed. And soon their clothes were being tossed onto the floor. I fully expected undergarments to be part of the wardrobe selections. But no - there before me, just five short feet away - two men stood stark naked with their junk swinging in the breeze. As their bodies molded to one another my only thought was - "Hmmm. Not so impressive. I've seen better."

The dominant man hoists the other man up, wrapping his legs around his naked body. I grabbed for Kim's leg and pinched her as if to ask "Why, Kim? Why did you bring me here."

That would have been a perfect place to call "scene" and bring up the lights for intermission. But we weren't done being voyeurs yet. They moved to the bedroom and began to loudly explore their happy endings with each other. I wanted to look away. I really did. I think I was frozen in shock. And finally, almost mercifully, the stage lights dimmed and the house lights brightened.

I sat rigid in my seat, not moving, my eyes staring forward. I slowly turned my head toward Kim and before I could even begin to speak, she was apologizing all over the place. This was not what she had expected at all. She was just as horrified as I was.

And then we laughed - hard, uncontrollable nervous laughter poured out of us. Probably partly to relieve the awkward stress of watching two men play out scenes from Deep Throat and partly because we felt a little embarrassed that we didn't enjoy it the way the rest of the audience seemed to.

We contemplated leaving before the second act. But then, we aren't quitters. And seriously, what else could they possibly do to shock us anymore than they already had? With renewed atitudes and open minds, we stayed and laughed our way through the much funnier and less naked second half.

I love that Kim planned a fabulous evening for my birthday. Her intent was amazing. Her execution, a little off.

Now I got mileage to go with my baggage

2009-06-01T23:04:00.000-07:00

There aren't adequate enough words for me to describe my experience of running in the San Diego Rock n' Roll marathon.

It is a day I'll never forget. It proved to be the ultimate test of endurance, stamina and most importantly - inner strength. The physical pain paled in comparison to the mental obstacle course I navigated through. I never knew that I could push my body so far beyond what I allowed my mind to believe it could do.

There were moments of elation and extreme clarity. And then there were flashes of anguish as the pain and boredom set in and the miles before me seemed to go on forever.

The corrals opened and I flooded the course along with 40,000 other crazy folk. We started out slowly before the crowd thinned a bit and we all got our pace going. Since I had just spent a very long and annoying 45 minutes in line for the port-o-potty, I didn't have any time to stretch and warm up. I literally got to my corral as the gun went off. So it took me a mile or so to warm up and get it going. I began to hit my stride around mile three.

And then this amazing euphoria kicked in for the next 4 miles. I think they call it the runner's high. It was like I was no longer attached to my body. I was just moving, pounding the pavement and propelling my body forward, but my mind was far far away. I was in a zone of thought that I cannot even begin to comprehend. It was strangely freeing. I think for the first time in years, the constant tape I play in my head that causes me hugely unfortunate bouts of insomnia just disappeared. My mind was free and blank and if felt wonderful. I thought about nothing, yet I felt everything.

Apparently I hadn't quite learned all the tricks of the trade. I missed the training class on how to sustain that high for a long period of time. It left me after about 4 miles. Just gone. And I was only at the 7-mile marker. I kept toying with myself. I'd question why I was even doing this.

Was it worth it and what was I trying to prove? And as I listened to asphalt being smacked down under the pressure of my own feet, I found the answers. It was absolutely worth it because I was running in loving memory of my Aunt and my dear friend who suffered from the very diseases I was raising money for.

I slipped into a walk, just for a minute to catch my breath. I looked up and there was a man in a wheelchair holding up a sign. He looked over at me and said he was a survivor. "Don't quit on me now. You can do this. Pick up your pace and keep on going because you can." And I did. And I cried.

I started to feel some pain in my foot and thought this would be the end of the running for me. I was around mile 9 but I just couldn't go any further. I started to walk again. And then this woman came out of nowhere, saw the pain in my eyes and said to me, "Nothing will hurt more than the shame of not crossing that finish like. Keep going. You can do this."

So I ran. And I cried. But I started to have serious doubts about myself and began to question what made me think I could actually do this crazy thing? I didn't take the training all that seriously so I really wasn't all that prepared. Why did I really want to keep running? As if reading my mind, some woman ran past me, but not before I read the back of her shirt, "I run for those that are no longer here to run for themselves." And I was once again off and running with determination. This was my constant mental battle between sitting in pain and pushing through it.

I was running on the 163 freeway and it is a horrible 3 mile journey of one long continuous climb up a hill without any reprieve. I suddenly got filled with frustration and anxiety and just didn't want to continue. I looked ahead at all the people not quitting and they gave me inspiration.

My true melt down came towards the top of the 163. I could feel it stirring inside. I looked up and saw the mile marker for the 15K and tears of panic sprang to my eyes. I knew I didn't have it in me to finish. But just as suddenly, when I looked up again, I clearly saw an image of my lovely Auntie Judy smiling at me and laughing. She never quit anything. She always fought for her kids, her family, and her life. So she hung with me for the next two miles pushing me to run through the pain to get to the other side of the hill. I could hear her laughter, I could see her face in my mind's eye and I could feel her presence. Call me crazy, but she was there with me, making sure I didn't give up on myself. And then I started down the hill and she was gone. She knew when I needed her most.

And then it hit me. I felt this huge shift in my mind. I understood the tremendous conflict between feeling the urge to want to quit and then wanting to search for that strength to push through it all. It was intense and it was profound and I alone owned that struggle within myself.

Seeing my friends along the route was incredible and inspiring. I could never have kept on going without those cheers of good wishes, quick pictures and loving hugs! The true bond of friendship was proven when Hottie Krav Instructor Sam forced me to walk another 5 miles after the race - just to get to his car. No curbside pickup?

As I got close to that finish line, my heart filled with pride. I saw it through, finished what I set out to do four months ago. Something that so many weren't convinced I could - or questioned why I'd want to. I never really knew the answer to that until I crossed that line and hugged my friends and family. It was for a different kind of bragging rights.

It was such a personal accomplishment to be able to push my battered body plagued with multiple injuries to perform at an optimal athletic level. I didn't allow my self-doubt to sabotage my goal. I had to keep mentally pushing myself through each mile with lots of self-talk and mantras that made me believe I was good enough and was worth it enough to see it through. I know that this new inner belief in myself and this internal strength and determination will be with me forever.

Everyone has their own story of why they chose to run this marathon. Mine is neither for heroic reasons nor athletic prowess. I simply wanted to see if the "girl that wasn't really built for running", could in fact run a marathon.

And I did.

If I were into S & M, I'd call it foreplay

2009-05-13T23:15:00.000-07:00

But I'm not, so I guess it isn't. But since there is sure to be another edition to this seemingly endless plight of hysterical brutality, I maintain my right to dress it up as I see fit in order to endure each sticky little predicament that is forced upon me.

As if getting my ass kicked in sparring over the weekend wasn't enough, I just came from Krav Maga class where once again, my ego was crushed as I tried to hang with the boys.

For some reason, Shawn (is there really any reason not to call him out at this point?) has taken it upon himself to make it his personal mission to help me reach new depths of aggression. I get that he is doing it in my best interest, to help me improve my training, but that little sparkle of pleasure in his eyes as he beats me to a pulp is starting to grate on my nerves.

We paired up for full body sparring and I did my best to avoid him most of the night. But then the inevitable smacked me in the gut as we were told to switch partners one more time. We were the only two that hadn't partnered up yet. As we touched gloves to begin the round, I saw this flash of determined madness in his eyes. The instinct to run away and hide kicked in full force.

I have this strange idiosyncrasy in my personality. I chalk it up to being a Gemini. I am an "all in" or "all out" kind of gal. I don't really have a happy medium about me. I go to one extreme or another with my emotions. It is pretty exhausting at times and I am sure quite frustrating for those around me to keep up with my constantly fluctuating hot and cold personifications. I am on a continuous journey to find that happy medium. I am getting better, however, I do fail to reach that goal more often than not.

Shawn is quite familiar with my Gemini nuttiness and recognized right away that the aggressive Kimber had left the building. He has this special knack for being able to zone right in on my every weakness and capitalizes on it just to push my buttons. I sensed that he was out to prove something to me, but I kept turning my back as he advanced towards me. I just couldn't get into the fight.

But what have we learned about Shawn?

He enjoys our combative slapstick relationship so much that he refuses to allow me any slack whatsoever, even when I am exhausted and want to exit from the skirmish. One would think he would sense my cautious, timid nature and ease up a bit. Oh no, not Shawn. What does he do instead? He comes flying at me like a crazy banshee hunting his defenseless prey.

I, of course, turn away - willing him to just leave me alone. No such luck. He is fixated on making me tap into my aggression and pull myself back into the fight.

We start to cover a lot of ground as he pursues me. Nothing is off limits. As is he throwing jabs at my head I am flailing around, taking everything down along the way. Other teams are sparring, but we don’t care. As the gym floor becomes our playground, we knock into people, pushing them out of our way.

I get tangled up between two heavy boxing bags and he pounces on me. I can’t get my footing and I feel this primal scream rising in my throat for him to get off me. He has succeeded. I am super pissed off. I lunge at him plowing through the other people in my way. Here is where my hot and cold switch kicks in. I am incensed so my power is completely uncontrollable. I run at him with wild eyes filled with rage and throw all kinds of kicks and punches. Technical prowess is replaced with my need to inflict a certain amount of pain.

Just when I feel the energy shift stirring in me again, threatening to resurface, Richard, the owner, appears out of nowhere – and starts cheering us on, shouting words of encouragement and fighting tips. Shouldn’t he have been yelling at Shawn to ease up?

We start charging through the gym again like a tornado. No one in our path is safe. Shawn grabs me in a bear hug attack and slams me against the back wall. With my face smashed up against the drywall and Shawn’s sweat invading my personal space, I happen to turn and look at the spectators by the door. The look of horror on their faces as this guy is seemingly beating up on this delicate flower of a woman fueled my rage and made me counter attack with a fanatical force.

Finally, the instructor steps in and breaks it up. I’m ready for Shawn to get his ass chewed for instigating this circus of a sparring match with me, but instead, I get critiqued on my inability to stay in my fighting stance.

Are you kidding me? Is there a lesson here that I am just not getting?

Is being one of the guys worth it?

2009-05-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

I've never really been one of those girly girls. I’m not a big fan of dresses and gobs of makeup really take me outside of my comfort zone. I prefer a football game to shopping and clean more than I cook. Growing up I played a lot of sports, while still trying to balance it with the obligatory dance classes my mom was convinced would give me some sense of gracefulness. After all this time, I am thinking that it just didn't take.

I always loved hanging with the guys and found that I usually had much more in common with them than the girls that wanted to braid my hair and play dress up. I chose to make mud pies in the dirt and ride bikes around the neighborhood.

While I tried not to go to extremes, I did manage to find a comfortable balance between rolling in the dirt and wearing pantyhose. I learned to embrace my restless inner voice that sought danger and adventure while submitting to a life of eyebrow plucking, pedicures and leg shaving.

I have created this intensely strong exterior that sometimes portrays a tougher façade than of what actually lies within it. But at my core of who I am and what I stand for, I am quite certain that I am a feminine woman. I enjoy being taken care of and treated as a sensitive woman. I can so easily tap into my feminine energy that it sometimes comes as a surprise when I find myself unable to pull myself out of the “masculine energy” box my friends have put me in.

I love doing anything physical. Engaging my whole body in some kind of battle makes me feel alive. In our Krav Maga training there is a lot of physical contact and I tend to set my own standard of intensity. I enjoy the combative nature of the drills. But, I like to do it on my terms, just as any woman does.

So when I was invited to spar with some guy friends over the weekend I was pretty sure I was going to be able to play the girl card, just in case things got too rough. They were used to training with me in Krav, but in truth, what guy wants to beat up on a girl?

I couldn’t have been more wrong. As I stepped into the garage and got geared up, I saw the concentration in their eyes. I knew they weren’t going to hold back and would not tolerate anything but my full effort.

Normally, I would be flattered for being treated as one of the guys and not receiving special treatment just for being a girl. Truthfully, nothing annoys me more. But this day was a little bit different. They were so determined and intent on us practicing for the impending belt test, that I knew there was no room for whining girl tactics. I had to match their focus. I was nervous and not sure I could measure up.

Sparring was hard and intense and I am quite certain that getting my ass kicked, twice, was not on my to-do list when I woke up that morning. They are strong guys with amazing skills that I can’t begin to match.

We sparred in multiple three minutes rounds and each of them somehow managed to punch me squarely in the face, sending me flying backwards in a dizzying body flailing motion. I barely recovered before they were on me again with kicks and punches to the liver. My blocking was pathetic but I managed to get in a few decent shots.

These guys sent body shots, hooks and straight punches without a single thought that I may break a nail, or worse, start to bleed. As I fought one opponent, the other shouted advice and offered suggestions on how to improve. There wasn’t a single moment that they made me feel inferior to them.

I did have one very girly moment where I just couldn’t dig deep enough to find the energy I knew I needed for the final round. I just didn’t have it in me and I could feel the excuses and whines building up inside me. Instead of giving in to my laziness and letting me quit, my friend did his best to piss me off and raise my level of aggression. He yelled at me and wouldn’t accept any of my excuses. He wouldn’t indulge me in my quest to play my girl card. He made me fight for it. It worked. And it was strangely supportive.

While it is nice to play with the boys, there comes a point where I feel like I have to remind them that I am a girl. I do want them to view me as a woman, yet not treat me like one when we are training.

At least no one laughed when I asked for a bottle of aspirin and some ice for the mild concussion they gave me. That's progress.

I know I can’t have it both ways, but isn’t it just like a woman to want it that way?

Let the carb loading begin

2009-05-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

I find people to being absolutely remarkable. At every turn, my friends seem to surprise the hell out of me - mostly in amazing ways that lift my spirits and fill me with unbridled gratitude. I have been fortunate in my life to have had some pretty incredible experiences that have afforded me the opportunity to travel the world and meet some unbelievable people along the way. I have built friendships from so many different facets of my life and it is such a special feeling when I am reminded of the magnitude of the bonds of friendship that we've created together.

When I began this crazy journey to run a marathon, the initial reactions from family and friends were mixed. Most of you thought I was crazy. Some figured I wouldn't actually go through with it. Many of you reminded me that since I had just finished recovering from a knee injury, a re-injury was probably inevitable with all the training that was involved. And would that risk be worth it?

But as soon as I proclaimed my intention with steadfast certainty, you were all in my corner showering me with overwhelming support. And the support has been so much more than just financial. I am getting words of encouragement and motivation from all sides. Even as I suffered from multiple injuries while training - yes you were all correct with the foresight of a re-injury - no one told me to quit. No one has ever said to me, "You can't do this. Just give up trying." How lucky am I to have people in my life that believe so deeply in my ability to fulfill my own dreams?

Everyone seems to have gotten involved and staked their claim in my journey to see this through. While I appreciate being encouraged during Krav Maga classes not to quit and push myself harder since I am in marathon training mode, I'm pretty sure the constant yelling could be curtailed just a bit, right? But I do love being held accountable and I appreciate the willingness to help me succeed.

