oh yeah!

this is pretty funny. but mostly i'm just excited i successfully embedded something. the blog gods are pleased.  

mmm...mmm...good

perhaps you've heard: the flu doesn't care if you've received a shot or not. he is, apparently, still free to infect whomever he pleases as doctors are saying the '07-'08 flu season is especially bad. it seems there was a communication breakdown in the influenza corporation and the flu strand included in the shot, is not the flu strand doing the infecting. computer virus, or someone doctored a memo - who knows... but one thing is for sure: come the end of the fiscal year, heads are gonna roll at F.L.U., Inc. 

i caught a news report that said, "the best way to avoid the flu is to get plenty of sleep, exercise and eat right." wow. really? i'd rather just get a shot thanks so much. i mean, doing all 3 of those things at the same time? when is enough enough?! what's next? reduce, reuse, and recycle? stop, drop and roll? someone needs to draw the line. 

anyway, here's something that's sure to cure what ails you - some homemade chicken noodle soup. davidrussell had the icks yesterday and this is just what the doctor ordered. one of cincinnati's finest chefs, kate nicholson, created this recipe. whip some up and enjoy! (and yes, "some" is an actual recipe measurement.)

kate's chicken noodle soup

3-4 chicken breasts

2 carrots (peeled and sliced)

a few stalks of celery (depends on how much you don't hate celery)

some cremini mushrooms

1 onion (chopped)

3-4 boxes free range chicken broth

egg noodles (i use 3/4 of one bag; depends on your noodle mood.)

some oregano

2 bay leaves

some curry powder

some sea salt

1/2 some of pepper

1. boil chicken, drain water. (i recommend slow boil, the chicken falls apart more easily.)

2. chop veggies and mushrooms.

3. saute veggies and mushrooms in olive oil for about 4 minutes.

4. combine chicken with broth. add veggies and mushrooms, slow boil.

5. add spices to taste

6. add noodles

7. stir and simmer for 1 hour or until noodles are soft. 

serve it with some yummy salad, or a tasty grilled cheese sandwich. or carb it out with a big wad of bread. ooo, mama.

blockbuster hit of 1982

so the other day i'm flipping channels and there's kristy mcnichol in that row boat, turning that crank, singing, "i'm done. i've had enough of pumpin' and a' blowin'..." i immediately chimed in with her. am i the only one that remembers this blockbuster hit?

c'mon, the cartoon fish...that turned into lips? anyone?

no hoarding my hoarding story

i'm a recovering hoarder. my first memory of hoarding is eating a little package of cheese and crackers and thinking - "this little plastic cheese-spreader-thing is kinda cool. i might need this for Barbies." i tossed it in my top dresser drawer, my first "junk drawer." i was 6 years old.

hoarders always have a "really good reason" for why they are hoarding whatever it is. at 6, my reason was "i might need this for Barbies." after all, Barbie was always finding herself in unique scenarios and experiences and if a little girl doesn't own every Barbie thing, then she has to improvise. when i was 8 or 10, i remember my step mom was fixing my hair in front of the dresser mirror. i opened my top drawer to get a brush amidst the dozens of cheese and cracker spreaders. laughing, she picked one up and asked, "what are all these?" i said, "i collect cheese and cracker spreaders." 

"why?

"i don't know. i just think they're cool."

she did not do or say anything to make me feel bad. but some how i felt a little embarrassed. no one knew i had that "collection" until that day. it was like a secret. i would grow up to understand this feeling as shame. 

hoarders chalk their hoarding up to "collections." proclaiming one's self a collector is an excellent way to stay in denial, mask the truth and continue the behavior. this gets worse when one makes declarations to the world about their identity through their collection. (this doesn't make "collectors" hoarders, of course. but it does help hoarders hide behind "collecting.")

 

i joined a sorority in college. our sorority mascot was the squirrel. i wore a few squirrel shirts, had a stuffed squirrel or 2. 4 years later, i had close to 50 squirrels in one form or another. i purchased very few of them. most were gifts; people think they are really loving on a hoarder when they add to their collection. "hey, we see that much of your identity is wrapped up in this particular thing and we see this thing seems to make you happy. we want to make you happy, so we're going to perpetuate that for you. here's another squirrel." the "really good reason" for keeping the squirrels goes like this - "well, i'm an alpha gam. and alpha gams are squirrels. so this proves i'm me, right?)" lovingly, davidrussell chimes in - gee, honey... it all makes sense. i mean, what do squirrels do? i try to remember all the special things that the founders of AGD said that squirrels do...i know there's something about being energetic. i guess they energetically hoard.

