The seven 'g's of grounding

Writing is a very head-intensive process. Meaning that a person stays in her own mind all day every day, to the point that insanity can ensue. Friends of mine in the writing process have had such body and soul-neglective side effects as: constant shivering no matter how warm the room, extreme weight loss, frequent crying, and residual unprecedented lack of lust for life. Remembering what I do about my dear mother's lessons in the mind/body/soul balance, these symptoms are indicative of severe mind-centric imbalance. So, in such fond memory of my incredible mother (whom I miss so much every day) and her new age ways, my aunt (Mom's sister) and I came up with my seven 'g's of grounding: (1) This one you can guess. Go ahead, there are two 'g's...yes, Gilmore Girls. This, the first of the 'g's has to do with turning off the active mind and shifting science to the subconscious via marathons of my favorite pair of saucy ladies and their fight-the-man antics. See, I knew it counted as work. There is so much mental and creative processing that occurs in the subconscious mind. I swear to you that this is true. It was in the New York Times. (2) The next 'g' is a bit of a stretch but it refers to my blog. I call it "gushing." It also includes long emails to friends, phone calls, angry explosions in the car with my sweet and understanding husband, and the venting-sessions in hallways and offices of all of my coworkers. (3) Gardening is an obvious tool for grounding. Sometimes, as I recall, these things are quite literal. So, the square-foot gardening, and eating the cucumbers and tomatoes harvested from my own yard, have been counted as the third 'g.' (4) The gym. You may be noticing a theme, in that I've blogged about all of these 'g's before but I've only recently "grouped" them. Hehe. That's another 'g'. (5) Grooming. Aunt Becky thought of this 'g' for describing the pedicure I got yesterday afternoon as well as the pricey haircuts that I maintain as one of my last pieces of luxury freight to throw overboard when it comes time to pinch pennies. (6) Guacamole. Let me hear you say "Oh, yeah!" Margaritas also count in this category because I consume the two items together. And the seventh 'g' of grounding is (7) Games. This includes facebook wordtwist and scrabulous as well as a crazy set of kids games I found on my new computer called "Purble Place." Don't judge me until you've tried these delightful and brightly colored games. They're harder than they look. Now, I have to say that I feel very proud of Aunt Becky and me for coming up with these things. I really think that Mom would endorse our work. Also, Mom, if you're reading this from wherever you are, notice that we used "seven" things. "Seven" is an important and non-patriarchal number, unlike the evil "ten" utilized by what's-his-name on late night TV (please, as if I'm up at that time of night).

Welcome family, please ignore the curse words.

I have just reminded my beloved family about my blog. I reviewed my posts to ensure that I wouldn't be embarassed by myself and I think it's fine, aside from curse-words and that post down there about bras (it's an informative post for the ladies, but, if you're a dude, you can skip it). So, what I'm going to do now is put a giant smiling picture of me and remind my family how much they love me. There, it's me and Wyatt. We love you...Wyatt loves everyone who is willing to hug him.

The hoops! The jumping and the flames and the hoops!

You won't be surprised to hear that this, the title of my blog, is another Gilmore girls quote. They just keep mirroring my life. I'm trying to get this god-forsaken PhD and it's just so far out of my reach. So, I am going through the literature today, working on writing my own contribution and I just feel so disillusioned. Maybe it's my day and my total and complete exasperation when it comes to pleasing my gatekeeper/prison guard/advisor. He's very good but I just don't even agree with him on edits anymore but the only choice is to do as close to what he wants as possible. So, really, my job at this point is to read his mind and to bow to his every whim and to prostrate myself. It's so demoralizing.
And here's where it comes to the literature, and reading it--I'm trying to write something good and yet so much of publishing papers is just picking a hot topic. It's all sold in the introduction. It's about spin. It's like flipping a house. You make the deal on the front end. And I don't just mean asking a good question. There are some kick-ass scientists out there, and the thing that makes them hot, what allows them to make a real contribution, is the questions they ask. The problem is that if you pick global warming or HIV or breast cancer, you can just spew garbage and get it into these journals. Then the next schmo gets hosed because she can't re-do the crap that got the brush-off in the last manuscript. She has to pretend that those bozos contributed something and write them into her introduction. "Based on data by Idiot et al. (2004), the distribution of ho-hos in 7-elevens across the country correlates with slurpee machines. While it is possible that these correlations are based on the decisions of 7-eleven corporate, the authors conclude that this correlation is due to a symbiotic relationship between chocolate and cherries." We're making progress, right? I mean, science is moving forward I think. I just go through these papers and see myself and my own insecurity and so much of what I do when I'm pulling things together and blowing smoke and I have a hard time believing that any of it is real. I guess that you listen to the themes and just use what you have. I guess that every contribution adds to the pile. The natural world doesn't lend itself to easy answers. No single person's hypothesis is going to be exactly right. So then you try and address phenomena. Tell me, does anyone else get a very disappointed feeling upon reading a journal article? Is it just me or are they all the same? And, for those of you in this business, have you noticed that we are all, all the people that I know, working so much harder than these other people? Does every fucking title have to be so dramatically inflated to the point that you can only cry, upon reading what was actually done? I think that maybe looking at things on the small scale is the problem. Hopefully the sum is greater than its sad and disgruntled parts. I mean, look at all the progress we've made with global warming. Ugh. I'm going to manage a 7-eleven. I like slurpees...and ho hos.