Thanks to all of you, I have successfully reached my fundraising goal of over $1800 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I am just mere weeks away from living out this wild ambition of mine. Due to some lingering injuries, I have conceded to running the half marathon instead of the full. But I am still fully committed and incredibly excited to embody this phenomenal experience!

I am not sure how to begin to thank my friends for the unbelievable generosity and the support you have shown me over the last few months. Friendships from every era of my life have come forward to give me strength and encouragement. Those of you from my childhood, high school and corporate working days have helped me rekindle my belief that true friendships do indeed endure the test of time. And I feel closer than ever to the more recent friendships in my life as your confidence in me only deepens our connection.

I hope to see some of you out on race day. I'm counting on you guys to bring a stretcher and some extra ice.

Saving lives - one groin kick at a time

2009-05-02T07:36:00.000-07:00

I have this stubborn streak in me and it runs pretty deep. It is not often that I find the courage to back down from my own belief system long enough to hear the advice being offered by others. But luckily, I allowed the universe to intervene on my behalf and I actually listened to my friends as they relentlessly, yet gently, coaxed me into attending a women's only rape prevention seminar held at my Krav Maga gym last week. It turned out to be an incredibly empowering and amazing experience.

At first I really didn't want to go. Being faced with all the emotional baggage that stems from learning about violent attacks was not something that interested me. I was knee deep into avoidance and being confronted with the reality that 1 in 3 women will be attacked in their lifetime, was really something I was willing to never know. They say ignorance is bliss. But in this situation ignorance is stupidity and can lead to me being an unwilling victim. To be perfectly honest, it really came down to me not being comfortable with exposing my vulnerability. I was sure that some crazed and emotional reaction was going to be ignited within me when I was charged with creating a mock attack scene.

I hadn't realized just how much my life was benefiting from my Krav Maga training until I found myself needing to push past some mental barriers. During the seminar, I was able to tap into an emotional and physical strength I wasn't aware I possessed. The drills were designed to push us past our comfort zone and to test our boundaries. Even as I was shaking, I felt safe enough to expose my inner weaknesses and play full out in each scenario. All of the stress drills we performed in Krav classes were now part of my muscle memory and the fear of the unknown wasn't as scary for me as it was for some others.

As I watched these women, these fellow soldiers standing next to me in this fight to protect our bodies, I saw them break down and then pick themselves up and carry on. They were fighting with their own mental limitations. The same fight I endure each time I glove up and take to the mats during class. To be a part of their transformations was a phenomenal experience. Through the tears, the doubt, the uncertainty, they found the strength from deep within to knock the monkey off their backs and move forward in their lives.

When we got to the final drill, the actual physical attack by the instructors, I could barely contain my excitement and my anxiety. They were in these padded suits and we were going to be able to kick them with full force. I was excited because I was going to be able to finally feel the affects of all my Krav training and unleash it on an attacker. My anxiety came from the thought that I would freeze up and not know what to do - rendering all my time training Krav worthless. Since there were only two of us in this seminar that had trained Krav Maga, I felt that we had to represent and I felt the pressure to perform.

We lined up and one by one the women found themselves faced with a single attacker. Countless groin strikes were delivered with force and purpose. The unleashing of the groin kicks and eye strikes are the best weapons we have against an attacker. These women were incredible. With each groin strike they delivered, they were taking back their lives and destroying the demons trying to take over.

Then my turn came. As I closed my eyes, one of the instructors leaned in and whispered into my ear, "You better be ready." Adrenaline instantly poured into my veins and my senses were on fire. I knew something was coming. I was attacked and I fought back. I delivered groin strikes and elbows and knees. I could hear everyone cheering and it felt great. As my attacker was going to the ground we got tangled up and I rolled to the floor as well. I popped up instantly thinking I was done and happy with what I achieved. Just as I was about to celebrate, another attacker charged me. This time I wasn't as prepared. I didn't have all the combos in my head and I was taken off guard. I had to work off instinct rather than focus on technique. I wasn't drilling it, I was fighting back. It was awesome.

Some of these women have now found their way into our Krav Maga program. With each class, I can see their inner strength deepening and their empowerment growing. I feel so much pride having been a part of this program. This is truly an amazing experience every woman should partake in. And learning to send vicious kicks to the groin is a super fun bonus!

It wasn't your bulging biceps that first caught my eye

2009-04-13T15:33:00.000-07:00

Everyone has that one thing they notice about someone when they first meet them. It is an involuntary and subconscious knee jerk evaluation about their physical attributes. You may focus directly on their eyes and how staring into them you see the reflection of your own soul or some touchy feely crap like that. Some take a more shallow approach and check out the ass or pectoral regions.

I wonder if what we first notice about others is a projection of our own insecurities of what we wish we had better of. I am one that tends to fixate on teeth – with a quiet mania for the straight, white, delectably even, non-gummy variety.

Interestingly enough though, closer examination of my ex-husbands’ chops and you’d quickly question the validity of my previous admission to a fascination with all things blissfully aligned. I guess a good set of pecs and a tight ass can make up for a lot of shortcomings after all – at least for a little while.

Anyway – you can imagine my revulsion when I discovered that my new jitter juice addiction was having adverse affects on my pristine smile. I have always held onto a massive insecurity that my fang like teeth are crooked with a mellow yellow sheen to them. I long for a straight, even, immaculate smile. You know, the artificial ones actors pay thousands of dollars to transplant into their mouths. I’m not big on the whole medical intervention for vanity sake, so I do my best to curtail my compulsive preoccupation with my own teeth. I use a special whitening toothpaste everyday and I have even been known to take a nail file to those fangs in a vain attempt to shave them down a bit if I’m feeling too vampire like.

But to know that I am aiding and abetting my own tooth demise by consuming so much of this black liquid is making me a whole new kind of crazy. The elation I feel after the mild caffeine high coupled with the newly discovered bonus of the suppression of appetite has me torn. The ever-growing java stained reflection mocks me as I stare into the glass with a frightening madness. But how do I choose between a newfound love and a life long obsession for a brighter, whiter grin?

With shame in my heart and a mind too weak to say no, I continue to drink the object of my desire. I do my best to minimize the adverse consequences of my shameful craving by wearing hydrogen peroxide filled teeth whitening molds a few times a week. But this is only so I can continue to feed my never-ending yearning for that next cup of Joe.

Keep your meat out of my car

2009-04-11T06:25:00.000-07:00

To say I am a compulsive neat freak is probably an understatement. I have issues. Lots of issues. One of my more annoying and problematic obsessive behaviors has to do with preserving the purity and cleanliness of my vehicle. Back when I was making great money and living a life I am now completely disassociated with - I treated myself to a very expensive car. I had a momentary lapse in judgment and went the pretentious route, but stopped just shy of being completely ostentatious.

I drive an overpriced Volvo. I don't even like it because it has a horrible turning radius. It just doesn't fit my personality or who I am anymore. I'm certainly not a soccer mom. Nor do I personify the typical Volvo owner profile of a conservative safe driver. Truth be told, I am really not even that great of a driver. But I am stuck with it. Who would buy it in this economy? So I am forced to make the best out of a rather irresponsible decision. The guilt alone for driving this car keeps me from loving it completely.

Yet I am remarkably uptight about the interior upkeep. Outside, layers of dust may embed themselves into the paint, just as long as my leather seats remain pristine. It is really no fun at all being a passenger in my car. I have rules. Lots of rules. The problem is, until you break one, you usually aren't subjected to them. I allow you inside, hold my breath and hope there are no violations of what you don't know.

Some of the rules include no kids, no car seats, no shoes resting on the door or dashboard, jewelry is monitored for the possibility of snagging the leather (stop laughing, it happens. I have the hole to prove it), and no food because food leads to crumbs and all sorts of messy incidents I would ultimately obsess over. Interestingly enough, I don't adhere to any of these rules in other people's cars because I just can't imagine anyone else would be this preoccupied with something as petty as car cleanliness.

So the other night I was working on my laptop in the passenger seat in between Krav Maga classes. One of my buddies, also killing time until the next class, popped over for a friendly chat. Since I was in the customary guest spot, he climbed into the driver's seat and settled right in. Now he has been in my car many times before without incident so I didn't think there would be reason to panic.

He tossed a cheerful nod in my direction as he whipped out a hunk of chicken from a previously concealed ziplock bag. Chicken!?!? In my car. Panic surged throughout my body. He must have confused the look of horror on my face with hunger as he pushed the poultry in my direction asking me if I wanted a bite. Still in shock, I leaned in and took a bite of the stringy chicken, unable to completely grasp the events unfolding so quickly before my eyes.

I momentarily paused to evaluate the importance of our friendship as I contemplated unleashing a fury and throwing him out of my vehicle. But he is a very good friend of mine and thankfully some sanity began to seep back into my conscious being. But then he started touching my steering wheel with those slimy fingers leaving traces of chicken bits for me to discover later on. He was testing the strength of our bond without even realizing it. I even think a few particles of the meat tore off and landed outside his oral cavity - ultimately onto my carpeted floor mats.

Thankfully the hearty laughter we shared provided enough distraction for me to be able to curb my own needless fixation on car hygiene. Although when he offered to roll up the window on his way out, I quickly calculated the number of surfaces those fowl laden fingers would have to come in contact with and I cheerfully declined the assistance.

Never mentioned the word addiction...

2009-04-02T10:08:00.001-07:00

Today marks my very first coffee making experience. How I made it into my 3os without owning a coffee maker is beyond me. But the truth is, I have consciously limited my electrical appliance usage, knowing matters of the kitchen are not my strength. Alas, the downward turn of the economy has forced me to take stock of my economic situation and make some tough decisions. It's not what you think. Making the determination to not go to a coffee house was not the barrier to my behavior change. It was the realization that I was going to have to actually figure out how to use an appliance previously foreign to me.

There are so many components that go into making coffee. There is the selection of the proper bean, the grinder, the measuring tool, the filter, the proper water level selection. Wow. I was a bit overwhelmed, but I was determined. I could barely get to sleep last night as my heart was filled with joyful anticipation at the prospect of masterfully creating my first pot of liquid addiction.

It took me slightly less than an hour to get my first pot started. There was a flurry of activity as I desperately tried to manage all the elements. My first attempt was thwarted as I realized after you grind the beans, you cannot simply pull off the top of the grinder. The grounds spill everywhere making a clean freak like me go a little berserk. After cleaning up that spillage - and I must say coffee grounds spread like a rash - I started again. This time I realized the error of my ways and turned the grinder upside down to allow the grounds to fall lovingly into the holder for easy transport.

Now although my hands are a bit shaky and my mind is whirling, I have already learned a few key factors in my brief experience with this vehicle to my new obsession.

You don't have to make 12 cups every time.
If you do make 12 cups because you didn't know you didn't have to, you certainly don't have to drink all 12.
There is a tool of measurement for the coffee grounds. Filling the filter to capacity is not the answer. Can we say caffeine overload?
There is such a thing as decaffeinated options.
Coffee grounds cannot be reused and they drip when transported to the trash can.
Caffeine seems to act as an appetite suppressant. Woohoo!
Peeing. There is so much peeing after all that coffee consumption.
Patience is key - do not remove the pot in mid brew. The time spent cleaning up the mess discounts the thrill of getting a cup three minutes quicker.

I sit and await the imminent crash that is sure to follow this overload of heart palpitating, caffeine infused adrenaline. My hands are shaky and my mind is whirling about. Interesting that I chose to go the fully caffeinated route as I haven't indulged in caffeinated beverages in over six years. I am pretty sure my brain function is having major spasms and my circuits are contemplating shorting out. Has an addiction already formed? If so, I must be my own worst nightmare as I have conveniently become my own dealer.

A year ago today...

2009-03-31T06:00:00.000-07:00

It was a year ago today

A flood of emotion seeps through my superficial veneer

As I close my eyes the sound of your giggles fill my ears

I see you only in my labyrinth of memories

Throughout my childhood, adolescence and into my adult years

You were always there

With each step, every milestone, all those heartaches and triumphs

You shared equally in the glow of my glory as in the anguish of my defeat

My constant cheerleader, my forever fan, my endless supply of hope

You never let me down

The eternal optimist & true believer that giving loves makes you happiest

You lived without judging others and used truth as your weapon of choice

Laugh loudly and be nice you'd say

Your code was simple and you owned it

Never apologizing for your quirky ways or inquisitive nature

I secretly admired your loyalty to captain your own soul

So much of who I am today is reflected in how you lived your life

Even through your pain, you found a way to laugh and put others first

Today I stare at my lost reflection and wonder

Did I love you enough; laugh with you enough; care for you enough

Did I share with you enough; confide in you enough

...enough for you to truly understand how very much you meant to me

It was a year ago today that your suffering was quieted

And as I said goodbye, mine was unleashed

His vibration gun gave me endless pleasure

2009-03-27T21:22:00.001-07:00

I am a skeptic - noted. I tend to choose to live with pain rather than schlep to the doctor only to be told to ice my ailing limbs and ingest handfuls of pain killers. The pain is temporarily masked, but eventually it always returns. So when I hurt my knee training for this marathon that I have insanely decided to run, I figured it was just something I was going to have to adapt to. But the pain intensified and my training began to suffer. I wasn't able to run and I was having to curtail my Krav Maga sessions. Something had to give.

Enter Dr. Chad, a chiropractor specializing in sports injuries who has immense experience working with mixed martial artists. I was intrigued, yet still holding firmly to my skepticism that any good would actually come of a session with him.

I went into the appointment expecting him to order an MRI, tell me to keep my leg elevated and not move off the couch for 3 weeks. Surgery was surely the inevitable option lurking around the corner. But to my surprise he didn't even focus on my knee for the first 20 minutes. Instead, he poked, prodded, bent and tweaked my feet. Come to find out I have neurological damage from all my sports injuries that have damaged the signals from my brain to my muscles, making them less efficient. This has caused such tightness in my muscles that injuries are inevitable.

He soon whipped out his special infrared light and my new favorite tool, the gun that shoots vibrations into my ligaments, recharging those fragmented brain signals. He stuck that gun into my hip and waves of vibrating sensation began to pulsate throughout my body. And then miraculously, I was able to control a muscle movement that previously was unresponsive.

The only difficulty was that this precious vibration gun sent me writhing around the examination table in fits of giggles. I was so ticklish that I could barely stifle my gregarious laughter that erupted each time he shoved his tool into my unsuspecting thighs.

He then decided to jam his thumbs into my overly tightened muscles in an attempt to loosen the grizzle of intertwined ligaments that formed from years of lack of stretching. Maintaining control was no longer an option and I am sure those in the waiting room began to experience a heightened anxiety level as the boisterous sounds thundered from the examining room. Oh, there was pain. So much pain.

And then it was over and I stood up. And the pain in my knee was almost nonexistent. I had more muscle control and I felt stronger. A couple days later and another session and the pain in my knee has almost completely diminished. I didn't need surgery or pills or ice. He adjusted my feet and legs and everything started to work properly again.

