Recently, I gathered all the mix CD’s and tapes I’d been given since 1999-ish just to see what sort of crazy compilation I could throw together from them. Standing in mesmerized awe, I realized that I own more than 40 customized mixes, not even including the dozen-or-so I’ve collected from significant others. (I’ve tossed most of them but still have a few CD’s I keep meaning to transfer to MP3’s so I can be rid of the tangible reminder.) That’s roughly four every year! For a decade!

A little less recently, I whittled down my Facebook Friends List from 900-ish “friends” to [an ever-increasing] 350-ish friends I find worthwhile enough to keep up with. (Once I achieved my petty quota of validation from learning that the douchenozzles who tormented me in jr. high grew up to be bloated, drunken, bigoted trust-fund kids, there was really no need to keep them anywhere close to my present life.) I took that time to look at the people I’ve been lucky enough to know personally and then back up and look at the whole motley crew objectively. I found myself laughing out loud at the absurd joy of my life as evidenced solely in the company I keep.

One of my friends is a singer/songwriter/siren who dominates rooms, disables jawhinges and makes people feel validated as humans simply by looking in their general direction. I have a friend who is an artist/performer/genius who lives in an old post office that he’s converted into a palace where he throws lavish, bohemian parties and plays his musical suitcase. One of my friends is an international celebrity who’s televised in dozens of countries on a daily basis to the amusement of 3-6 year-olds who cheer wildly as he steps off private planes. Two of my friends are writers who legitimately have the potential to revolutionize modern literature. One of my oldest friends is a gorgeous chemical engineer who listens to punk rock and plays alongside guys in male-dominated sports. A friend I’m sure I’ve known for a couple lives is an empath/healer with a cutting, brash tongue, a vast, uncompromising soul and a giggling mischief that pulls the disguise off his undeniable compassion.

Ooo! And I know an enigma! A real one! She’s beautiful beyond reason and quirky and complicated and when she laughs she opens the soul of the room she’s in and turns it over in her palms and hands it back to us. And she’s wild with passion and love that’s infectious and controversial and makes people love her emphatically [unless they’re scared of that sort of person and then they often choose to hate her for no reason.] I can remember a point in my life when she had three suitors who were all close friends and who lived for her every word and she knew it but she didn’t realize it and she held it all in a way that you couldn’t really envy her as much as share in her giddy, confused, confident laughter. And for God-only-knows what reason, she loves me and when she goes out of her way to let me know it I smile for weeks and feel unique and safe and special, unlike with anyone else.

I have an ever-self-sufficient friend who is a Republican bellydancer with a laugh that’s infectious and a rapid wit that is hilarious to watch [but hell to suffer] when in “Attack Mode.” (Despite her political leanings, we have yet to have a conversation where we don’t agree with 90% of what the other is saying… so she still has a perfectly-intact soul.) I have a wildly-creative, artist friend who is an effortless medium and who was everywhere that was awesome in the 1960’s (except Woodstock; she was in Daytona that weekend) and loves and knows me better than I know myself most of the time. I have three friends who look like tall, curvy, dark, bold-faced goddesses and would be terrifyingly powerful/dangerous to men and women alike should they ever meet. (Two of them live in NYC and I’m positive they should become besties, like, immediately.) I know world-travelers and political aides and a pure-hearted genius/prodigy who cleaned dishes with me with the same intensity that he implemented while working in international think tanks.

I know brilliant musicians and gorgeous models and driven geniuses (with souls! Those are the best kind of geniuses!) and revolutionary comics/playwrights and refreshingly unique entertainers and groundbreaking visionaries and neo-feminist SAHmothers and fucking phenomenal chefs (two are quite successful and both are female! score!) and recovering addicts/alcoholics with the craziest stories I’ve ever heard and bohemian artists who’ll never be understood but don’t seem to mind and incarcerated convicts who send me the condescending Christmas cards their relatives send them every year, marked with hilarious commentary and a stripper who is now teaching home ec in a schwanky jr. high and daring, colorful Burners (oh, how I long to be one of those) and crossdressers of both genders (both non-professional and professional) and founders of incredible non-profit movements and Broadway singer/dancer/actors and farmers/hardcore gardeners who make me want to sell everything and live off the grid starting tomorrow and the male, punk rock version of Mama Cass and feminista bloggers and quite possibly one of the greatest actors on the planet at the moment and two aerialists and a documentarian (who’s putting together a project that’s just going to be epic once released internationally) and the guy who was ranked one of the top trumpet players in the nation and a female bodybuilder and a powerhouse editor who fights for small businesses with a daily news syndication she runs by herself and young, rad, relatable missionaries who are going to revolutionize how the world sees American Christians and DIY crafters who are going to clothe the world, one hand-knit sweater at a time and people with the balls to immigrate to where they dream of living and a sweet Muslim model who very patiently answers all my idiotic questions about Islamic holidays and schoolteachers who are going out of their way to challenge the status quo (and call attention to the rampant apathy that rules our public school system) and freaking triathlon addicts and a designer whose stuff is now sold at Nordstrom and opera singers and a gorgeous, free-spirited woman who has been inadvertently and gradually coaxing me out of my shell by her inspirational lifestyle and mindset and…

And I get to be in the middle of it.