i didn't know i was a hoarder. i thought everyone was like me, but some were more organized. marrying davidrussell helped, but it took a while. the first 1/2 of our marriage, he just enabled me. he's very organized and a neat freak so he just found more clever ways to deal with my stuff. 3 years into our first house, just the 2 of us living in a 3 bedroom, with a full unfinished basement and we were renting a storage unit for $60 a month. (hoarding actually costs money.) i had boxes that hadn't been opened since our family moved when i was 13. now i was paying to have them stored and i didn't even know what was in them. 

i certainly don't condone 85 year-olds living with 45 cats and 18 dogs in a house of trash... but i understand how they get there. for me, the hoarding was all fear-based. i was afraid to throw stuff away. "what if i need it? what if we don't have any money and we can't afford to buy another? what if this special person finds out i tossed the gift they gave me 5 years ago?" fear should never be the root of any decision - ever.

anyway, today, ain't no fear in this girl and ain't no junk in this girl's house. how i got there is another story. word up.

War of Art

i just finished The War of Art by Steven Pressfield. i mean like just now read the last page. it would be a travesty not to immediately write something. Pressfield is a fiction writer but this book is about the true depth, intensity and consistancy re: creativity. particularly the specific idea we each uniquely have. i've never read anything like it, great book. half the book is about "Resistance," a strategy of the enemy. it's a quick read, so read it.
discovering this book at this particular time in my life is no coincidence. for about 2 years i feel like i've been slowly waking up to pieces of truth that someone stole from me. as if i had it long ago and sort of forgot about it or assumed it was lost, etc. and then i saw someone else walking down the street with it and, all of a sudden, i'm like "hey, jerk! those are mine!" probably 8 or 12 years ago is when the thievery began. it's been an inconspicuous and gradual thing, like if you have a cleaning lady that steals one CD or DVD everytime she comes over. and maybe she doesn't even take the case, just the actual DVD so you have no idea when it disappeared and assume you lost it, i.e. "it must be me. i must have misplaced it. surely no one is malicious and inscrupulous enough to actually take my movie." (see, even that is a part of the lie that replaced the truth.)
so what am i talking about?
it's the assumption that there's an expectation to give up pieces of myself in exchange for welcoming new pieces. in other words, "now that i am a wife, i can no longer be a BLANK." "now that i am a mother, i can no longer be a BLANK." ok, let's be clear. this isn't a black and white issue. i mean if the sentence is "now that i am a wife, i can no longer be a prostitute." i would say, yes, that's a good decision, dear. i'm talking about receiving labels and letting that be the ultimate definition of us. being enslaved by our labels.
when i became a mother, i was already very happy and in love with my husband. then, i discovered a whole new version. wow! but for years, inside i had been mourning my old self. for some reason i believed i had to trade parts of me in. like there wasn't room for all of me.
i'm not talking about growth. growth is good. maturing, gaining wisdom - all good.
i'm not talking about sacrifice. sacrifice and serving my family - all very good.
i'm talking about who am i? i'm not a wife, a copywriter, a mom, a pathetic wannabe runner, etc. i'm kelly. kelly happens to be a wife, etc. you get it. i'm called to be a wife, a mother, etc. but what does that mean?
i used to believe there might be more for me, more to see, taste, be. when did i stop believing that? when did i think i had eaten at all the great restaurants (that's a metaphor, by the bye.) don't call the cheese police yet, i'm done for now.
and anyway, i don't have all this figured out. i'm learning. i also don't have this blog all figured out. for example, i just lost 2 full paragraphs i had written and i can't find spell check.

let's start with something serious...

the flat iron is changing my life. it's unbelievable. i mean, have you heard of these things? do you own one?! it is a revolutionary device. i'm convinced this is the only thing used on all those makeover shows. they just take people in the back and flat iron their hair and TA-DAH! you're a new woman, honey.
i owned one years ago. it sort of sucked. this time, i actually broke down and bought one at a beauty place, paid $45 for it, i.e. i got the cheapest one and at a discount. (Beauty First is the one of the few places that makes it worth getting the little key chain card. unlike Hallmark, where after i spend $8,000 they send my a $3 coupon. thanks, hallmark.)
this flat iron is hotter than the sun. i left davidrussell's sporty NIKE watch sitting near it and it melted the rubber strap. awesome. the only thing more fun than telling him i paid $45 for a flat iron was "and, by the by... i melted your watch on it."
it's really inspired me to not only grow my hair long again, but shower in general. i might even pursue that acting/modeling career all of you always told me i should pursue. thanks for never giving up on me. watch for me on next year's 30-something american idol show on the WB. after i win, i'll tear up and say it's all b/c of my flat iron.

so anyway, here's what i'm talking about. i'll share, contemplate, do some blog-aloud-processing. share where i'm at on important issues with y'all. issues like child-raising, marriage, flat irons and what the hell happened to that newlywed dude that fell off the cruise ship?! i mean, seriously, what HAPPENED to that guy?

we'll see how this goes...