I am going to try to run again this weekend and see if the vibration cure sticks. If it does, I can only imagine the pleasurable relief that Dr. Chad and his vibrating tool with have on my lower back.

Goodbyes tend to teach us more than we thought

2009-03-20T10:47:00.000-07:00

People come in and out of our lives for different reasons. Circumstances change. Loved ones are taken from us. Friends move on. But there is a lesson in each encounter, no matter the length of their stay in our lives. Finding our own path and having the strength to map our own course is an ongoing challenge within each of us. We rely on others when we wish we didn't and even as we crave the independence from our chained relationships, we smother our own individuality by embracing the sometimes neglectful gestures of others just so we can satisfy our own need for connection.

I remember back in college we struggled with the uncertainties of our future and tried like hell to understand our own character flaws. We shared a common hurt as we walked the halls in wonderment as we were confronted with the raw realism of who our neighbors really were. Our idealism was dying in the face of disappointment that was revealed by our friends and loved ones not living up to the standards we had secretly set for them.

This is one of my favorite poems. It helped ease the quandary of self doubt in college.

I find it even more applicable at this point in my life.

After awhile you learn the subtle difference
Between holding a hand and chaining a soul

And you learn that love doesn’t mean leaning
And company doesn’t mean security

And you begin to learn that kisses aren’t contracts
And presents aren’t promises

And you begin to accept your defeats with your head up and eyes open
With the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child.

And you learn to build all of your roads on today
Because tomorrow’s ground is too uncertain for plans
And futures have a way of falling down in mid flight

After awhile you learn that even sunshine burns if you get too much
So plant your own garden and decorate your own soul
Instead of waiting for someone to bring you flowers

And you learn that you really can endure
That you really are strong
And you really do have worth

And you learn and learn
With every goodbye, you learn

What does being Jewish look like?

2009-03-09T16:58:00.001-07:00

I can totally relate to this. I have always gotten the - "You don't look Jewish" comment from people. I'm thinking I used to take that as a compliment. Now it makes me wonder why that was ok with me.

Please pass the Motrin

2009-03-05T17:19:00.000-08:00

There is no amount of anti-inflammatory meds, painkillers or Epsom salts available on this planet that could relieve the full body soreness that I am experiencing today. The aches are not the familiar Krav Maga induced in-your-face pain. These are more of an overall constant awareness of throbbing tenderness that permeates throughout my every limb. There is a new depth to my physical discomfort that I never thought possible.

Last night my martial arts world was expanded as I was introduced to the art of Brazilian Jiu Jitsu. It was incredibly fun and really different than anything I have trained thus far. I had no idea what to expect, but figured there might be a little agony involved. But as all these new super cute men in skintight spandex piled into our Krav gym, my eagerness to learn increased ten-fold.

There is a definite grace involved in this sport and it was fun to move away from the urgency to inflict violent attacks and embrace the dance of submission holds. We started off with some basic tumbling drills to get us comfortable with the different movements. While I embraced the shrimping technique, I shied away from the forward and backward rolls. I can somersault about as well as I can ride a bike, and that’s not saying much since I have yet to master turning while pedaling.

We slithered around on the floor and experimented with different chokeholds and escape moves. As I wrapped my gams around my partners’ waist using the leverage to pull him back towards me and squeeze the breath out of him, I recognized the huge advantage to having long legs. So did he - much to his reluctant surprise.

My favorite sound of the evening was that of the ever-important “tap-out”. This is when you tap your partner in total submission to beg them to release you from their grip. You give up, you give in, and there is simply nothing more you can do in the fight. My partner was gracious enough to build my ego by allowing me to put him in countless chokeholds forcing him to tap-out over and over again. He only choked me once. He only had to do it once for me to know that I never needed to engage in that experience again. It was an instantaneous grip of fear that coursed through me as I felt my air supply quickly cutoff and my eyes began to water. As the desperation soared within me to get free, I think I may have served him with a right hook punch in lieu of the softer pat of the tap-out. Krav Maga muscle memory is a serious instinct to be reckoned with.

Next came the grappling session. I chose to cheer on my fellow classmates instead of partaking in it myself. I certainly didn’t want to take away from their experience by monopolizing the expert’s time and attention needed to teach me what to do. How’s that for a lofty excuse? So I watched and cheered and grimaced a little as arms bent backwards and necks rolled in unfamiliar ways.

My favorite moment was watching one of our badass Krav instructors being forced to tap-out by this amazing little 13-year-old kid. We actually cheered when he tapped out. I’m sure that wasn’t the most supportive thing to do, but it sure was a treat to glimpse the invincible Super Shawn having a rare moment of vulnerability.

I have entered my own private hell

2009-03-01T15:19:00.000-08:00

I knew my fixation on cleanliness would one day bite me in that ass and it seems that that day has finally arrived. For days upon days I have been distracted by the dull hum of my refrigerator. With each passing hour my mind has been increasingly fixated on it and my brain has built up the common whine of the motor to be that of a thundering roar.

I lay awake at night imagining the magnitude of dust balls that have surely formed underneath my fridge, begging to be suctioned out, thus freeing the motor from the burden of filth and once again becoming an efficiency of energy.

So today, on this gorgeous Sunday morning, with the sky bright blue and the sun shining an amazing 85 degrees, am I out at the beach? Am I hiking up the mountain as I had previously planned to do? Am I splashing around in the pool with my floppy hat and oversized shades? No! I am sprawled on the hard unforgiving tile floor in my kitchen, flashlight in hand and covered in grime exploring the far reaching depths of my OCD, I mean the cause of my overworked refrigerator motor.

I was meticulous in my planning, so I thought. I broke out the vacuum and after 20 stressful minutes of fussing with attachments and hoses, I figured out where the release button was and was able to insert the proper pieces. Did I mention that due to my inability to actually sleep for a normal and acceptable amount of time, I began battling this conundrum at 6am?

Popping off the front grill was the easy part. Pushing out the fridge revealed a thick layer of muck that will cause me reason for shame for years to come. After unsatisfactorily completing that initial clean-up because I could barely reach behind the actual unit, I began to tackle the crud in the front. The layer of dirt was so thick that the dust clusters were actually free falling off the frame in clumps. As I sneezed and coughed for the zillionth time, I asked myself again where the obligation to clean the underside of my appliances has come from. With no sane response percolating to the surface of my consciousness, I soldiered on.

After and hour of thrusting the vacuum hose into the grill plates and coming up empty, I sought an alternate solution. The slots were too small for the suction to have any effect so I grabbed a straw and started prodding the excessive dirt clusters, begging them to come free. An hour of this and I was going mad. I rushed out to the story to buy compressed air. Armed with $30 of high pressured dust be gone, I was confident I was close to reaching victory.

About another hour later I finally admitted defeat. But the exercise was not a total loss after all. Since I was already on the floor, I searched hard for a way to alleviate my need to over clean and sterilize my environment. While on my hands and knees, I cheerfully hand cleaned each and every ceramic tile with meticulous precision. And then I crawled down the hallway to the bathroom. And then to the other bathroom. With each piece of dirt I wiped away I could feel the satisfaction building in my heart. My brain was once again filling up with the much sought after, yet overrated serotonin.

And then it was necessary to vacuum everything, change all the linens and wash every article of clothing I’ve ever owned. And while I was already at it, why not clean out the laundry closet of all the old paint cans? I was a cleaning machine that couldn’t be stopped. Quietly I yearned to go outside and breathe in the delights of the day. But the momentum was building and I didn’t know how to let go of the mop.

I’m wondering if this is a fundamental sickness I have or just a way to disassociate with any real issues at hand.

You know, some people reach for a cigarette or even a pint of Haagen-Daz. No, not me. I yearn to fill up my emptiness with ammonia and dust rags.

He had me on my knees for so long last night that I could barely run today

2009-02-18T21:32:00.000-08:00

Balancing Krav training (which I love) and marathon training (which I am obligated to do) is proving to be quite challenging. I am doing double duty on my workouts and it seems that both areas are suffering. So I took a break from running and decided to take two Krav classes in one night. The problem is that after the first class, I could barely move.

My conditioning class turned into a hellacious boot camp for my upper body. The instructor must have revved up on an energy drink before class because his expectations of what we could accomplish were almost super human. He started off with some crazy punching combinations on the heavy bag. Not too bad.

But then the magnitude of his wrath was soon unveiled to us. It wasn’t just the 15 alternating sets of tricep and bicep curls with heavy medicine balls. Nor was it the ungodly amount of push-ups he sprinkled in the middle of it all. It was the fact that we never got up from our knees for 40 minutes. Just when I thought a reprieve was coming, he had us mount a punching bag, pound on it, which we lovingly refer to as “ground and pound” for what seemed like forever and then roll from side to side with it as if it were our opponent attacking us. Did I mention we did all this from our knees? Then back to the curls. Then more push-ups. My arms were on fire and my shoulders became numb.

The other 20 minutes of class he spent torturing us with an ab workout that would make most people cry. In fact, I think moisture did spring to my eye sockets as he forced us to lift the medicine balls with our shaky and exhausted arms to maximize the brutality of our abdominal exercises.

He finally ended our suffering and as I walked out in a foggy haze of lactic acid build-up, he shouted out, “See you back here in an hour for the next class.” To my amazement, I actually returned for the next class, although I can’t recall any of the drills we did.

The next day I had to get back to my scheduled training runs. Each time my foot pounded the asphalt, my knees cried out in protest and I could feel the surge of pain rise up to the base of my spine. The throbbing in my battered knees reminded me that I am just not as invincible as I thought I was. I ran like I was imitating the girl from Seinfeld that didn’t swing her arms when she walked. Or maybe I was just partially and temporarily paralyzed. I had to immobilize my upper body because my arms were like two rotted redwood stumps with termites eating their way through their last supper. I felt as if someone had permanently planted their knees into my chest and grabbed hold of my shoulders with their meaty, weathered oversized hands. My entire body pulsated with the sting of his torment.

I created a very special mantra that day for my very special Krav instructor. The hatred that spewed from my lips helped motivate me to keep thundering on through the agony. I am sure in some nauseating way he expects me to thank him for being the source of that motivation. I really don’t feel ready for the type of confrontation that will surely ensue from that exchange. Maybe when the pain starts to dull and I have regained full use of all my limbs once again.

Blisters and vodka make for a crazy day of running

2009-02-16T11:30:00.001-08:00

I am not quite ready to call myself a runner - not just yet. However, I did run for 6 miles on Saturday and I did not pass out, quit or jump into a cab at the turnaround point. Believe me, the urges for all three were percolating at the surface, but I resisted. I love that we can make our bodies do things that we have spent a lifetime telling them is impossible.

I laced up my brand new custom fitted running shoes and was filled with enthusiasm. Things were going great...until mile 4.5. That's when the hot spots sprung into action and blisters bubbled to the surface of my unassuming feet. Now you would think I would have been prepared since I have been involved with the Breast Cancer 3 Day walk for 5 years. Walking 60 miles in three days, you surely know to travel with a blister's nemesis, moleskin. Aah, but apparently I was still in the "I'm invincible" stage of the marathon training! No moleskin, no creams or gels. No nothing. I sucked it up and I hobbled my way back through the last mile at a strange walk/run/skipping pace.

I pushed through and that is what matters most to me. I am glad I didn't allow blisters to be an obstacle in my quest to fulfill a life goal. However, vodka seems to be a bit of a stronger foe and not as easily conquered as those pesky blisters.

The next day, I was scheduled to run a mere 30-40 minutes. Super easy, right? I had just run 6 miles the day before and battled blisters, asphalt and mud puddles. I was running with a friend so I figured this would be a super smooth training day. Until I woke up Sunday morning - with a throbbing in the back of my head that screamed, "You ain't 25 anymore, girl. You should have paced yourself." Ugh.

I crawled out of bed and made it to the couch, thinking I could escape the day if only I could bury my head in soft pillows and keep the room dark. And then the phone rang and my overly perky friend on the other end was rattling off meeting points for our run. I forced myself off the couch, threw on clothes I found laying on the floor, slapped moleskin on my burning blisters and headed out for what I figured would be an uneventful short run.

Well we did run - for about 7 minutes and my blisters shrieked in protest the whole way. But more interesting was my inability to actually inflate my lungs with the proper amount of oxygen. I just felt like I was hyperventilating the whole time. The more my head pounded, the harder it was for me to fall into a steady breathing rhythm. So we gave in to the limitations of my alcohol enriched bloodstream and walked for 45 minutes. The silver lining of that vodka laced cloud was that it was easier to talk and swap stories. And there were some juicy stories being passed around on that unassuming Sunday morning!

But alas, lesson learned. Must limit my boozing it up urges to where I get a 24-hour recovery period. But with this crazy training schedule, that really only leaves something like Thursdays between 2-4pm!

Colored condoms and tropical lube

2009-02-11T14:13:00.000-08:00

I do my best to be reproductively responsible. I am just not cut out to be a parent. Don't get me wrong - I can still ooh and ahh over adorable little tykes as much as the next person. I would just rather be able to put them back on the shelf when I am all done playing with them and preferably before the flood of bodily fluids commences. When the snot starts to drip, the vomit threatens to unleash itself or if I catch a whiff of ungodly bowel odor emitting from said child - I realize it is time to return the kid to its proper owner. I am totally comfortable with admitting my limits on child interaction.

Which is exactly why I found myself sitting amongst the proud and free at my local Planned Parenthood offices this morning - or more fittingly the proud to take of the free. One of the many downsides to losing a job is the loss of medical insurance. Thankfully, I am pretty healthy and not in need of much medical attention - insert your own psyche joke here - (I aim to please, what can I say). But in order to fulfill the prescription to remain reproductively responsible, women are required to have these pesky annual exams that none of us enjoy but endure simply out of sheer obligation to be the dependable one.

Getting an appointment at Planned Parenthood is easy and the red tape is minimal even without insurance. They receive federal funding and work off of donations, so I figured it would be an easy way to get what I needed without costing a fortune and causing unnecessary stress. I found my way to the clinic and knew there was going to be some kind of experience awaiting me.

So there I was feeling quite the minority as I sat in the overcrowded waiting room listening to Maury Povich blaring from the television set. Suddenly I found myself seated snuggly between Latisha, who was busy filing her super long orange and pink acrylic nails and Taniqua, who was howling into her cell phone about her baby daddy. I quickly flipped open my “How to Make Money as a Freelance Writer” book and tried like hell to conceal the giggles that were beginning to bubble up from my cynical and surprisingly judgmental gut.

As the gum smacking got louder and louder and the running commentary regarding the latest mall trends supplied by Yolanda and her posse continued to increase I prayed with all my might that I would be the next one called in. It took all my strength not to utter a word. Perhaps the fear of getting my ass kicked forced my mouth to stay shut.

Soon it was my turn and this chick with an attitude takes me through the drill. To say she had an edge would be a vast understatement. To call her incompetent would be kind. She measures me at 5’10. I’m barefoot and I am not now nor have I ever been 5’10. But sure enough, she marks that on my chart. She then takes my blood pressure and asks me if I have a history of it being high.