I honestly always thought that I’d have to be wildly famous or insanely wealthy to know as many uniquely radiant people as I do. And if I were ever to be surrounded by so many unnaturally dazzling characters I would never have assumed that they’d be the types to call themselves my friends.

And I’m not saying all the above-mentioned are in the “Nearest and Dearest Pile”. In fact, only about 3/4 of those could be considered “friends closer than acquaintances”, but I’m glad to be important enough to these busy people to have garnered at least one greeting in the last year from each of them.

However, I’m still unbelievably humbled when I review the list and realize how many I can call honest-to-God “close friends”. (You know. The ones who don’t ever judge and will take a phonecall from me at 2 a.m. and will blatantly tell me when I’m being an a-hole but don’t use that as a means of flat-out rejection and who’re happy for me and my little accomplishments.) So, it looks like my mom was wrong about that whole “You’ll only be able to count your close friends on one hand.” by at least a couple hands.

Anyway, To Whom It Concerns: Thank you so so very much. I hope I’ve let you know how much I appreciate you being in my life.

I kinda hate how being charitable has become a bit of a trend in that people will buy things just because the manufacturer claims that .05% of the proceeds go to curing dyslexia in chimps or something. I like doing things for people but only when I feel like I’m actually DOING something. That’s not to say that I have to get a Thank You note from everyone at St. Jude’s just because I send them an annual Christmas donation… I just like knowing that when I do something nice for someone else, it’s actually going to directly benefit someone. This is why I give blood to the Red Cross, for example. Because it’s far less likely for someone to embezzle my Type O+ than my spare change.

ANYWAY. Christmas always makes me get extra bloody-hearted and, in addition to sending my Compassion sponsored child a little something, I always kinda go a little nuts on the overzealous giving. (Except with the Salvation Army because those bastards won’t help anyone without legal immigration papers… ‘Cause that’s what Christ was about, apparently: shafting kids from decent Christmases because their parents brought them into a foreign country without proper documentation… grumblegrumblegrumble…) And I tend to get a little preachy about the need to share love with other people, even moreso than usual.

So here are my Top 3 Picks for Nice Things You Can Do for a Real Person 2009:

Help The Vereen Family
After developing preeclampsia and HELPP Syndrome during her first pregnancy, Katie Vereen had to give birth to her twin daughters at MUSC (Charleston, SC) after only 24 weeks in gestation. Randi Katherine and Hayden Marie were born on November 27, 2009, both weighing little more than 1 lb. each. Although in need of immediate intensive care, the girls were joyful arrivals for Katie and husband Jon. Despite fighting a hard battle, Randi passed away on December 2. Hayden and Katie continue fighting for full recovery and are staying strong thanks to prayers and love from friends and family. The Vereen Family Fund was created to help pay for medical expenses as well as gas for Jon to drive to and from the Vereens’ home in Myrtle Beach to see his wife and daughter as often as possible.

All proceeds made at my Yum in the Tub shop from December 11-18 will go directly to this foundation and I’ve even marked down prices to $9 per jar or 2 for $15.

However, if you are interested in donating directly to the Vereen family without making a scrub purchase, please contact me at liz.ps@live.com.

Make a Soldier’s Wishes Come True
Get your head out of the gutter. I’m talking about filling a wishlist for a soldier of any gender who is stationed overseas during the holidays. On AnySoldier.com soldiers post requests for things they’d love to have filled by a Good Samaritan who may be up to the task. The requests from gals abroad range from practical things like toothpaste and tampons to more fun items like mascara or scented lotions which can be a real luxury while working in the trenches.

Send a Stranger a Christmas/Holiday Card

While finding a random address in the phone book to send a card to is always fun, there are people out there who are genuinely grateful to get holiday greetings. A popular organization I send cards through from time to time is MakeAChildSmile.org that allows volunteers to write cheerful mail to seriously ill children to read while they’re being treated. There’s also HugsAndHope.org and Post Pals that are similar in concept. I’ve only gotten a few responses, which is expected with these kids’ busy schedules and general weaknesses from treatments, but it only costs a couple bucks to pick up a coloring book and some crayons and give a kid something to do instead of staring at hospital walls.

Also, being a fan of writing to incarcerated women, I always find 5-10 inmates on death row to send some holiday-season cheer to through WriteAPrisoner.com. (No, I’m really not kidding.) Through the website you can see what they’re in for, what they look like, whether or not they’re soliciting money or legal help from strangers, etc. I’ve always chosen straight women (as opposed to men or women interested or looking for other women… like I need that kind of drama) on the other side of the country incarcerated for life sentences, who aren’t on the site for any other reason than because they’re lonely to say “Happy holidays!” to and have only gotten grateful responses. (As opposed to negative ones.) It sounds weird and off-putting, but these are the people who are most often forgotten during the holidays and some of them really have become different people in the slammer. (Although some definitely haven’t, which is why I write to people far far away.)