bras and boobs

Wait, it turns out that I have something else to talk about today. I went last night, on the recommendation of 3-4 friends and Oprah, to Intimacy to get a bra fitting. "It expensive," my friends told me, "but it is worth every penny." "You just have to have 2-3 of them and they last forever," one of my most-trusted friends attested two years post-fitting. "They're the only bras I ever wear." "Once you know what size you are, you don't have to shop there anymore," they swore. I decided to give it a shot.
When you get there, they make you fill out a little questionairre. It wants to know why you have come in to be fit and what your bra dissatisfactions are. Also it asks, "Do you believe that a bra can change your life?" I checked "no." I don't believe a bra can change my life. But, I do believe that it's unreasonable for me to spend every day of my life being torn between wanting to rip my bra off and trample upon it and wanting not to have the crazy hanging-down boobs of hippies and other non-bra wearers. It's not just aesthetics, people, the non-bra option isn't comfortable either. It's not just the sweat caused by skin touching skin, it's also the...we'll call it "jostling." You ladies hear me, right?
Anyway, back to my story: So, I fill out the questionairre: I have a problem with slipping straps, I have a problem with digging wires, I just want to be comfortable, it wouldn't hurt if it were also cute, etc. Secretly, I am un-convinced. I suspect that they will confirm the size I've worn since I was 13 (36B) and then follow it up by guilting me into spending a jillion dollars. So, my fitter comes to retrieve me, after just a little while (only because I went on a Monday night). It's hot, because, for some reason, Atlanta's swankiest mall is having AC problems. All the better for beating the crowds. Now, here's the magic secret part, people. I'm going to disclose my fitting. Are you ready? Get ready.
The fitter says that they don't use measuring tapes, that they just try bras on you to fit them. So, of course, I start by taking off my shirt. (Step number 1: remove your shirt). The fitter talks about things. There are posters on the wall with common bra misconceptions. She comes around behind me to pinch the main strap part of my bra off my back about 4 inches. This is surprisingly more comfortable. She points out that my little strap guy is on the last hook already and clearly much to big, so, first alteration made. 34, not 36. (Step number 2: pinch the back strap of your bra until the thing is snug. note whether or not you're using the first hook or the last hook. use this information to determine your little number). I assume that, if you are on the last hook and already you have a lot of squeezing going on, you may need to make changes somewhere besides the little number. It's possible that you would be allowed to increase the number but I suspect that this is a rare problem. So, having watched Oprah, I knew that most people need to go down in number and up in cup size so this didn't surprise me but I'd tried a 34C before and it felt too tight. So, the lady, at this point, told me that my back is small. I told her that I have a problem wherein the cups never totally encompass on the sides, that they need to be wider, not deeper. She doesn't look surprised. I suspect that there are other things I missed because of my particular problems that the lady would pinch and observe, based on obvious problems that people have but, somehow, I suspect that this job is intuitive, once you know the tricks. Someone with digging straps would need to let us know about that problem but, based on the information on the wall, I would anticipate that all problems are caused by not having enough grabby-grabby by the main strap or not having enough coverage by the cups. OK, so, something that I should have mentioned before now that was the most shocking part of the fitting is that the next step is for the lady to unceremoniously whip off the bra of the fittee and look critically at her breasts. (Step 3: Remove bra and examine breast shape.) At this point, my lady (who was somewhat grumpy about the heat) pointed out a couple of (apparently magical knowledge) things that I won't mention and left me in the dressing room, completely topless, for about 10 years. OK, it wasn't 10 years but it was a long time that she was gone. I guess it was the heat that caused her not to recommend that I don the little coat hanging on the back of the door but I felt very strange. There was no place to sit down but there was a big mirror and kind of a lot of reading material on the walls. I got used to it eventually but I was a little unsettled, standing and reading information about bras (including some fascinating diagrams) without my clothes. Now, the lady returned with bras of various sizes for me to try. (Step 4: Try various sizes of bra, based on your assessments so far. Don't be afraid to go two sizes up in cup size.) The rest of the game was obvious. The 34D bras looked terrific on me and felt like I had finally come home. I think that, at this point, you should be checking for strap at mid-back and shoulder straps resting comfortably on shoulders but, if you're wearing the bra, it's easy to tell that things have improved substantially. The 34C, as was my previous experience, was still too tight but it was because the cups were too small. Who knew? This is why the "try on everything" section is important. I think it's probably tough to know exactly what the problem is. For my next chapter (after my bank account has filled back up again), I'm going to try on some lacy numbers from a less expensive store, in the new size, to see how universal the process is. I wish they had brought me a 36B in their fancy brand so that I could confirm that they're not just playing mind-games. I actually went home and tightened some shoulder straps and tried some of my old bras again. Some I discarded but some are okay. This seems mysterious. Anyway, here's the moral of the story: If you are uncomfortable in your bra, there is probably some sort of problem and trying on new sizes is the only way to fix it, with or without a knowledgeable person to stare at your naked breasts.