“No. I have always had pretty low blood pressure.”

“Well not anymore,” she tells me.

“Um, well maybe you want to take it again without putting the sleeve over my sweatshirt so you can get an accurate reading,” I tell her.

“No thanks.”

Seriously, what kind of medical care am I in store for? I am banished back to the waiting room without explanation. A few minutes go by and this cheerful lady in a white coat calls me in. She is a nurse. Thank god. She tells me dark edgy girl needs a little work on her social skills. But she wants to make it up to me. I am able to put off my annual exam for a few months for some reason. Maybe nurse lady feels I have already endured enough for one day and she is trying to spare me.

She gives me enough to hold me over for a few months and then she starts to giggle and gets this little gleam in her eye. She asks me if I want to pretend I am on a tropical vacation. Uh, ok, whatever – just get me out of this circus tent. She steps out for a few minutes and when she returns she has an adult party favor bag-o-fun with her. Inside she has given me loads of colorful condoms and tropical flavored lube. Now there are all kinds of assumptions going on in her head. Some people take the pill just to stay regulated and cramp-free. But no, she was not listening to any of that. Nurse lady was thrilled beyond belief with her bag of treats for me. She was acting a little too excited about it, which made me a bit uncomfortable. Seriously, do I seem like the hooker from Pretty Woman that is in need of a plethora of candy colored condoms for my frequent client program?

All this bizarreness for some lousy birth control pills? And we still wonder why there are so many unplanned pregnancies out there. Having a baby seems like a walk in the park compared to dealing with these bunch of crazies. I salute my child-bearing friends. You may just have something there. Wait, no. What you have is a baby – so that just won’t do.

As I leave, I drop off my donation at the front desk, and give the ladies a pained quizzical look as they tell me they look forward to seeing me again in a few months for my real exam.

I wonder if they have a mail order pharmacy I can start getting my refills through.

Slow and steady wins the race

2009-02-08T22:17:00.001-08:00

I woke up with a new outlook on this whole training for a marathon thing. Today's training schedule called for just a 3o minute run. I went longer than that on the treadmill yesterday, so I knew this would be a cake walk. Ipod in hand I set out for Lake Murray and an easy day of light running.

Wow - I could not have been more mistaken.

OK - running on the treadmill is WAY different than running on pavement. Running on pavement SUCKS! Within five minutes I was aching, bored and exhausted. So now I realize I am totally at square one with this whole training thing. I ended up "running" for about an hour, but only because I am pretty sure I was walking most of the time. And then the rest of the day was totally shot. Seriously - full body exhaustion was not really on the agenda for the day!

I don't know which is further behind in the training schedule - my mind or my body. They are both pretty much sitting up in the cheap seats right now! I am just going to enjoy the process and revel in all that I will be learning about myself along this journey! And tomorrow is a new day and I get to run 3-4 miles! I guess I should get it done in the morning so I am all rested for the 2 hours of Krav Maga classes I'm taking at night. My excitement is bubbly over!

How about a little Gouda with that whine?

2009-02-07T18:38:00.000-08:00

I have signed up with Team In Training which raises money for The Leukemia & Lymphoma Society and will be running in the San Diego Rock n' Roll Marathon in May. Running a marathon is one of those things that I have always wanted to cross off my list of life's greatest accomplishments.

Over the last two years, I have lost two incredibly important women in my life to blood diseases. My beloved Auntie Judy was never without a smile and continued to rally until the end. My dearest friends' mother, Olga, embodied a quiet strength and determination that never wavered. It is because of the courage and beauty of these two women that I have chosen to run in this marathon.

But in the excitement of pursuing a rather courageous and admirable goal, I forgot that I am so not a runner. There is not a single moment in my life that I can reference that would lead me to believe that I was in fact built for long distance running. I have a bum knee, weak ankles and a really short attention span. This is not the resume of a runner.

Still, I made a commitment to myself and to a very good friend of mine - so I am all in. Today was to have been my first group training session. 5 miles. I went to bed Friday night thinking up every excuse in the book. For someone who has never gone running, 5 miles can be incredibly intimidating. I was letting my mind get the best of me. To my gleeful delight, I awoke early the next morning to sheets of cold rain thundering down from the sky. I can't run in the rain! I might slip and injure myself further. I could catch a horrible cold that would delay my training indefinitely.

Rationalizing the excuses in my head, I went to Krav Conditioning class instead. Since I had announced I would be missing class to do my training run, I wasn't greeted very warmly. I could see the disappointment ooze from my instructor and then a devilish glint appeared in his eyes as he informed me that he would take it upon himself to see that my training day was not wasted. The class was intense and brutal. We ran, we sprinted and we did army crawls - all in the first 20 minutes. There was boxing, squats, lunges, ab work and crappy stuff with a medicine ball. I was close to tears.

When I got finished with the class, I could barely stand. My shirt was so drenched in sweat that I had to change into a dry one before leaving because I was afraid I would ruin the seats in my car. But he made his point as he took me close to my breaking point, but didn't actually push me over the edge. He reminded me how mentally tough I could be. I have learned to tap into this mental strength in Krav Maga. Now I need to learn how to dig deep and apply it to running.

I swallowed my pride and called my training buddy. I gave her all my excuses and then some at nauseum. I was actually starting to irritate myself. I mean really - enough! She chewed me out and put me in my place - giving me a much needed dose of tough love. I vowed to get in the mental game. I hopped onto my treadmill and ran a couple miles out of pure guilt - an excruciating task after just taking that body crushing class. But I think that was all part of my lesson in pushing through the pain and challenging my body to go far beyond what I am allowing my mind to limit it to do.

Interestingly enough, I keep hearing about this runner's high that people experience. They get in the "zone" and the euphoria engulfs them. I have yet to experience this special high. If I don't feel it soon, I may just have to start manufacturing my own transcendence into that happy place!

I got published!!

2009-02-02T14:50:00.000-08:00

I wrote a short blog for Revgear Sports. They are the official manufacturer and distributor for Krav Maga Worldwide clothing and gear. I submitted an article about the Mike Brown seminar I recently blogged about. I figured it would be a ghost writing submission, but to my joyous surprise, they gave me writing credit!

Now about those photos. I swear I did send in a wide variety of photos from the event for them to choose from. I guess they just chose the cutest ones which just happened to be of me!

What an awesome feeling it is to see your words in print from a third party source.

Click on the link below and check it out!
Kimber gets published!

Will work for fake tooth

2009-01-30T12:51:00.000-08:00

Thanks to a childhood void of sugar gum, sugar cereals and sugar sodas, I have really good teeth. Two rounds of braces left me with a solid foundation for a fairly straight smile. Aside from just two cavities in my teenage years, I have been lucky enough to not have any real dental issues.

So you can imagine the trauma I endured as I was sitting on my couch chewing a piece of gum and suddenly the bubble I was forming included a sharp foreign object. After closer examination of the intrusion into my new favorite mind escaping activity of blowing bubbles, I discovered that my tooth had cracked and the entire front portion of the enamel was resting in the middle of my palm, covered in fruity bubble gum. Running to the mirror only brought new images of horror that have been imprinted to my psyche. Upon grinning, I was greeted with a black hole of mercury where once my tooth was happily nestled amongst its brothers and sisters.

Ah, so the cavity that was filled by the incredibly competent Dr. Lenny had endured the test of time. After the retired Dr. Lenny confirmed that the warranty on that filling had in fact run out after twenty years, he explained how the massive filling had taken its toll on my tooth over the years. Because it was so large, thanks in part to my original orthodontist for leaving particles of cement in my tooth when he took off my braces, the filling almost completely encased the tooth. Therefore, it seemed to have bullied its way to the surface until it just forced the remaining thin layer of tooth to just crack off. The outcome was inevitable.

With the enamel seal broken, I could feel the mercury seeping into my blood stream. At first, I wondered how long I had. But then I was reassured though that this mercury was safe and at this point I was in no real jeopardy of being poisoned needlessly.

With the fear of an early demise thwarted, new terror entered my brain. Would I be able to spar again? How could I take a hit to the head if my teeth were ready to fall out? Would I now be known to my niece as the crazy toothless auntie? I knew what I was going to have to do.

I reluctantly headed to the dentist and awaited the loathsome news. The tooth couldn’t be saved (Duh! Although I did bring him the piece that cracked off in some fleeting hope that he could just glue it back on. My bad.) The verdict came back – I need a crown! And this is not a simple process. It takes three appointments, impressions, molds, filing, gluing, shaping, and sanding. I am guessing there will be some definite pain involved. Not to mention the pain I will feel as the funds are forced to leave my wallet. A grand for a fake tooth? Yikes! I am sensing a new career path.

All I could think of as I was standing before the receptionist as she tried to get me to commit to the next steps in the process was, a crown, really?! Me? Does that mean I have failed miserably at my dental hygiene efforts?

With a sense of mounting disappointment in myself, I booked my appointments and shuffled out of the office.

Featherweight Champion Mike Brown liked me best!

2009-01-28T14:09:00.001-08:00

World Featherweight Champion Mike Brown conducted an exclusive 3-hour training seminar at my Krav Maga gym over the weekend. For my not-in-the-know readers, he is huge in the world of mixed martial arts (MMA).

He taught students about grappling, take downs, choke holds and many other crazy fighting techniques. It was really fun to watch. I did not participate. I didn't even move around enough to generate a film of sweat on my brow. There was no real reason for me to be there other than the fact that I hate to miss out on something.

I anointed myself the creative director and worked with the photographer at capturing the manly mystique of the event. Besides, who else was going to boss everyone around and get them to take awesome pictures for their scrapbooks? It is all about preserving the memories, I say.

It might be painful for them while in the process, but they are always thankful in the end when they get to show off those snapshots and claim bragging rights.

When he handed me the shirt he had just autographed for me, I do believe I detected a slight mist forming in his eyes.

Although I didn't actually take part in the physicality of the drills - I guess I somehow made my presence known. I just don't seem to be able to be that girl that can sit in the corner in quiet observation. Within me there is this compelling force that pushes my thoughts out of my mouth commanding attention be given to them. I need to figure out how to install a filtration system. I moved from one grappling pair of sweaty men to the next leaving my share of smack talking commentary along the way. If only I knew how to blend in better.

Afterward, Mike signed some autographs and took a few pictures. While some of the students didn't completely appreciate my notes on their posing abilities, Mike seemed to welcome my honest and forthright approach at getting the best shot possible. Mike delighted in my humorous anecdotes and relished in my quirky and controlling ways.

I guess you could say that our connection was....magical.

Either that or he was just waiting for the window of opportunity to open up where he could slam my ass onto the mat, put me in an anaconda choke and make me shut up once and for all.

With a final wave, hope is restored

2009-01-22T10:36:00.000-08:00

Don't let mistakes be so monumental
Don't let your love be so confidential
Don’t let your mind be so darn judgmental
And please let your heart be more influential

Bring on Obama!

2009-01-19T23:00:00.000-08:00

Freedom is the opportunity to live my life as I wish to live it. The urge for freedom is so much a part of human nature that laws, slogans or commandments can never suppress it. There is a difference, however, between the urge and the reality. For most people, freedom remains a pleasant fantasy – something to dream of while carrying out daily obligations in the real world. We spend our lives talking vaguely of what we want in life, what we think we are missing, why we don’t have it and who exactly it is that prevents us from being free.

We spend so much of our lives complaining about how to unravel the mysteries of the universe, living in apprehension over the meaning and purpose of such things as wars, poverty, loneliness, misery and confusion. But our fear is so real that nothing is ever done and our lives are continuously filled with anxiety. Some try to gain the upper hand over life through religion, astrology, cults, or drugs. Why? All we need to do is open our eyes and see what is in front of us – a beautiful world with every opportunity for freedom and happiness.

We are just hours away from a new beginning for our country. We have spent the last eight years in turmoil, locked away in our own despair. As our government changes hands, we can take a collective sigh of relief as we realize that we once again have the opportunity to seize every ounce of freedom this amazing country has to offer. It is time we reclaim our purple mountains and spacious skies. Together we must take action to allow the people of our nation to flourish and thrive - not by living in the past - but by remembering the soul sucking failure of the last eight years so we may never succumb to such misery and defeat again.

I feel that our sense of hope is being restored. There is a prevailing sense of inspiration that is surging through our land. This overwhelming energy is about strength, belief, love, unity and repair. The cynicism is fading and the skepticism is being replaced with anticipation of the incredible journey we are all about to embark on together. The unification of the people of America is the first step in rebuilding a country that has become lost and disenfranchised under past leadership.

Our voices have been heard and our work has just begun. As a people, we must heal together and we must create together. We can recapture the essence of the promise of America. By refusing to live in fear, we can assist our fellow citizens in transforming our nation. We cannot rely on government alone to create change. Each of us has an obligation to explore our freedoms, generate our opportunities and help our neighbors.

A birthday celebration minus the actual birthday

2009-01-18T07:23:00.000-08:00

Long ago I revealed to my family my discomfort of public displays of birthday celebrations. I outgrew the joys of having 5 bubbly strangers all dressed alike sing to me as they presented me with a flaming candle nestled in a melting scoop of ice cream. I endured this behavior well into my teen years, as it seemed to bring a great joy to my parents. However, when Farrells shut its doors, so did I close that chapter of my life where I allowed random waiters to force unwanted attention on me in an eating establishment. It was a painful lesson for them.

But after numerous attempts to rekindle this childlike practice, I had mastered the art of escape and successfully thwarted all attempts at singing to me in public. I moved through my life with the confidence that I would never again be subjected to this type of embarrassment.

Fast-forward 10 years where I am having a pleasant meal with some Krav Maga buddies after a hard night of working out. We find ourselves at the ultra classy middle class magnet of TGI Fridays. As we are sitting there my thought patterns are constantly being interrupted by eruptions of birthday celebrations. I declare my disdain by wondering aloud who would come to this restaurant to celebrate their birthday? How tacky. It is just a constant flurry of irritating, unwanted sound that disrupts my own conversations. I have a strong aversion towards other peoples' behaviors that infringe on my ability to enjoy myself in a public setting.

As I complained about it for the fourth or fifth time to my table, I realized that perhaps I was the only one bothered by this. If I had paid closer attention to their reactions instead of sitting firmly in my only objectionable state of disapproval, I may have picked up on the scheme that was beginning to take shape.

All of a sudden a sea of red shirts swarmed our table. The leader of the pack was carrying the signature ice cream candle. Digging deep into my muscle memory, I turned and with one swift motion I was out of my chair heading toward the front door, my ultimate escape only steps away. However, I underestimated this new crop of young servers. Our waitress actually squared off with me and boldly blocked me from passing. Shocking! I wanted to smack that sugary smile right off her face but somehow was able to muster a little self-control. I turned and just as I was passing the blur of aprons, my friend (and I now use that term loosely) grabbed my arm, smiled, told me I needed to be a good sport and shamed me back to my chair.