It probably wasn’t noticeable from the exterior, but 2009 was perhaps the most monumental year I’ve had in a little more than a decade as far as my mentality and resulting general life course goes. I know that sounds terrible considering I had a child in 2007 and got married in 2008 but honestly, 2009 is when everything about who I was and what my life was about during the last 10-14-ish years drew to a close.

See, around the time my mind started messing with me in a clinical sense, some people that I deemed “Important” began to make me believe these negative things about myself that weren’t true. As the story goes, these beliefs lead to more profound false beliefs which fueled actions to back up the initial beliefs and then allowed me to believe more lies about my identity handed to me by predatory self-loathing idiots and it all just spiraled out of hand and turned into this huge mess in which I had successfully morphed myself into this godawful person I never actually should’ve believed I was in the first place. Since 2003-ish when I first started realizing what a mess I’d gotten myself into, I’ve been steadily trying to pick up the pieces, refigure everything out and clean up the catastrophic messes I made. (I’m not saying I’ve been successful the whole time since then, by the way. In fact, I spent the first couple years after that continuing to inadvertently botch things out of sheer habit and blurred vision.) And, in the last couple years or so, I’ve finally gotten to a place where I’m consistently happy and [relatively] stable enough that I can really look back on all of it and go “Okay, since this is the most sane I’ve ever been, let’s see if we can figure out exactly what the hell actually happened with a [relatively] clear perspective…”

Okay, looking back on things and overanalyzing them is nothing new for me. In fact, it’s been pretty damned exhausting hauling that neurosis around with me for over half my life. However, this time when I took a second (or a week) for retrospection, I actually felt this incredible sense of closure and profound relief.

No, it’s true! In the last year I’ve finally gotten over some people and events that not only don’t exist and/or don’t matter anymore but really never did matter to begin with. (Yes, I’m still a bit embarrassed that I built such a huge framework for my life out of complete bullshit, but I’m certainly not about to waste any more time feeling sorry about it or worrying about what I could’ve done differently.) A few months ago I even performed a little one-person ritual in which I identified all the lies and false authorities on which I’d built my self-worth and discarded them formally. (There was a lot of candle-lighting, stone-charging, body-cleansing and meditation involved.) And then I sat down and identified all the truths about myself and my life that I’ve always known and that people who love me have always been willing to support. And honestly, it felt like a complete mental molting of sorts.

But wait! That’s not all that happened this year! This year I finally (FINALLY) was able to make all the amends to people I’d hurt that I’d been needing to for many many years. I honestly never really wanted any sort of response or forgiveness from these few leftover people (although forgiveness is always welcome) but I just needed to know that I did all I could to at least deliver the genuine apology that was deserved, no matter how past-due. Somehow, not only did I get this knowledge of successfully delivered messages, but I was honestly listened to and respected by the recipients, my apologies heard and taken seriously. I was even granted forgiveness, which was the icing on the cake and the ice cream on the side. The feeling that I don’t owe anyone else an apology for anything is an incredible novelty to me and makes me value and choose my actions with impeccable care. (This is not to say I’m not going to offend people or step on toes ever again - I do it at least monthly. I just don’t make offending others an objective anymore.)

And, in addition to being liberated from this completely invisible fear-based “prison” of false beliefs I’d crafted around myself based on the opinions and actions of people who are worthless AND finding closure from my unbelievable cruelty in the past, I also was able to finally get away from Myrtle Beach/South Carolina, (which really turned out to be more of a symbolic liberation than a physical one as I’d finally gotten to a place where I adore(d) the people I’d chosen to surround myself with there.)

With all of these genuinely life-and-mind-altering events combined I was finally able to look at my life objectively and see - without guilt or denial or refusal - all the truths and blessings that are lying in my lap, this great existence that kind of just happened upon me and the realization that, if I don’t go and screw it all up (again) I have the potential to do whatever it is that I may want to do. (Figuring that out is another issue altogether.) And I have more loving friends than any human deserves cheering me on, so I kind of owe it to everyone who bothers to have faith in me as a human (including myself) to point myself in a direction and quit making whiny, self-loathing, fear-based excuses as to why “I can’t”. And now that I’m not wasting all my time hurting over the past and the idiots I let dominate it/me or trying to therapanize (new word alert!) my brain into normal, everyday functionality, I don’t really have any excuse not to.

So it seems like my reevaluation and life-participation in 2010 is a bit more important than usual. This being said, none of these completely-invisible-but-totally-important changes I’ve made in 2009 were on my Resolutions list, so I’m not going to base the rest of my existence on some list I scribble down in the next few weeks. However, with all the shit I’ve been able to throw out of my daily life in the last year and where that’s put me right now, I know I’ve got a lot more momentum going forward than I have in a really really long time. It excites me to dream about what that will allow me to do between now and 2012 when the world/existence comes to a screeching halt.* I’d better get started.