The ennui coincidence

Check out what Lee pointed out to me:



Such an amazing coincidence! I love ennui. I have ennui. My name should be "ennui."

Usually that is fine, but today, sorry lady, I have ennui

Probably it's clear to all of you at this point that I've decided that the Gilmore Girls, and watching them incessantly to the detriment of the rest of my life, are one of life's joys and necessities. Today, the topic is the final episode of season 1 (Love, daisies, and troubadours), right at the beginning when Lorelai comes into the inn to find Michel not answering the phone. This is when he says one of my favorite Michel lines of all time (and that's saying something):

Look, I've made my peace with the fact that everyone who calls here is a notch above brain dead, and that the pennies I am thrown each week are in exchange for me dealing with these people in a nonviolent manner. And usually that is fine, but today, sorry lady, I have ennui.

He defines "ennui" as "existential angst." This is how it's defined by merriam-webster:

Main Entry:en·nui : a feeling of weariness and dissatisfaction : boredom

Pronunciation:\ˌän-ˈwē\

Function:noun

Etymology:French, from Old French enui annoyance, from enuier to vex, from Late Latin inodiare to make loathsome — more at annoy

Date:1732

I'd prefer that it be referred to as existential angst. I spent the rest of my weekend telling Kevin, whenever asked what was the matter, that I had ennui. It turns out that mine was more like Sookie's, which dispersed as soon as she told a little joke:

Sookie: You look happy.

Lorelai: Oh, well… what's the opposite of ennui?

Sookie: [pauses] Off-ui. [giggles] Oh, hey, I'm cured!

Golf carts make things fun.

So, for all of you out there in the internet world who don't know, my in-laws, whom I love, live in a golf-cart community. A crazy conservative golf cart community with beautiful tree-covered cart paths that take you anywhere from the grocery store to church to the high school to the various community festivals. There's also a lake from which my father-in-law recently caught an 8 pound bass (another story from another time). Now, the key phrase for you to keep in mind about the previous two sentences is, "various community festivals." I spent the 4th of July there. I wore patriotic colors to blend in. Now, first there was a parade, like any other (aside from a series of Christian floats like this, the only one I took a picture of...they're fishers of men...Yay) but you just ride your little cart up to the line and you're right there. So, the next thing that's exciting about the whole situation , aside from parades and free food everywhere and just general good times, is the golf carts themselves. Here are a few examples. And here's ours. Finally, comes the fireworks display! The lake means that you can see these fireworks from so many different places that it's not crowded (that's right, our cart had a light-up flag) and there are food vendors and, man oh man, if it weren't for the commute and the fact that I would have to make that commute in order to hang out with people who don't care that I don't care for our president, I would live in this place. Just wait until you see what they do at Christmas!