They sang. I winced. The humiliation washed over me with a forceful surge. I became painfully self-conscious, as I was sure everyone in the restaurant was now staring at me and wondering why someone like me would be seeking such childish attention on my birthday. I had worked so hard at diligently educating my family on how uncomfortable this strange practice made me. It took me years to get them trained not to do it and in one sweat filled evening, it was shattered.

Contrary to popular belief, those that love to be the center of attention do in fact have their own limitations on what it is that brings them embarrassment. Singing to me in a restaurant happens to be my own threshold of mortification.

And seriously, it wasn’t even my birthday. So I had no warning, no chance to shield myself from this blatant act of reckless endangerment to my ego. I was totally blindsided. I will never feel secure in revealing pieces of my soul to these people again. It is quite apparent that their overwhelming supply of male dominance and testosterone propelled them to capitalize on my insecurities for a good laugh.

I may not ever be able to comfortably and confidently break bread with these people again, but rest assured I will find their weakness and I will take them down.

Paybacks are my specialty!

Changing the world shouldn't involve puke

2009-01-13T12:19:00.001-08:00

I can't say that my recent experience at the homeless shelter over the holidays was as moving or as poignant as when I was in high school. Perhaps with age has come some degree of cynicism sprinkled with a jaded attitude. But seriously, how many drunk, smelly, farting, puking, soiled men that try to hang all over you am I supposed to succumb to? We all have our limits. This holiday season, I seemed to have found mine.

It all started on a happy Christmas day. I was cheerfully serving up some holiday ham when all of a sudden my sound space was invaded with the bone chilling high octave singing of Christmas carols. I was seconds away from calling the Humane Society to come and rescue the dying cat that was screeching in pain across the crackling PA system – until it was sadly confirmed that the abrupt inundation of noise was that of a local chaplain belting our her own version of holiday spirit. I endured that racket for four long agonizing hours.

The day after Christmas brought on a whole new crop of homeless folk in full holiday cheer. I was at the front of the house this day, greeting the patrons and escorting them to a seat. This one gentleman was in a particularly belligerent mood. He spent most of the time in a not so sober rage that included screaming, pie throwing, spitting and tumbling out of his wheelchair. Although it was truly a Christmas miracle when he popped right up from the floor and with fists pumping walked directly toward the security guard. They of course quickly redirected him and he finally stumbled back into his chair and off he went.

I received a few marriage proposals, a couple lovely flattering remarks about my eyes and one or two heart warming accolades regarding my attributes of being a woman that are sure to provide me with loads of self-confidence on those days when my self-esteem dips.

But nothing could compare to the one-armed one-legged filthy puking masterpiece I encountered on my third day of volunteering during this fine holiday season. I wheeled him up to the table and laid down his meal. He turned to me unleashing his whiskey soaked breath and asked me to cut his meat for him. I handed him some plastic utensils and wished him the best of luck. Time passed and I moved on to other areas.

Suddenly I heard a lot of yelling and some crazed woman was shouting, “He’s choking, he’s choking. Do something.” She was pointing at me. Now, I am actually trained in first aid and CPR. I even successfully performed the Heimlich maneuver on a guest while working at Sea World years ago. But this time I felt the hesitation rise from my inner core. I stood frozen 10 feet away from a choking human being, unable to will my feet to propel me forward to offer assistance. Thoughts of disease and germs flashed through my mind’s eye at lightening speed. I tried to quickly recall the time of my last tetanus shot. I was calculating the risks involved in my reaction to this crisis – not something I have ever really done. I just couldn’t see past the barrier of bacteria that he represented.

Finally another volunteer wearing a sweatshirt with Berkley emblazoned on the front and who clearly still clung to his youthful idealistic beliefs rushed over. As he worked diligently to dislodge the offending morsel, I awakened from my state of inertia only to realize in utter horror that I was holding the prime spectator viewing point. Out came the masticated piece of meat along with an unending web of mucus-laden globs that ended up saturating the arm of Berkley Boy. Picture ingesting an entire bottle of rubber cement and then slowly pulling it out from your mouth. The tangle of slimy, ropy membranes exiting this man’s oral cavity was more than I could handle. I turned to another volunteer and pulled rank. This was now her table to deal with.

I walked away and felt no shame.

Serving up more than just PB & J

2009-01-04T22:27:00.000-08:00

I spend a lot of my time volunteering down at a homeless shelter – even more so during the holiday season. I have been feeding the homeless on and off since high school. Things were so different back then. People were so different back then. A friend of mine recently asked me why I choose to volunteer there and not somewhere else more rehabilitative implying that working at a homeless shelter enables people to continue in their victim mentality instead of helping them contribute to society.

His question made me think and it brought back a lot of memories of how my early experience shaped my life. I remember making hundreds of peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, handing out toothbrushes and watching people stand in line to take a shower. Often times their only one for the week. The experience as a teenager humbled me and showed me a world where people were not equal and life was unfair.

However, there was a tremendous spirit of community and resilience back then. I chose to interact with the folks that came through the food lines. I didn’t want to be among the faceless masses that simply dropped some food on their trays as I quickly moved to the next in line. I needed to engage. I desperately wanted to know their stories and how it is that their path in life put them on one side of the food line while mine put me on the other. So I spent countess hours talking and laughing with them. Some of them poured out their souls to my waiting hands. Others kept their distance and I respected that.

And then one day I met a young man that would forever influence my life. I don’t know his name and I can’t remember his face. But he held the framework for the lessons of my adolescence. I brought him out an extra sandwich and he asked me to sit down and talk. I am pretty sure I wasn’t allowed to, but I sat down anyways. I just felt like there was something I was supposed to learn from him and we ended up talking for a long while.

He briefly told me his story. He had lost his job and found life on the street a little more tolerable than the corporate jungle he had once fought to stay afloat in. He had nothing left but the possessions on his back. He wasn’t bitter. He accepted his temporary fate with a dignity that surprised us both. He wasn’t crazy and he didn’t take drugs. He had people he could turn to he just chose not to. It was as if he needed to experience a total material loss of what he thought meant everything to him in order to rebuild the intangible things that mattered most.

“How are you smiling when you have nothing?” I remember asking him.

“Because I have so much more than I ever thought possible. I was just using the wrong measuring stick," he told me.

And then he pulled out one of his only possessions from his rain soaked grungy backpack. He presented me with a tattered worn book as if it was a bouquet of delicate flowers.

“Years ago someone gave this book to me because they knew I was searching. I see that same struggle in you and I want you to have this,” he said.

“I can’t take this from you. You have so little,” I told him.

“Then borrow it. Read it and bring it back to me next week. I promise it will change your life.” With that, he got up, grinned and waved goodbye.

I looked down at the frayed copy of How I Found Freedom in an Unfree World by Harry Browne and silently vowed to return his gift to him the next week.

I returned to the shelter every week for over a year. I never saw that man again. But I still have the book and it served as the basis for a speech I wrote and used successfully in speech and debate competitions all throughout high school. Later on, my paper was used as a tool for some patients involved in cognitive therapy, which is designed to help people re-structure their negative thoughts into positive thinking.

The shelter isn’t the same nowadays and I am not sure that my friend is far off in his belief that perhaps we enable people to stay on assistance programs more often than we encourage them to become self-sufficient. But for me, my time at the shelter goes far deeper than serving a hot meal. I am perpetuating a life lesson that I was privileged to receive some twenty years ago.

My little Krav Ninja Niece

2008-12-28T15:45:00.000-08:00

I knew it was just a matter of time before I got someone in my family to share my passion and obsession with Krav Maga. I just never thought it was going to be my 2-year-old niece!

She is quite the curious child and she loves to explore new things. She dove into my gym bag one day and pulled out my pretty pink boxing gloves. She insisted on putting them on.

We went glove to glove for a few rounds and I taught her to say "Pow-Pow" when making contact with the glove. I explained to her that when you say that it helps you knock your opponent out. She hoisted up those gloves and punched and yelled "Pow-Pow" over and over again.

She was a natural, although she obviously needs work on differentiating between her right and left hand. I think we'll get her a tutor for that one. She could barely lift her arms under the weight of the gloves. But she was having a great time attempting to knock me out as she yelled "Pow-Pow" at me.

When she finally did raise her hands to mimic me throwing punches, she got a bit off balance and knocked herself in the head. I laughed. Her parents didn't. Down she went.

I raised my hands and shrieked "TKO, TKO." With all the melodramatic attitude she could muster, she sprawled herself onto the couch, looked at me sullenly and quietly said, "Pow-Pow, Kimmy. Pow-Pow." I've never been prouder!

New techniques bring fresh bruises

2008-12-27T15:11:00.001-08:00

I was trapped in my house for almost a week due to a bad cold. I had to miss my daily workouts and I was quickly feeling the pulls of insanity closing in.

Thankfully, I was soon able to return to Krav classes. I was weak and I wasn't sure how my training would go. Luckily, I have some aggressive training partners that don't seem to take much pity on the feeble and the pathetic. I was pushed right back into the thick of it and without too much hesitation, I began to learn the art of grappling!

Wow - that is a whole new level of pain and enjoyment. Rolling around on the floor, wrestling and fighting to free yourself from your attacker. Now that's what I call a Day-O-Fun!

I am just beginning and I am not very good at it, obviously. But I am taking great pleasure in my new "trophies" and looking forward to the next session of acutely unpleasant physical discomfort that I am sure to experience at the hands of my fellow Krav students.

The pants came off but the shoes stayed on

2008-12-22T10:17:00.000-08:00

How do I always get myself into these strange predicaments? I am like a magnet for the bizarre and unconventional goings-on. The night started out normal enough. I straightened my hair, applied what felt like gobs of makeup since I don’t usually wear much, and went in search of the perfect outfit.

The dilemma: what is the proper attire for an informal party at an ex-porn king’s mansion? After countless attempts at matching the perfect bra (because it really does come down to the cleavage…and the 4-inch boots) with the right top, one final application of lip-gloss and I was on my way.

We got to the party and things started off normal enough. And then we found the wine. Now, my girlfriend has this oddity about her when drinking. Her drinks must be consumed at sub zero temperatures. This means her chardonnay is loaded down with chilly cubes of ice, making it challenging for her to retain a grasp on her extra large glass. I should have learned from the past. But I am ever the optimist.

A bunch of us were draped on the couches, lounging in our discussion of who knows what. I don’t know what triggered the event, but all of a sudden I felt a surge of freezing cold liquid splash onto my upper thigh spilling over onto the couch, thus allowing my backside to fully absorb the overflow. While it was pretty funny, frosty wine and jeans don’t mix that entirely well and I was finding myself with quite a chill in my pants!

My friend grabbed my hand and we set off to find a quick fix. With more than 15 rooms in this manor, we somehow found ourselves in a massive baron-tiled room, feverishly searching the cabinets for some kind of absorption device. We found a measly scrap of cloth that just wasn’t cutting it. I looked at my girlfriend with pleading eyes. What was I going to do? I was visibly drenched and I didn’t want to return to the party looking like I had unleashed a flood in my pants.

And then all of a sudden she turned to me, smiled and said, “Take off your pants!” My confused and somewhat uncomfortable look caused her to point toward the corner of the room. We were in the laundry room. Brilliant.

I stripped off my pants, leaving my sexy boots on (the tile was cold) and we spent the next 20 minutes laughing at ourselves and creating so much noise that the other party goers were sure to wonder what they were missing out on. A few curious knocks on the door went unanswered. But the nature of these parties dictated that anything goes, so we were able to slip back into the party without too many raised eyebrows.

The party got even more interesting from there.

Seeing it in print makes it all so real

2008-12-19T14:52:00.000-08:00

I'm all for grand gestures and touchy feely goodness. A heartfelt attaboy can keep me beaming for weeks and I am satisfied just by the warm glow of success. As with most of us, I appreciate the acknowledgement of my achievements by others and enjoy the fulfillment it brings.

However, there are times and in certain instances where I need just a tad bit more than the pat on the back and a lofty, "Nice job!" to sustain the high. The compliments tend to fade away with time and as the focus shifts, I find myself working harder to conjure up the emotions that drove me to achieve so much in the first place.

There is something about a tangible item, an object I can hold in my hand and display with honor that gives me a powerful sense of pride in my accomplishment. I understand that the drive must come from within. But sometimes I need motivators outside myself - things that remind me of my struggles and my triumphs.

I was beginning to fear that I was becoming complacent in my training. Level 2 training comes with many physical and mental challenges. The expectations are high and the training is intense. I often feel lost and inferior to the other students. I want to master the techniques quicker and I often get lectured by the instructors to relax and ease up on the pressure I put on myself. I was forgetting what brought me here in the first place.

Alas, my anchor came just as I was digging deep to stay attached to my own struggle to persevere. I received my diploma for passing my Level 1 Krav Maga Test and I was instantly transported back to the moment where I made the decision to stay in the fight and not quit. The diploma has become a strong symbol for keeping it all real and reminds me why I want to keep learning. Because in spite of all the difficulty, frustrations and pain, I now know that when I tell myself that I can't - I know that no matter what, I will.

This piece of paper is a constant reminder of the personal battle I waged within myself and it sends shivers of excitement down my spine each time I pass it in the hallway.

I am what I am and that is that!

2008-12-15T13:30:00.000-08:00

This is a writing exercise I stole from a friend’s blog who is a brilliant writer. Thanks Aaryn for the inspiration and the cathartic exercise! Being honest is frightening, but incredibly freeing!

***********

I live in a world where I don’t always feel like I belong and I am unsure of what role I am supposed to be playing.

I work at not falling apart each and every day.

I talk to everyone and am amazed at how easy it is to get other people to open up and tell their stories. It is an easy diversion from having to talk about yourself.

I wish I could decorate a Christmas tree and just once experience a real authentic Christmas – one without Chinese food and a movie. I’d like to know what it feels like to celebrate mainstream holidays and not always feel like an outsider to the masses.

I enjoy puppy breath, thunder storms, and flirting with the shoe salesman at Nordstrom.

I look into my niece’s eyes and feel a surge of hope, determination and endless possibilities.

I smell home cooking the moment I enter my parent’s garage and for a moment, I am transported back to my youth and I feel safe and protected from all that life throws at me.

I hide behind laughter and sarcasm so no one will ever know what I am truly feeling.

I pray alone at night because I’m embarrassed that my religious beliefs are not steadfast and finite.

I walk with determination even when I have no idea where I am going.

I sing along to She Talks To Angels by The Black Crowes over and over again every day on my way to Krav Maga class. Something about that song puts me in the mood to kick some ass.

I can be so much more than I am right now. If only I believed it.

I watch couples yell at each other in public and realize I might not be so bad off being alone.

I yearn to be discovered and earn a living as a writer.

I daydream about having my as of yet unwritten and unpublished book appear on Oprah, thus sparking the transformation of millions of people’s lives on how to dig deep to overcome their own mental barriers.

I want to know what it feels like to have a baby and raise a family. But I’m too selfish to be a mother.