* No, I don’t believe that crap.

I’m not one of those people who tends to fling myself wildly into trendy causes or mass events. I don’t celebrate St. Patrick’s Day (because I’m not Irish and I don’t get wasted anymore) or Cinco de Mayo (because I’m not Mexican and I don’t get wasted anymore), I don’t donate money to anything claiming that they’re “stopping global warming”, and I kind of have emotional qualms with Talk Like a Pirate Day. (Honestly, why are we promoting pirates as a cool thing!?! I just don’t like glorifying people who were into raping, murdering and robbing people. If anyone who claims to be a pirate fan actually ran into a pirate from any era, you’d be none too happy about it. ::Sigh:: /tirade)

But this year a new grassroots event has sprung up and caught the attention of millions of people [thanks to the magic of Facebook-word-of-mouth] that I actually stand behind and am more than willing to support and perpetuate. To Write Love On Her Arms is a group who initially started out to earn money for a friend who was struggling to pay for her rehab bills after dealing with depression and addiction. They began selling t-shirts with the words “To Write Love On Her Arms” (which was the name of a short story one of them wrote about depression, addiction, self-mutilation and suicide) and found that the story and their cause really spoke to a lot of people. From that, they have worked to create an actual day dedicated to promoting awareness about depression and the other associated issues in which they ask participants to simply write “love” on their arms as a means of showing support for victims/survivors of depression.

Alright. I know this is something that a lot of kids are doing because cutting has somehow become a weird social trend in teenagers (BOTHERSOME) and because this group of people are relatively young and can make cool stuff like t-shirts and get popular musicians and celebrities on board it’ll have a very fad-style following at the beginning. So I know I’m totally flinging myself on a youth-perpetuated holiday that may be trendy as hell and very well may fade if the organizers get tired of working for the cause. (I pray they don’t.)

However, as someone to which every issue of TWLOHA’s mission applies, I feel that this sort of awareness-promoting holiday is long long overdue. I mean, we have an entire month for breast cancer awareness, which, while necessary and beautiful, doesn’t apply to nearly as many people as addiction and mental illness does. The truth of the matter is, there’s no reason the old stigmas of mental illness still exist. Because nobody knows how to publicly discuss it like any other health problem, our society has become completely schizophrenic about it, overmedicating some people who are just suffering from real life, while those who desperately need help don’t seek treatment because they’re still under the impression that it’ll make them appear crazy. Sadly, the latter of these two types aren’t inaccurate in their predictions as there are still tons of people from slightly older generations who perpetuate said stigmas constantly. (When my husband and I were talking to a health insurance agent before we got married, I calmly told the agent that I had a long history with depression and had been hospitalized twice for it. He kinda chuckled nervously and asked my then-fiance, “You sure you want to marry her?” Yeah, we didn’t buy shit from that guy…) There’s just not enough information being discussed in logical, mature settings to change the mindsets of those people who don’t bother to understand mental illness and addiction and so, we’re left with those ignorant outsiders believing that depression is just something people need to “snap out of” or addiction is “all about self-control”, which adds a whole new layer to the struggle of those who suffer from these very real illnesses.

When someone tells friends and family that they have cancer, nobody tries to tell them that it’s all in their head; they rally around the friend, actively helping them seek treatment or earn funds, etc. This doesn’t happen for mental illness patients. When people are hospitalized for mental illness, there are no cards and flowers, there are no fundraisers to help pay for medical bills, there isn’t an outpouring of love and concern. Friends and family of the mentally ill are often so confused and clueless as to how to go about dealing with these people that they say nothing at all out of their fear, which only adds to the victim’s belief that they’re not worth the time and energy to save. A lot of times, they take this a step further and criticize the judgment of the victim/survivor, telling each other that this person is doing what they’re doing for attention or that they’re too crazy or unstable to be bothered with anymore.

This is something I have experienced firsthand. I experienced being belittled and ignored when I expressed my very real symptoms of depression to those around me when it started in my pre-teen years and I felt the confusion and ostracization from those around me each time I was hospitalized. These outside influences and social mentality allowed me to continue believing that my self-destructive behaviors and self-loathing beliefs were based in truth. It allowed me to feel isolated even further from the people who were supposed to love me unconditionally. It allowed me to feel hopeless and it took the momentum out of my new actions for recovery. My story is not unique.

So I’m adamantly in favor of this holiday, organization and entire movement. I don’t care if that makes me look like I’ve mindlessly climbed on board some new trend; this is something my heart really stands behind.

There have to be more discussions about how to care and show love for the people who suffer from this very real problem. Mental illness education has to be put on the health class curriculum in schools. People have to start listening to facts and changing their minds about depression and addiction to create a society that supports and promotes recovery and hope. This movement has to happen if there’s ever going to be any sort of hope for the mentally ill.

As an Addict and Mentally Ill Patient in Recovery, this is something I both need and want to see succeed.

Today I’m painting “Love” on my arms. I’d like to invite you to do the same.

The Update Blog Entry: It’s like Show-and-Tell for Grown-Ups!