I cry so easily when people are hurting. I ingest their pain as my own and then cry harder wishing I could not hurt so much.

I read so much self-help that I think I have created doubt in who I am, not because I am not whole, but because all these gurus tell me I won’t be whole until I find something to fix in me. So I must have to break down in order to become OK. Now I need a book on being a self-help sucker!

I love being the center of attention. I both relish in it and I loathe the responsibility of always being “on” all at the same time. The expectations are high and I tend to lose myself to who I think others expect me to be.

I wonder if I’ll ever feel content with my life or always wonder if there is something more, something better, something else that I am missing out on.

I touch myself, close my eyes and imagine he is touching me.

I hurt most when I am pretending to be strong and unscathed.

I fear I’ll never allow myself to fall in love again.

I hope I can be everything my niece and nephew need me to be for them.

I break little promises to myself all the time.

I eat marshmallows when I am feeling sad because I love the way they squish in my mouth and make me giggle out loud.

I quit my marriage because we just couldn’t love each other the way we each wanted to be loved. Actually, he couldn’t love me in the way I finally realized I deserved to be loved.

I bathe after my Krav Maga classes…. sometimes. And sometimes I am just too exhausted and it is too late at night for shower stimulation. I just wait for the sweat to dry and sheepishly crawl into bed.

I drink Crystal Light and the artificial sweetener in it gives me a migraine every time! When will I learn my lesson?

I save my money with a crazy ferocity because I think I’ll wake up one day and have nothing. But that prevents me from living for today.

I hug the people down at the homeless shelter not because it makes them feel better, but because it makes it more real for me.

I miss my grandmother and my aunt and all the laughter we used to share together. I am so much of who I am because of those two amazing women. Why couldn’t I have realized that while they were both still alive to tell that to?

I forgive myself for not being a size 8 and love that I am healthy and can run farther and longer than I ever could before.

I’ve learned that family hurts you, makes you crazy, disappoints you, and yet loves you endlessly and relentlessly.

I have an abundance of things to be grateful for and I need to keep reminding myself of them.

I don’t have room in my life for intolerance or pettiness.

I kiss with passion, with fear, with anticipation, with expectation, with desire and with hope.

I wonder if I’ll ever be satisfied with who I am.

Am I the only one that doesn't own a Band-Aid?

2008-12-12T03:45:00.000-08:00

I've realized that the most devastatingly depressing moment to be single and all alone is in those wee hours of the morning when you are battling an unidentified illness. You seriously just wish for someone to take care of you. Grab an extra blanket, boil a cup of tea and bring it to bed. Perhaps even gently rub the aching shoulders. But alas, that wonder man is still just a fleeting image in my mind and I must deal with a stuffy head being sick all by my lonesome.

I stuffed myself full of meds before bed, thinking something has got to stick. Between the high doses of vitamin C, Zinc, Ambien, Sudafed and Tylenol, I figured I was ensured a nice long sleep. Where did I go wrong? For surely I should be sleeping soundly right now instead of walking around in a foggy haze teetering off balance and wondering if my thoughts are even coherent at this point.

Hmmm. Bread - that should absorb some of the effects of my substance abuse. I stumble to my kitchen and search in vain for a knife, forgetting that I have a knife block out on my counter. Interesting how motor function and thought processes are so blurred at 3 am when you believe at any moment you can splatter to the floor in a big dramatic heap of defeat. I got the roll and knife in hand. I am swaying to the music I can’t even hear in my own head. I am temporarily distracted by the clicking of the clock and wonder if I am supposed to be asking myself different questions at this point.

My legs feel so heavy and I am stumbling around the kitchen trying to make some sense of the situation. I use the counter to steady myself and turn my attention back to the absorbent bread that lay before me. I slice the bread and silently stare at the slow red stream of blood that is oozing from my thumb. I am in no pain. I am too numb for pain. I am just fascinated by the hard contrast of red against my pale white thumb. I wrap it and go in search of a Band-Aid.

Even though I cannot recall the last time I ever bought a bandage, I figure all medicine cabinets are well equipped with such necessities. I search and search but to no avail do I locate a single dressing for my wound. How is it possible that I have lived here for so many years without a single Band-Aid in my possession? I am freakishly accident prone, so I cannot imagine that every time I sliced and diced a body part I ran to the store and bought a single usage aid. But there are no traces of medical supplies anywhere in my house. So I implore my fuzzy brain and my shaky hands to come up with a makeshift bandage system out of paper towels and scotch tape. Works great! I don’t even think it is still bleeding, but I felt it was important to see the project through to the end. I might not be able to accomplish sleep, but I can succeed at triage!

The roll has long been forgotten. I am so tired, yet sleep just isn’t to be mine. I lay awake without even a droop in my eyes. My mind is racing and my body is crying in desperation to be relieved of the aching vibes that are pulsating throughout each ligament and bone.

And in my moment of desperation, before the fog completely clears, I find myself pondering the thought that somehow a man could have helped make all this better.

I think maybe there must have been traces of Hallucinogens in that Emergen-C.

Do shrinks make house calls?

2008-12-03T22:34:00.000-08:00

Armed with the belief that children have poor memory retention and the inability to associate pain with past situations, I picked up my niece from school and brought her back to my house. This time, of course, I held her hand as we climbed the stairs together.

Once inside my house she ran to the kitchen and tried to open the freezer.

"Kimmy, need ice."

"Why do you need ice? Are you hurt."

"My head hurt."

"Why does your head hurt?

"Fell down your stairs."

I'm gonna need some serious therapy for this one.

Children are more durable than I thought

2008-12-02T09:13:00.000-08:00

Last week I suffered a very traumatic event that I have not fully recovered from. I picked up my 2-year-old niece from school and brought her back to my house to play for a couple of hours. We had a blast. We ran around my house, jumped on the bed, giggled together and played dress up with my Mardi Gras beads. Crazy fun. And then it was time to leave to transport her back to her trusting parents.

That’s where it all went wrong.

I loaded up my arms with the diaper bag, computer bag and my gym bag. I opened my front door secure in the belief that my niece would naturally cling to my side and wait for me to move forward. Not so much. As I was locking the front door, she was already at the top of the stairs, barely able to skim the handrail with the tops of her tiny trusting fingertips. I could feel the impending fear mounting in my chest as I heard myself call out to her to wait for me and be careful. My voice caught in my throat as the unimaginable took shape.

She slipped and as if in a slow motion football replay I watched in horror as her limp body bounced from side to side and rolled down 16 cement stairs. I just couldn’t get to her in time. I was frozen in place, not a sound to be heard from my lips, not a breath escaping my lungs. It took an eternity for her to make the final flop to the bottom landing. Stunned, shocked and aghast, in one singular motion I threw all the bags to the ground and flew to the bottom of the staircase.

There she lay in a heap of confusion and fear. She looked up at me and in her huge brown eyes I saw the question she was too young too formulate into words. “Why did you let this happen to me, Auntie Kimmy?” I scooped her up into my arms as her hysterical cries reached decibels I had never experienced. There was no blood, no scratches, and to the naked eye, I detected no bruises. So I started poking and prodding her bones for surely they were all broken.

I ran back up the stairs with her to find her pacifier and that appeased her immediately and the crying turned into more of a whimpering. I kept poking and squeezing and asking if things hurt. There was no apparent damage so I figured she must be suffering from a concussion and have internal bleeding. I was freaking out on the inside, but on the outside I was as calm as they come, reassuring her so she would feel safe.

I finally got us all loaded into the car and on the way back to her house. That’s when the terror set in. How was I going to tell my 9-month pregnant sister who is on bed rest because her blood pressure is escalated that I somehow managed to let her precious daughter fall down a flight of stairs while under my watch – without sending her into labor at the very mention of it?

I figured I would bring the child in and she would see that she was fine and calm and then slowly ease it into the conversation that she took a little tumble.

So we get to the house and I carry her in and hand her over to my sister who is all bubbly and happy to see her daughter. She starts a conversation with her.

“So did you have fun with Auntie Kimmy?”

No response, I begin to feel the panic rising in my throat.

“What did you do with Auntie Kimmy?”

My niece slowly glances at me and then back to her mom.

“I fell down. Stairs.”

I burst into tears.

I offered to take her to the emergency room and apologized profusely for my inadequate care of her child. She gave her daughter a once over and looked at me and told me to relax, accidents happen and she seems to be fine, minus a small abrasion on her forehead.

Seriously? My sister wasn’t threatening to disown me or kick me out of her house? I think she must have known that there was nothing she could say or do to me that could rival the punishment I was giving myself. The images of her limp lifeless body are burned into my memory and still flash into my mind’s eye without warning. My sister didn’t go into labor and my niece is fine. She loves me more than ever and doesn’t seem to have any lingering memories of the fall or my role in it.

Wish me luck - I am picking her up again tomorrow!

I think her pregnancy is rubbing off on me

2008-11-25T14:15:00.000-08:00

Clearly, I am not pregnant. My sister, however, is on the verge of pushing out a mini-me. Since she has been put on mandatory bed rest for the last haul, roughly 4 weeks, I think I have sub-consciously taken over the nesting duties. The only problem with that is she actually is a cooking phenom and is able to juggle multiple domestic projects at once. I on the other hand, have massive anxiety when tasked with making anything that requires an appliance other than a microwave.

With Thanksgiving on the horizon, I figured I would step up my participation this year from bringing wine to actually making homemade pumpkin pies. And of course, I couldn’t just make a regular pumpkin pie for my big baking debut. I thought I’d attempt the healthier route and make a special crustless pie. I now believe it was a major lapse in judgment on my mother’s part to agree to this. But I am guessing she was trying to be supportive.

Just reading the recipe and planning the shopping list caused me to break out in a rash. There were so many ingredients involved. How annoying, but I was committed. Since I had no idea where any of these items were located I found myself going up and down every freaking aisle in the store. There are some amazing things to be found at your local grocer!

I figured that since I had sentenced myself to an afternoon slaving away in the kitchen, I might as well make the most of it. It is not often that I am forced to spend so much time in there so I felt it necessary to capitalize on the experience. I decided to actually plan ahead and picked up some chicken to cook and freeze for later. I was fully committed to tackling three cooking projects at once. I was feeling empowered and uncharacteristically ambitious. Bad idea #2.

I popped some of the chicken on my grill and went to prepare the rest for the cola chicken I was going to make. To my horror, I realized that I had picked up two different bags of chicken. The second one I had just opened was not of the skinless boneless variety. I believe I confessed my repulsion toward bone in meat in an earlier post - My domestic DNA strand is flawed. So now I had to spend hours peeling off the skin and handling all the tawdry grizzle bits. By the time I got it into the pan and happily cooking away, I was exhausted and disgusted and couldn’t care less about the pie – which was the whole point of my cooking expedition in the first place!

With timers going off, chicken needing to be flipped and the cola sauce splattering about, I distractedly start making the pie. I am somewhat focused on the pie and I think it is all coming together just fine. I am measuring and mixing and cracking eggs. This is not difficult at all. And then I go to pour it into the pie tin. It is like soup and there is so much of it that the pie tin collapses under the weight of the liquid. I have to redistribute the pie filling into three separate pie tins. How is it possible that one pie recipe became three full pies?

There aren't any real options left at this point. With irritation permeated my body, yet with careful precision, I throw all three sloshing pies into the oven. My confidence is teetering on the breaking point, but I will not admit defeat and succumb to a store bought pie!

So now I am standing in the middle of my kitchen surrounded by food created by my hands that I could never possibly consume. I knew I wouldn't be able to eat the cola chicken because I had handled it when it was raw and that whole process nauseates me. Although the pies seem to be cooking up, there is no way of knowing what flavor palate they will encompass. We’ll leave the taste test up to the brave souls coming to Thanksgiving dinner!

Don’t people multi-task all the time when they are cooking? What is my problem?

A chance meeting over coffee

2008-11-20T19:49:00.000-08:00

Isn’t it amazing how sometimes the smallest things can have the largest impact on your life? Just a simple cup of coffee can change the course of your day, lighten your mood or bring your inner smile back to the surface.

I was meeting a girlfriend for coffee today. I decided to go early to get some writing done. As I was sitting there, I felt a dark blur of funk wash over me. I was in a deep mode of reflection, wrestling with some bizarre mental combatants I couldn’t quite understand.

Just as I was about to concede to the downbeat energy, I looked up and there standing before me was a dear friend from my past. After college and weddings we lost touch. Three years ago a tragic event in her life found me standing in her parents living room with tears streaming down my face consoling her in the devastating loss of her younger sister. Time held no meaning. We were just as close as we had been so many years before.

The relationships I choose to have with people are deliberate and are of vital importance to me. I love my friends passionately and I am fiercely loyal to them. Authentic and significant friendships transcend time and distance. We are present in each other’s lives when it matter most. In those moments in time when life elevates us to spine-tingling heights or beats us down to mind-numbing depths, we are there for one another.

Now in the smudged reflection of the glass door, our gaze met in quiet understanding of all that has transpired in our lives. She spoke the words she knew I was thinking. “We didn’t do such a good job on staying in touch this time, huh?” And then we embraced and the chemistry of a deeply rooted friendship was instantly restored. We quickly caught each other up on the significant moments of the past three years. A calm encompassed us as we both realized how we were suddenly filling the very void we had left in each other’s lives when we let our friendship idle in neutral for so long.

With promises of phone calls and future coffee dates, she departed. I smiled as she walked away, knowing this time, we would both fulfill our promise to remain present in each other's lives, sharing equally in the happy light-hearted occasions as in the poignant ones.

It was that decision to have that early cup of java that altered my path for the day in the gentlest and in the grandest way. A grin of satisfaction splayed across my face as all previous thoughts of darkness dissipated in the steam of the freshly brewed coffee.

My domestic DNA strand is flawed

2008-11-17T16:52:00.000-08:00

I do believe I had a momentary lapse in judgment that will haunt me for days to come. I am not sure what caused me to believe I could find fulfillment in a chore that involved preparing food. Those that feel women are a natural extension of any cooking utensil have obviously never met me. There is nothing natural nor comfortable about me and kitchen appliances, unless of course I am cleaning them. Otherwise, I don’t have much use for them.

Words can barely describe the recent repulsion I endured as I ventured into a world completely foreign to me. A world that frightens and intimidates me. A world that involves a whole raw chicken.

My previous experience with raw meat has been carefully limited to the skinless boneless variety as I suspected I might have a bit of an issue dealing with an actual structured bird. I usually shy away from consuming chicken that contains a bone for it touches too close to the live image for me. I am not really a vegetarian; I just have a problem consuming anything that resembles a previous life form. For me handling it when I can still picture it running around the coop causes my insides to feel as though I am taking a ride on the Tilt-a-Whirl.

But I was feeling daring and adventurous so I plopped Ralphie the chicken into the sink and began the cleaning process. As the cold rubbery slime of the skin permeated my fingertips, I knew I was way beyond any level of comfort. I washed him off with my eyes tightly shut and my lips clenched in utter disgust. Every gritty morsel of rawness was magnified under my touch. But I got through it.

And then I remembered I had to dive keep into the body cavity to retrieve the organ bits for proper disposal. I just couldn’t bring myself to venture into that dark dreary place. And it’s not like I could phone a friend to come over and help me violate my bird. So I got creative. I poured running water into the abyss until the innards became flotation devices and surfaced. It was quite unpleasant, but at least I didn’t have direct contact with them.

Just when I was about to congratulate myself on achieving what I previously considered the impossible and improbable, I realized I still had to cook the damn thing. With the impending fear of contaminating my entire kitchen with salmonella, I quickly tossed the bird onto a pan, gave a few shakes of some random spice and shoved it all into my very clean and pristine oven. I set my timer for an hour and some change and went on with my day.

Just as the timer was going off, I wondered to myself why my house wasn’t getting that warm, inviting home cooked smell that my mom’s house always has when I go over there for dinner. I just figured it needed to cook a little longer so I left it alone and forgot about it for a while. A good time later it finally dawned on me to open the oven door and check on my precious pan of poultry. As I slowly pulled out the rack I cringed.

I really should have made sure to turn the oven on at some point.

When he mounted me, all my dreams came true

2008-11-12T09:20:00.000-08:00

I have been putting my body through some brutal training. I have taken punches, gotten a bloody nose, torn up my knees, had contusions on my wrists and lived with daily aches and pains. I knew at some point my reward would come. If I just stuck through it long enough I would reap the benefits of becoming a Level 2 student of Krav Maga.

And the other night it happened. It was as if there was a clearing in the cloudy sky. The haze of uncertainty was lifted and I understood why I had spent so many months training just to be able to take classes at the next level.

In level 2 we do ground work. That means we wrestle around on the floor with boys.

There is an actual technique that must be mastered in order to become proficient at this type of self-defense move. However, for my first session, there was definitely no Krav prodigy in the making. I was captivated by the fact that I was being mounted, bucked and flipped on my back by men that just months earlier would have chosen to scrape their bare ankles across a pebbly pavement rather than partner with a girl.

Of course there were only 4 of us in class, three of them being men, so the odds were totally in my favor. But I’d like to think I was specifically chosen and perhaps there was even a little fighting over who got to throw me on my back and mount me. Ah, such semantics.

So welcome to the promise land! I mounted my partner and the thrusting began. Any thought of an impending intimate revealing connection was quickly replaced with the harsh reality of the pain forming in my cramping legs and bruised biceps as I was mashed into the mat with all the velocity of a bullet train. Dreamy Eyes kept it real by forcing me to stay present in the moment and concentrate on the details of my technique.

With each hip gyrating buck, my body was jolted into submission. Even my ponytail became dislodged and I found myself choking my partner through sweat laden strands of copious curls that I had worked so diligently on straightening only hours before.

I had some serious issues with controlling my hip action. Apparently my bucking technique needs a lot of practice. Interesting that the hip thrust move would come more natural to a guy than a gal. Does that need further thought exploration?

I caught on a bit more towards the end and surrendered into an obedient state of compliance. I got poked in the eye, knocked in the chin and I think I mangled my partner’s ankle a bit. It was incredible fun! By the end of class I was soaked in sweat, mostly mine - and dare I say even a little of his. The class was ruthless and the punishment on my body is still being felt. The unrelenting harsh severity of this particular skill exercise is strangely titillating and I can’t wait for the next installment.

Did I detect a smirk of satisfaction cross the lips of Dreamy Eyes as I limped my way out of class?

And later that night as I slowly washed the collection of intermingled bodily sweat down the shower drain, I felt accomplished and satisfied and fulfilled, yet I was left with wanting so much more.

Voting is making America fat!

2008-11-04T10:42:00.000-08:00

There is nothing more American than standing in line ready to cast your vote and let your voice be counted. I love going to the polls. I refuse to do absentee ballot because I enjoy the process of voting. Lining up behind my fellow Americans, making idle chitchat about nothing important all the while sharing a mutual respect for the important task we are undertaking sends shivers of pride throughout my body. While our ideals divide us, the process unites us.

However, today I found that the chatter took on a whole new dimension. We didn’t talk about the weather or the price of gasoline. I stood aghast, mouth gaping open and for one of the few times in my life had absolutely nothing to contribute to the conversation. Our line consisted of people from every walk of life. There were mothers and daughters and men pushing baby carriages. Older white men, young black women, Asian college students and Hispanic couples stood side by side. It was a beautiful melting pot of Americana personified. There belief systems and viewpoints varied.

But they all shared one major commonality – they were in it for the free donuts. Apparently, we are not embarrassed enough by our record high child obesity numbers that we need to relish in our national pastime of overindulging our obsessive compulsive preoccupation with the inability to practice self-control at every turn. And it wasn’t just donuts. These people bubbled over with sheer delight of the promise of free ice cream, free coffee, free Chinese food – all just for voting.

How did our incentive for participating in the much fought for democratic process of free election become a simple grease laden powdered ball of dough? Shouldn’t this mean more to us than an afternoon of sugar highs? What kind of message are we sending to the world that Americans show up in record numbers to vote when free food is at stake? Why not offer something a little more substantial and relevant to the act we are participating in? Giving out free newspapers to everyone would at least be a viable attempt to promote education and seek to build the knowledge base of each American.

Rewarding a behavior with food seems to go against the fundamental principles of the national health and fitness agenda that has been trying to gain momentum.

Where are Richard Simmons and Jenny Craig when you need them? I was seriously expecting Richard to jump out in all his inappropriate sequined glory flailing his arms and yelling in protest.

And just when I thought we were finally going to earn a well deserved reprieve from the worlds constant mockery due to the ineptness and buffoon-like antics of our current President, we quickly ignite the conflagration with our infatuation with Ben & Jerry.

Mmmmm.........Cherry Garcia

It's official, I can kick some ass!

2008-11-03T11:36:00.000-08:00

Start the drum roll, gather the balloons, throw up some streamers and get ready with the confetti, because the results are in…….

I PASSED THE KRAV MAGA TEST!!

I knew my technique wasn't the best and I understood that my form could still use a lot of improvement. But in my heart even before the results were announced, I believed I had passed because I felt the physical and mental transformation embody me. I was just waiting for the official word to start the impending celebration. I could feel how I had changed. I feel a confidence in my ability to endure that has been absent from my life.

I have such a different mindset in class now since the test. I am more focused and more driven to withstand the fight and prevail. I am hungry to refine my skills and maximize my strikes. Now that I have proven I understand the basics, I am seeking the finite details of what will create my edge when faced with an adversarial confrontation. I want to be my own protector and not have to rely on others to shelter me from harm. I need to know that I am able to walk through this life without fear of being overpowered. Learning the skills to safeguard my loved ones is one thing. Owning the belief that I will act without hesitation is another.

Initially, Krav Maga was going to be a quick short term segue from one exercise program to another. What started out as a simple reprieve from an ordinary gym routine that had grown tiresome and dull has catapulted into a modification of my identity which has created a behavioral mantra that exudes strength, awareness, confidence and perseverance.

What intrigues me is how this mental metamorphosis is going to influence other areas of my life. I am looking forward to exploring these new developments within my own psychological spirit; choosing to share those revelations may prove to be an entirely separate form of personal growth that I have yet to ready myself for!

The real fight was in my head, not my hands

2008-10-28T10:15:00.000-07:00

I have completed my Level 1 Krav Maga Advancement Test - barely. I don't know the results yet, and at this point, they seem irrelevant to what the actual meaning of this whole journey has become for me. I had so much uncertainly in my decision to actually take the test.

I looked for every excuse, every out I could think of. I didn't like that they kept changing the times, I was out of town, I had other obligations, I had to work during the day, etc. Forcing myself to withstand the grueling 6-hour test was to actually face my true fear of believing that I would never be good enough.

I now fully understand all the talk about mental intensity. Sometime in the 3rd or 4th hour I felt a huge shift in me and it was no longer about passing or failing. It was about the mental battle going on inside my own head. There were so

many times I wanted to give up - with all the cramping and dizziness and exhaustion. I could feel my body begging me to surrender. With each kick I sent, I heard my mind crying out, "You are not strong enough. Give up."

I had to dig to depths I didn't know existed within me. I was punching a bag but the real shots were being felt in my head. I was hurting and I was ready to quit. I blamed my partner for hitting me too hard. I blamed my instructor for yelling too loud. I blamed my friend for giving me confusing direction. While my body was fighting through the techniques my mind was engaging in a battle far more damaging.

The running dialogue in my psyche was forcing me to take ownership of my fear and to accept that I put my own limitations on my physical abilities. I was the only one that could control whether or not I stayed in the fight. I could look to no one outside myself to blame if I chose to surrender this struggle. It was all on me. I was angry with everyone, then with myself and then with no one. It became about quieting my own doubt and snuffing out the fear of never being good enough that always caused me to quit before I could really fail.

I love that I was so drained by the end of the night that I could barely form a cohesive sentence. The exhaustion seeped into my brain and fear was replaced with clarity. I had seen it through to the gritty end, bruised, bleeding, sore – but completely victorious.

Not quitting was my own personal triumph. What I learned about myself during those painful hours was that I really could learn, I really can endure and that I really do have worth.

I sat on his couch and he let me play with his gun

2008-10-27T20:09:00.000-07:00

After spending the afternoon at an intense gun defense seminar, I headed over to my "friend's" house to celebrate his birthday. Armed with two bottles of my favorite wine, numerous bruises, and countless aches and pains from my Krav Maga testing, I was all ready to settle in and watch the UFC Fights. The pizza was ordered and soon after another buddy showed up.

So there we were on the couch eating pizza and drinking some liquid pain relief and the conversation turned to the topics covered in the gun seminar. There were lots of questions flying back and forth. I was feeling the intrigue building inside of me. There were so many things I wanted to know and they created such a safe atmosphere for me to learn. I have never been around guns - never held one or even seen one up close.

My whole exposure to guns is limited to Charlton Hestons’ PSAs for the NRA and Rosie O'Donnels tirade against Kmart for carrying them. I have always had a huge anxiety over guns and my outright ignorance led me to believe that they were evil and to be feared. But I was starting to feel a tingle in my tummy as my friend began to discuss the respect you must have for these weapons.

He turns to me and casually throws out that he has a couple of guns. I felt a surge of excitement coarse through me as I realized how desperate I was to handle the shaft of his gun. This was my moment. I timidly asked if I could see it. He brought it out and completely disassembled it in front of us, so we would be comfortable that there was absolutely no live ammunition present in his steel rod of power.

The barrel was smooth and the etchings were prominent beneath my fingertips. I allowed the full girth of this imposing firearm to envelop my grip. It was an impressive size – much larger than I had anticipated it to be, weightier than I had expected. I had some difficulty engaging the cocking mechanism, but as I began to relax with it I felt a comfort wash over me and I was able to find my rhythm.

I know it was his birthday, but after feeling that cold metal against my flesh and inhaling the intoxicating fumes from his barrel - I felt like I was the one celebrating something.

So there I was sitting on the couch in my semi drunken stupor watching TV, eating pizza and caressing a handgun - in a complete state of blissful satisfaction.

And then it totally hit me - when the hell did I become so white trash?

Out with the old, in with the new

2008-10-26T13:26:00.000-07:00

I finally got my air conditioning unit replaced! Now, if only I can figure out how to work the thermostat I can actually sit in my house without sweating for the first time in 8 months! No patience for the manual - hoping that some combination of button pushing will eventually trigger the system and cool me off!

From the amount of rust and corrosion we uncovered as the old unit was removed, I certainly pushed this a/c unit past its intended life span. Lucky for me, nothing ever caught on fire - it was so out of all safety codes.

Cute installation guy not included - bummer.

Dreamy Eyes - not so dreamy right now

2008-10-19T14:07:00.000-07:00

The expectations were high. All week we had been informed we would be getting an amazing surprise at Saturday's class with guest instructor, Dreamy Eyes. He told us to bring our boxing gloves and be ready for a showdown. Whatever - we are all used to getting beaten up by our regular instructor. Did he really think he could bestow new and undiscovered realms of pain onto us? Lauri makes us sweat from glands not meant to produce sweat. With Lauri at the helm, even my hair follicles expunge an impressive secretion of perspiration. I really wasn’t too worried.

I was just super excited to be able to sport my adorable pink boxing gloves with matching pink wrist wraps once again!

Dreamy Eyes did teach an amazing class but few of us were truly aware of the lingering effects it would have on our bodies. As he bid farewell to me yesterday after class, he chuckled to himself and said he hoped I would be thanking him tomorrow. I figured he just has an over inflated ego that needed a little stroking. Afterall, the class wasn't THAT hard.

And then I woke up today - to my ass whimpering in pain.

Waking up stiff and unable to comfortably turnover were the first indications that pain was to be with me all day long. It is not so much the soreness, but the inability to move freely within my own physicality that is causing my mental stronghold to fracture. Did I mention the indescribable ache in my ass? And I do believe my lower back and abs are crying out for a little sympathy as well.

It took me a while, but I finally realized that all that boxing I did in my cute pink gloves was merely a distraction to the subliminal methodic torture he was actually putting us though. All those kicks and punches centered from a squat or lunge position. Every exercise we did somehow involved a low center of gravity that forced us to extensively work our lower bodies. It wasn’t just a cardio ass kicking. He completely disguised his actual objective and led us to believe we were simply enduring an incredible boxing regimen. He neglected to mention how our abs, legs and glutes were automatically fully engaged as we performed each of his commands. It was underhanded and it was sneaky.

Just for the record and in case it wasn’t clear – I am totally not talking to Dreamy Eyes this week.

What are the chances?

2008-10-15T13:35:00.000-07:00

There must be a cosmic shift occurring in the universe. Planets are aligning or misaligning or crashing into one another. Something beyond my power, belief and control is taking place and it is freaking me out!

I lost touch long ago with one of my best friends from high school. It happens - people change and lives shift in different directions. She played a pivotal role in my adolescence and we shared some key experiences in our lives. As we became adults we moved into different directions and our connection slowly slipped away until it faded out completely about 5 years ago. I am sure our paths will cross again someday soon. We had such a great time together in high school and shared many of the same friends. We became friends with each others’ boyfriends, but the bond was broken off when the relationships ended - an unspoken code amongst girlfriends.

So needless to say I was completely blown away when one of her ex-boyfriends contacted me last night. Someone I haven't seen or spoken to in almost 20 years. It took me a long time to process it, but I was excited to find him in my life again and the curiosity overshadowed my skepticism.

And then today, I get a random email from another one of her ex-boyfriends. Again, someone I probably haven't seen or spoken to in about 15 years, but someone that I adored back then and think about from time to time.

I shared many incredible experiences with each of these guys and they definitely had an impact on my often controversial and turbulent teenage years. They were from two totally different points in our lives together and couldn't be more opposite people. How funny is it that they chose the exact same moment in time to wonder about me enough to look me up and find me?

Seriously, what are the chances of this happening, not once, but twice in less than a 24 hour period?

Life is so damn interesting, isn't it?!