~ I’ve had this independent blog for a year now. And I’ve been talking about customizing it from this boring, WordPress background/format for that whole year. It’s time to make that happen. I’m thinking something neo-boudoir-like (like my Twitter account wallpaper) although that’s terribly trendy for the moment and I don’t want to have to update it all the time as you see how well I’m doing with that in the first place.

~ I’ve been on this weird Warhol kick where I’m reading about all his crazy antics and all the people whose careers were launched just by being around him and I’m trying to decide whether or not I actually like him. (I think he’s one of those people I admire as a visionary and pioneer of popular culture but probably would’ve thought was a dick in real life, for the record.) In that vein, I think I’m going to start a series of Warhol-style screen tests and get my friends on board. Could be interesting to see how differently they turn out in today’s reality-show culture, versus what they were back in the 1960’s when pop voyeurism was completely revolutionary.

~ I also found this article about a man who took one Polaroid photo every day of his life. I think it’s fascinating. I’d like to make it a habit to do the same and see what I have in 5 years. Even if it turns out really poignant and significant or something unlikely like that, I’d never ever show it; that would just seem like I’m stomping all over someone else’s novel idea. Like splattering paint on canvas all Pollack-like and then trying to make some dough off it. Wrong.

~ I’ve kind of been suffering another wave of the “I’m not worthy!”s. I’m not going to wallow in or expound on it here (again) but the continued love and support I receive from my friends (and family) sometimes gets to be overwhelming in that I feel like I can never repay any of it adequately, nor have I ever done anything to deserve it. Although I am trying.

~ I swear I’m not going to turn this whole blog into a means to advertise for myself but, being that this is something kinda big I’ve undertaken, I thought it was relevant in sharing recent happenings and goings-on. Anyway, after a lot of consideration and research and a completely unsolicited recommendation by a friend who isn’t even associated with the business (and, therefore, wasn’t trying to recruit me for her own benefit) I took the plunge and signed on to be a Passion Parties consultant.

(If you don’t know, Passion Parties, Inc. is the leader in one of the many companies that sells romantic/sexual enhancements to women at small gatherings in the safety of their homes. The company was founded in 1994 by a woman who knew other women were curious in adult novelties but were often hesitant to go out in public to see what was on the market [in skeezy porn shops with leering men] and didn’t want to shop online because they were uneducated about what they were buying or wanted to see/sample the product before making a commitment. Needless to say, the company has been wildly successful and is the one most commonly seen in the mainstream media, like “Oprah and “Tyra” and “The Doctors”, etc. We don’t sell pornography or hardcore BDSM gear (a bummer for some of us), because the company is really all about giving women a comfortable place to explore their most common needs and interests. For the woman who is just beginning to figure out what she wants sexually - or even talk about it - anything crazier than stripper poles, double-sided dildos or strap-ons (which we sell!) might be overwhelming.)

I was turned on to the company because, while it’s a pyramid-scheme ultimately, it isn’t like Mary Kay where they’re constantly breathing down your neck to recruit people to work under you BECAUSE everyone makes 40% profit off everything we sell anyway. (So it isn’t imperative to get people on board in order to make money… that’s what I’m getting at here.) Also, the woman I work under (She lives in NJ, which they do so that teammates aren’t competing against each other.) is amazingly rad in that she’s letting me go at my own pace and isn’t one of those glassy-eyed corporation peddlers who’s all about working my ass off 24/7 and understands that I’m doing this as a side project and I have an actual life. Also, she’s not afraid to find a few harmless loopholes or ways to work the system to help herself out and I like that a lot. She’s shown me how to get credit card machines for cheaper than PPI sells/rents them, where to get supercheap marketing materials, and even gave me permission to keep selling my Yum in the Tub Scrub while at parties I throw (I sell literally the exact same thing we sell at Passion Parties but for 1/6 of the price. And in prettier packaging.) which is a bit of a conflict of interest. Plus she’s a no-bullshit type of gal. I like that.

Oh! And other Big Perk of the New Job! I get to have conference calls with Sue Johansen! She does them once a month for consultants! Whee!

So anyway, I sent off my quite reasonable start-up cost for my display/tester kit, (They give you a bunch of options on that one, which is nice, but the $100 one doesn’t have any toys so what’s the point? Who wants to go to a party to look at a bunch of cremes? I got the $250 kit that has over $800 worth of products! And I get to test everything but the toys! Whee!) had Greg design me some custom business cards/car magnets/address labels, bought myself a URL for my free company website (ThePassionateMinx.com and set to work planning parties and quizzing myself on our products.

WARNING: This next part may read like I’m trying to sell you on stuff. It’s really not and I don’t care if you never buy from me ever. We’re still friends.

I’ve gotta be honest, while I know Passion Parties is one of the better companies to buy from, I was honestly counting on my inventory to have about 5-10 “best sellers” that the company relied on and then everything else just sort of being mediocre. Specifically, after trying at least a dozen women-friendly stimulant cremes, I’d pretty much decided that those were bogus and would only result in making my groin temporarily chilly and then pin-prickly. Needless to say, I was very pleasantly surprised to find that I genuinely love about 90% of our merchandise so much that I’m probably going to own all of it within a year. (The other 10% is all lotions and stuff that, while nice in fragrance and consistency, I’m not really a fan of in the first place and kind of think I’ll save my money for some Jergens.)

WARNING: This next part is particularly sales-pitchy.

The aforementioned creme is the Pure Satisfaction UniSEX Enhancement Gel which - I’m not making this up - the scientists who developed the active chemical combination in it WON A NOBEL PRIZE FOR in 1998. (”Marcy! My son just won a Nobel Prize!” “Oh, Jan, that’s amazing! What did he win it for?” “Um. For creating a serum that makes women have massive orgasms.” “… So, is he seeing anyone?”) Also, they’ve created the Pure Satisfaction G-Spot Creme that does the same thing but on the g-spot (and that we’re having a special on this month! You can buy it with a whole extra vibrator for just 50 cents extra! I’m sorry.. I’m done.) and, if you use the two together HOLYMOSESPARTINGSEAS. I’ve always had problems with G-spot-related activity, but when I tried the two while using “Da Bomb” (I didn’t use my demo one…) I literally passed out for an hour or so afterward and woke up with the vibrator still running. (I’m sorry if any of my family members are reading this. I would think the context of the conversation would’ve run you off by now anyway.) My sponsor told me of a woman who had had a botched episiotomy that left her with no feeling in her groin for about 4 years, causing some sexual frustration with her and her spouse. My sponsor let her sample the Enhancement Gel liberally at a party and the woman called the next morning to order 3 bottles.

So, yes, I believe in our products. Whole heartedly. Which is really really nice because I’ve worked for companies where I’m selling shit that I loathe and I constantly feel like I’m duping these perfectly nice people into wasting money and perpetuating our economic crisis. We’re female-centric but we do have a lot of male-friendly products, too, like the Gigi (a very texturally lifelike masturbation tool) and a hollow strap-on.

I’m planning on sending out info packets to local sororities in the area (one of my teammates did $2,200 in sales last weekend at a sorority house party) and maybe trying to appeal to the lesbian market as well because I kind of get the feeling that PPI hasn’t taken a lot of time to think about them at all, in favor of saving marriages.

So yeah. That’s what’s going on.

~ (sorta related) Greg has never been the type to downplay my dreams and goals but I was genuinely amazed at how quickly he hopped on board with this new business venture. I’d prepared a speech and a bulleted list of reasons I wanted to try this out and before I even got to my second sentence, he interrupted with “YES. I think you’d be great at it and I’ll do anything I can to help you get this off the ground.” It was incredible. He fronted the overhead costs, designed my marketing supplies, watched Chloe while I went through my materials and sat on conference calls with my sponsor for training purposes. He’s been really amazing about all this and it gives me even more motivation to do well so I’m not letting him down.

Additionally, my family is on board and supportive too which is fantastic. I’m not surprised that my sisters are cool with it but I was a bit more than surprised that my parents weren’t mortified. My mom didn’t actually want to discuss my merchandise or really the fact that I was in this particular market, but my dad was willing to discuss it openly and positively and even acknowledged that I’m educated and comfortable enough with sexuality in general that I’d be great at it. I was flattered in a really strange way. (I think that’s maybe the ONLY way discussing one’s sexuality with your father is healthy.) And then my friends are generally great anyway, so it was nice to be able to call them and tell them what I’m doing and knowing that they’d be psyched for me. Of course, the outstanding inclusion to that category is my friend Martha, who, after I had only said, “Hey, I just signed on as a Passion Parties consultant…” immediately said, “Oh my god! Can we do a party together?!” She rocks so very. Very. Very hard.

Anyway, I’m hoping this will be a means for saving money so I can go back to school in addition to getting ourselves out of the small amount of debt we’ve built in the last couple years. (Thank God it’s not nearly as bad as that of other kids our age. We’ve had a lot of luck and/or blessings.) I want this job to be something I can do a couple nights a week at most while spending time with Chloe and Greg during the day and later, attending school and working more on building a writing portfolio. Again, I’m so excited that my sponsor is cool with this and isn’t expecting me to work to be one of those consultants who climbs the ladder and makes $100,000 her first year.

(And now in unrelated news. Finally, right?)

~ Because of a heap of scheduling conflicts, I chose to withdraw myself from the Christmas show I was cast in. Initially I was really really disappointed because I haven’t done a show in years and I really miss acting (even though my actual skills there are mediocre at best. This isn’t up for debate.) and I really wanted to be in a Dickensonian Caroling Quartet, which I was cast in, but then I realized that I was committing every hour Greg was at home during 6 days out of the week (5-9 Mon-Fri, Noon-9 on Saturdays) for the two busiest, most family-centric time of year, all for a part with two lines and 30% stage time. Not that I’d give up being around my family during the holidays for a leading part with huge pay, but it certainly would’ve been more persuading.