My nose bleedith over

2008-10-13T20:27:00.001-07:00

Tonight during Krav Maga class I swallowed my fears and decided it was time to walk the walk I always complained about. I wanted to see if I could hang with the boys. We were to gather in groups of five people. I stood and surveyed my options until my hungry gaze fell upon the four hottest, strongest and biggest men in the room. As I sauntered over to join these burly men, I licked my lips in anticipation of the heart pounding drill that was about to commence.

One person was to play the victim and fight to defend themselves as the other four took turns rapidly applying different chokeholds. The drill started and the testosterone was unleashed with a fury. There was sweat and spit flying everywhere, not to mention body parts knocking around like bowling pins. What the hell was I thinking?

The more I held back the more they thrust me into the circle demanding I play full out and take my turns going in for the choke. I managed to safeguard most of my limbs from total destruction. My good knee took quite a few hits, but I was still standing. And then I could no longer delay the inevitable. With trepidation in my heart and tremendous anxiety coursing through my veins, I plunged into the center of the circle steadying myself for the physical punishment I was about to endure. I held my own for a bit. I kept up my intensity, got out of a lot of chokes and then my adrenaline kicked into overdrive. I wasn’t able to pull back on my groin kicks quite as much as I would have liked and I (whoopsie) might have grazed a few family jewels along the way.

And then there was dear sweet loveable Doug. Last week when he and I partnered for a choking drill I ended up scratching him across the face and drawing a bit of blood. That didn’t even begin to compare to the river of crimson that flowed from my nasal cavity as he managed to head butt me while choking me from the front. There was pain. Instant pain. My eyes stung and my head was fogged over. But of course, I had three other men yelling at me to just take it and keep going.

All of a sudden there were six hands going for my throat and I was trying to not panic as I felt the first droplets of blood release from my nose. I knew the only way for them to understand was to fight like hell to get them off of me. I had no choice but to prove myself. Finally, the signal for the end of the drill was sounded. I hobbled to the bathroom to mop up the mess. As I came out with a blood soaked towel, I got no sympathy – just admiration for my new “trophy”.

These people are nuts - right?!

A picture is worth a thousand or so votes

2008-10-12T19:02:00.000-07:00

Embrace McCain's hate!

2008-10-10T16:52:00.001-07:00

What's in YOUR heart?

2008-10-09T14:40:00.001-07:00

I began Yom Kippur last night with a very heavy heart. Beginning the 26-hour fast was the least of my worries while I sat in synagogue and began the process of cleansing my soul. I felt like a fraud. How could I stand before God and ask to be inscribed in the book of life for one more year when my heart was filled with bitterness and disdain for those that had wronged me in the past year?

I knew I was in trouble as my body decided to physically react to my internal struggle. My head began to throb with the onset of a migraine and my legs ached with a numbness so sever I could barely stand. I felt my heart rate increase and the claustrophobia engulfed me. I had to escape. But what I learned was that no matter how fast and far you go - you cannot outrun the demons in your head.

I was so focused on avenging my wrongdoer and making him suffer for what he had done to me, that I lost sight of how I was allowing that desire for revenge and vindication to corrode my soul. The animosity penetrated my entire being to the point where I couldn't sleep and couldn't concentrate on anything but my own pain. For many months I have been consumed with fury and resentment for trusting someone that continuously deceived me. And whether this betrayal was a conscience choice or a pitiful attempt to preserve an enlarged ego – the why just doesn't matter anymore.

And then it was as if a switch went off in my head. I have a choice. I can choose to accept his apology at face value without looking for hidden meanings. I can choose to sit in a solution. I can choose to help him right this wrong. I can choose to remember the friendship that drove me to trust him in the first place. I can choose to stop suffering. I can choose to stop blaming him for his shortcomings.

I can choose to forgive. I can choose to heal.

Today as I walked into services, I felt closer to God than ever before. I think I finally understand what faith is all about. I understand how the power of forgiveness is not just about the one that you forgive. It is about allowing yourself permission to move past the anguish in order to learn and grow as you become a better human being in spite of the pain.

L'shanah tovah tikatev v'taihatem
May you be inscribed and sealed for a good year.

Will she ever understand how she's changed my life?

2008-10-08T05:00:00.000-07:00

Today the miracle we call Hadarya Tali turns two years old.

It has been a life altering, life enriching journey having her enter into my world. For years I helplessly watched my sister struggle to start a family she so desperately wanted and deserved. There was nothing I could do, no way for me to fix this situation. I too, was filled with questions and anger and frustration. I wasn't able to lessen her pain or explain why this was happening to her.

But I do truly believe that everything happens for a reason. And that reason came to our family through a surprise 5:00am Sunday morning phone call two years ago. Most parents get roughly 9 months to prepare to have their lives changed forever. My sister had mere hours to make the decision to open her heart and love another woman's child as her own, a truly selfless and brave act.

I got to the hospital just in time to hear the loud cheers and applause. My sister and brother-in-law scampered through the hospital room doors and as the tears freely flowed they proclaimed with a mixture of shock and awe, "Our baby girl was just born."

It was an intense time as we all scrambled to figure it all out. There was so much commotion swirling around me - car seats, clothes, a crib, bottles, a name, what do we do first? I didn't hear any of it. It was just noise to me. I finally had my niece and my sister finally had her baby and all I wanted to do was stare at this precious miracle. So, needless to say, I am sure I wasn't much help at all during that time. But I did make countless trips to Baby's R Us to buy an assortment of trinkets I have yet to fully comprehend what they were used for.

But we all got through that first year, stumbling and learning together, leaning on incredible friends for support and advice. The second year has been joy personified. Hadarya and I share an amazing connection. We don't really do anything special together. We just hang out. But we play so hard that I am completely worn out after each visit. When we are together we giggle endlessly, exchange secret smiles and explore all the unknowns we can. We share a mischievous love for breaking the rules and pushing the limits. Growing up as kids, this same behavior of mine always drove my sister crazy and I take great pride in passing that torch along to her daughter.

I am not sure what my life would be like today had Hadarya not entered into it. I was on an entirely different path in my life. I was about to join the Peace Corps and something told me it wasn't the right time and so I postponed my start date. 5 months later, we got Hadarya.

My cynicism was threatening to take over my conscious being. She has helped me rediscover purity, innocence, acceptance and goodness. I know that I am a better person for having her in my life. She makes believe that the impossible is possible and she keeps me grounded. Whenever I am around her my body envelops a certain aura of spirituality.

And how remarkable is it that her birthday falls this year on our holiest holiday, Yom Kippur, the Day of Atonement? A day we spend fasting and repenting for our sins as we make that extra effort to rediscover our bond with our faith.

I don't feel the uncertainty and uneasiness I have felt in the past during this time of deep reflection. Before, I thought the only way I was able to feel a connection to my faith that was deep enough to find peace and redemption was to go to a synagogue. But I no longer feel those limitations.

Because each time I look into Hadarya's eyes, I feel as though I am seeing God.

This is Sarah Palins' brain on politics

2008-10-07T11:57:00.000-07:00

ANY QUESTIONS??

I even woke up smarter

2008-10-05T16:20:00.000-07:00

Change tends to freak most people out - yet when I am in control of the change I embrace it!

So I woke up the other day and I totally felt smarter than the day before. Life was less foggy, less confusing. I felt as though I should be wearing an argyle sweater set and penny loafers sipping brandy by a fire. All of a sudden The Bush Doctrine made complete sense to me (oh, wait, that would mean I had LOST my mind - different scenario all together).

It has been said by those faceless nameless masses that blonds have more fun. While that may be true to an extent and I did have an amazing time as a blond for most of my life - I am experiencing a whole new kind of fun as a brunette. Who knew hair color could have such an affect on your personality and the way others perceive you? It is an amazing experiment in human behavior.

I am approached differently by people in social situations and the idle chatter that they engage me in has dramatically shifted. There is a new level of underlying seriousness and sophistication that seems expected.

So with tremendous gusto and huge curiosity I am delving into this study of behavioral hair color profiling. I pledge to document my journey of discovery into the sassy side of a becoming a brunette in a world hypnotized by blond desire.

Love in any form should never tear us apart

2008-10-02T07:14:00.001-07:00

When I was in the military they gave me a medal for killing two men and a discharge for loving one. ~Epitaph of Leonard P. Matlovich, 1988

At the waters' edge on this New Year

2008-10-01T20:53:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I walked to the waters' edge to symbolically cast away my accumulated sins and transgressions so that I may purify my heart and my soul, as the new year begins - a tradition I partake in each year. However, this year was so very different. I found that I could no longer simply recite the words and toss some moldy bread to the ducks without pausing to reflect on the meaning of the act I was participating in. The impact of my actions and beliefs are no longer limited to what goes on inside my own heart and mind.

I now have someone much more important to answer to.

So with her soft angelic hand tightly gripping mine, my niece and I slowly walked together across the short pier and shared a special moment of spirituality that I cannot fully articulate. It was a combination of her innocence mixed with my cynicism that gave me a purification of my soul that I had yet to experience on my own. I have no idea if she actually understood what I was telling her, but nonetheless, I recited a continuous stream of confessions as she gingerly tossed bread into the water, symbolizing a release of my sins.

I knelt down to her and held the bag of bread and as she enthusiastically grabbed for more I told her confessions from my heart.

- I cast away the sin of deception, so that I will no longer pretend to be something I am not nor mislead someone in anyway.

- I cast away the sin of vain ambition, which makes me strive for goals which bring neither true fulfillment nor genuine contentment.

- I cast away the sin of stubbornness, so that I will no longer engage in foolish behavior nor fail to acknowledge my will to change.

- I cast away the sin of envy, so that I will neither be consumed by desire for what I lack nor abandon the gratitude for all the blessings I do have.

- I cast away the sin of indifference, so that I may be sensitive to the sufferings of others and responsive to the needs of people everywhere.

- I cast away the sin of pride and arrogance, so that I can worship God and serve God's purpose in humility and truth.

And when we were finished and the bread was gone and I had revealed my last confession, she looked up at me with solemn eyes, slowly smiled a mischievous grin, and put her little hand on my cheek as if to tell me, "I got you, Auntie Kimmy. You are OK in my book." And as she led me away from the waters' edge, I felt the warmth of the sun envelop me, welcoming me into a brand new beginning.

Repentance, prayer, and charity, oh my!

2008-09-29T08:19:00.000-07:00

On Rosh Hashanah it is written
On Yom Kippur it is sealed
May it be written
And may it be sealed
That you have a new year that brings
Fulfillment and happiness
Peace and prosperity
All of life's very best

In this solemn period of soul-searching, forgiveness, repentance and remembering God's judgment, we must also rejoice in celebration, looking forward to God's goodness and mercy in the New Year. May we use this ten day period as a time for reflection, turning away from sin, and doing good deeds, allowing us a more favorable chance of having our names sealed in the Book of Life for another year.

Get McCain a pacifier so he can stop whining!

2008-09-24T14:06:00.000-07:00

McCain is using the ensuing financial crisis as an excuse to stop campaigning. He must have seen the recent polls where his margin of lead is happily slipping away. He is urging Obama to agree to cancel the first debate on Friday. This is a debate the entire country has been holding its collective Binaca laden breath for and now he has found his much needed loophole to get out of it!

He must be afraid to have to substantiate his loose ideas with an actual plan of work. He knows he can't go in front of the American people toting his anti-women, anti-choice, pro-war, Christian right wing bible thumping twisted ideology without revealing the intrinsic similarities he has to the Bush administration. Without Palin at his side creating a disturbing distraction, he would be forced to address the actual issues instead of hiding behind her neatly pressed skirt.

Grow a pair, will you McCain - or just borrow your running mate's for a while!

So the lesson in this is that as President, we can be assured that McCain would be unable to multi-task in times of great urgency and that his single minded focus would discourage any forward moving progress. But seriously, does that really shock anyone at this point?

What the hell happened to my boyfriend?

2008-09-21T22:07:00.001-07:00

I just may need to reevaluate my crush!

Just because you're a man and I'm a woman, that doesn’t mean I want to have sex with you

2008-09-20T12:58:00.000-07:00

I have been exposed to a lot of different cultures and biases in my life. Fortunately, incredible parents that instilled in me the fundamental belief that we really are all created equal raised me to believe that every person deserves the same opportunities in life. Whether or not you choose to take advantage of those situations is in direct correlation to the fulfillment you have in your life.

I was raised not to see color, to accept differing religious viewpoints, to look past physical limitations and to help those that displayed any type of disability. And that’s really how I’ve lived my life. But now I am seeing that perhaps I have been staring out at the world from inside a protected bubble of naiveté to think that everyone else around me would share in those unfiltered beliefs.

I have experienced prejudices in different forms. I have been the target of anti-Semitism, but have always been able to understand that it was coming from a place of ignorance and fear. And that makes it so much easier to move past. Maybe sometimes I have unknowingly invited it into my life. I have dated outside my race, married outside my religion and even chosen to work in unorthodox cult-like settings. My choices didn’t always have a clear path of reasoning, and at times they were made simply to embark on new adventures. But somehow I have made it through each of those journeys and found that the lessons made me stronger and more aware of how this world really works.

I am pretty happily rooted in the woman that I have become. I have fought my way through many bizarre exploits that have given me a glimpse into both the finest moments and most devastating displays of human nature. So doesn’t that mean that I get to be done with dealing with intolerance and discrimination?

So I let my guard down and was sadly disappointed. But this time I am struggling to understand where the narrow-mindedness comes from because I really do think the source is a good person. I have never had a man tell me that he doesn’t want to be my friend just because I am a woman – until today. I never saw that one coming and the reasoning just baffles me.

He likes to talk to me. He likes to engage in political battle with me. We learn from each other. We razz one another and laugh about it later. But we’re not friends. He made that very clear. Being friends with a woman puts him outside his comfort zone. And if I want to hang out with him, I must be interested in something more than a friendship because according to his rules, men and women are unable to partake in a platonic friendship. So he has created this gender boundary between us with rules and structure of what is acceptable and what is not.

Is it really that unnatural for a man and a woman to be friends? I don’t always see people through their gender. I just see them as people that might be interesting or fun to get to know. If I could better grasp his whole unwillingness to see past our genetic bits that make us different and just look at the core of the person, I would be more likely to take ownership of him deciding not to be my friend. If he told me I was uninteresting or boring or crazy or unintelligent, I could own that in a second.

But I just don’t want to believe that all men think that women want to sleep with them. Because we don’t. Men and women are just not that different from each other. It is their fear of the unknown that makes us seem so different. We watch football and drink beer and cuss and have holes in our socks and burp really loudly and sometimes even drink straight out of the milk carton just like men do.

We just smell better when we are doing all those things.

I Picked A Girl by John McCain and Sarah Palin

2008-09-19T22:52:00.001-07:00

Think before you vote!

The secret Palin tape

2008-09-14T17:09:00.000-07:00

So this is how Palin convinced McCain to make the biggest blunder of his political career and pick her as a running mate.

See more funny videos at Funny or Die