This being said, I’m still on board for “South Pacific” next spring. And I’m pumped.

This week, someone I care about very very much told me that I was very “driven.” It was just casually mentioned in a sentence, like this person was just saying something that everyone already knew and didn’t stop to really think about as being an inherent trait of mine.

That’s the first time anyone’s called me that (maybe even thought of me like that) since I was in the 8th grade.

I tried not to laugh. I really did.

Honestly?

I don’t even know anymore.*

*Not that I really did, although I was convinced that I did up until about six or seven years ago. But now I’m certain that I don’t. And I don’t know where to start or if it’s even worth starting and it’s not bad and it’s not good and what it all boils down to is that I’m a giant wuss and no amount of begging the Universe for a pair of white-gold-dipped balls is actually changing that at the moment and that’s frustrating on top of everything else slowly stacking itself on each other. So, even though there’s a lot going on, there’s really nothing happening.
Because of me.
Being chickenshit.
And then hating it.
And then hating myself for hating it.

… And I’m tired. I think tired is coming in at a close second. Like, really long-term, weary, worn-out tired. It’s like I’ve spent since I was 13 overanalyzing and oversentimentalizing everything and then I ramped that up in the last few years with the mental workout of recovery and now something in my brain just finally powered down and now I don’t want to do any of it which doesn’t really help me because I’m pretty lazy when it comes right down to it but I kinda felt productive in my inactivity before now because at least I was dissecting and understanding everything but now that I’m not even doing that I’m really just not doing anything at all.

I really miss being able to blame my ineptitude on being completely out of my mind.

On Sunday I was given the Blatant, Irrefutable, Divine Sign of Guidance I’d been begging for for months.
On Monday I received a hand-written postcard [with original art] from one of my lifelong heroes. (The actor! Not the characters!)
On Tuesday I finally finally felt peace and a sense of closure about a wrong I have been conscious of and trying to right for eight years now.
On Wednesday I sat and talked with my college roomie for six hours and we only stopped because it was 1 a.m. and I had an hour’s drive home. She is one of the few who watched me at my very worst (all in a tiny dorm room) and still actively seeks my company. This is amazing to me.
And Thursday? Well that’s the first anniversary of our wedding.

Aside from this, I’ve also had four unbelievable friends take a liberal amount of time this week to exchange lengthy emails with me about the recent varied troubles I’ve been having and how they understand on a personal level. These were all unsolicited messages of concern and all were about a different issues but all were so thoughtful and thorough. I was floored by these friends’ continued willingness to heap love and support on me, regardless of how self-centered I tend to be during my dark moments.

I don’t know why it’s such a surprise to me when I realize it again and again but Dear God, I’m blessed.

Usually, in these rare times when the Universe actively floods my path with reiterated love, support and reminders of my importance, I still struggle to believe it hasn’t been misguided, that I’m not being mistaken for someone else. That fear and resistance is still here, but this week, I’ve mostly found refuge and much needed rest in this warm, deep, swelling Love that Something Out There deems me worthy of.

Today, I prayed.
Wait. That’s a lie.

Today, I begged.

It’s been an emotionally rigorous last-couple-weeks during which I’ve found myself pulling an Etch-A-Sketch redo on my mind and my thoughts and my definitions of everything and my agreements and my life and my particular existence and all that. And in the middle of all that upheaval I’m still dealing with my completeandutter feeling of hopeless lack of direction (an obligation for my immediate age, I think) that I’ve been tussling with for months now.

There’s just so many things I feel genuinely driven to do. I want to write a book, I want to sell sugar scrub, I want to make a documentary, I want to go back to school, I want to be a sex therapist, I want to have an op-ed column… All of these things I want to do in the next 10 years and I feel like I have no idea how to go about doing any of them, no particular confidence in my ability to be successful at any of them, (except the sex therapy. I’ve been giving frank, factual advice without blushing since the 6th grade. Ask anyone.) and really no idea which one God/Spirit/Universe is really calling me toward. (Although to be fair, I can always sell the sugar scrub on the side. I hope to open a stand at the local farmers market next season.) Most of the time I feel like one of those delusional “American Idol” contestants who is sitting around dreaming big with no shot of ever becoming anything anywhere close to what they envision. (No, Virginia, not all dreams come true.)

And it’s not for lack of trying to figure it out, either. I’ve meditated and prayed and read Tarot cards as a means for Spirit/God to speak with more clarity (which is usually pretty effective in dealing with everything else) and all sorts of weird rituals and centering practices to get a definite “YES!” on anything.

So today, exhausted from months of frustration on this and many other topics that have only just culminated in a bit of a meltdown and following emotional shutting-down for me, I found myself pleading with God.

“Look,” I said. “I’ve been doing really good here. And I’ve been grateful out the ass for a long time now and I rarely ask for anything for myself anymore. Sure, I ask for my daughter’s health and my husband’s inner peace and sense of self, but I can’t remember the last time I bothered you for anything personal. Not even strength or serenity or any of that. I’ve just kind of had faith that you’d give it to me and when you inevitably have, I’ve thanked you profusely. So right now I’m begging. Please. Please just give me some irrefutable message as to which direction I should go and where I should focus my energies and what sort of plans you have for me and what sort of gifts you’re willing to give me a leg up on because that’s what you made me for. Please tell me how I can best spend my life and my time and the gift of being here. Clearly. Without any room for argument. I’ll do whatever you want for me and whatever you intend and I’ll have confidence that you’ve got a plan here but I just need to know. I want to stop wasting my time running around from interest to compulsion and I want to start doing whatever the hell it is that I’m supposed to be doing right now. And, really, I think that’s what would work best for you and your plans, too. Just. Please.”

I’m not stupid enough to expect anything immediate. These sorts of things take time and I know better than to try to pressure God into anything or strike a deal with him or - as Will Truman put it - try to “punk the Almighty.”

This evening after dinner I found myself sitting on the couch watching the Emmys. I have a million things on my “To Do” list that I’ve been tackling all day and I literally have not watched the Emmys in the last decade or so. Nor have I had any desire to do so, actually. Even still, when Greg decided to go on up to bed, I told him I was interested in watching and couldn’t really provide a reason why (although at the time I was pretty sure it had a lot to do with my deep infatuation with Neil Patrick Harris combined with my desperate admiration and envy for Tina Fey.)

I particularly do not care about any of the shows in the Drama category because when I take refuge from the dramas of real life I don’t want to be bothered with those of fictitious characters. However, I was sitting in rapt attention through all of it, including when they announced the Outstanding Writer Award for a Drama Series. And for some reason I couldn’t stop watching two people I’d never heard of accept an award for a show I’ve never seen in a category I do not give a shit about. (Yes, I considered how mind-numbingly boring and technologically codependent this has made me look.)

And then Matthew Weiner looked dead into the camera and said, “This award makes writing look fun and it isn’t. But I want to say something to all the writers out there for a second.” And then he proceeded to say that it’s backbreaking work that seems impossible but that it’s absolutely worth it to never give up and to keep going for it because writers are all in good company.

You know, your basic “Dreams come true!” speech.

But this time it was from a writer who was actually proud to be a writer instead of some vapid actor who’s totally proud that they won an award for playing pretend. And he addressed those of us who are not only dreaming of it but are busy convincing ourselves that it can’t be done. And it was on a day that I begged for a sign. And nobody in Hollywood EVER talks to or about writers. Especially not low-life, unsuccessful ones.

Sure, it’s naive. Sure it’s a “People will believe what they want to” scenario I’m creating for myself here.

But I’m taking it as the sign I asked for.

And I’m so freaking scared and insecure and uncertain that I’m kind of wishing I hadn’t asked.

Crap.

~ I’ve taken to washing my hair with DAWN with OxiClean (this requires a LOT of conditioner) to try to get some of the excess darkness out. So far it’s working but I have this sneaking suspicion that I’m going to be visiting a hairdresser (or hairdressing friend) in the near future.

~ After getting a swift kick in the britches that I want to get back on board with my crazy bohemian dreams, Greg and I have decided to actively start planning a trip to Transformus and then Burning Man in the next two years. We don’t know what exactly we’re going to bring to the table just yet but we’re sketching out ideas for cool art projects and other such insanity. This is one of those things that Greg really would never branch out and do on his own (because of stories of people having sex on the side of the road in Black Rock City) but once I showed him a couple videos of amazing art projects from years past (Again, the Flaming Lotus Girls’ “Serpent Mother” is just incredible. He was more impressed with the giant Walking Machine) and some photos my friend took this year of the view of Black Rock City, he seemed more open-minded to it and even really excited. This makes me very very happy.

~ I’ve splurged on something completely unnecessary and bid on this trapper hat. I don’t know what it is about autumn that makes me such an idiot about hats, but I’m a fan.

This makes me giddy.

~ As of next Thursday I will have been married for a whole year. The tenative plan for now is to find a babysitter and get a room at the Chapel Hill Inn for the night so we can spend a couple days roaming around Chapel Hill, maybe having dinner at the Ratskeller where my grandparents used to go on dates (and still one of the coolest places to eat anywhere) and visiting the Hillsborough Last Fridays Art Walk or going off to see an indie film or an art show or a comedy show or whoknowswhat. I’m looking forward to it heavily.

We ended up already exchanging gifts. He gave me a custom display case in which to mount the twisty-tie ring that he proposed to me with. (He will be coating it in a metallic enamel.) I made a Shutterfly-published wedding album of our big day, which took a lot of time but not nearly as much dough as printing out a couple hundred photos and then having them matted into an album. Plus, it’ll keep remarkably well!

~ Things aren’t necessarily amazing again but they’re definitely optimistic, although I have a great amount of fear and reservation that I’m trying to deflect. I hate to be vague and I’ve rambled about the specifics of what was troubling me to enough people in my personal life but I did make mention that there was something wrong so I wanted to follow up on that.