Gingerbread House 2006!!!

Awwwwwweeeeee Yeeeeeeaaaaahhhh!

It's Gingerbread House time again.

If you'll remember...Lisa and I have a long-standing tradition of Gingerbread House-ery. It doesn't usually happen prior to Christmas, but as long as we tackle it before the New Year, it counts. Last year's effort was a "House of Debauchery". (Previous efforts included "Alien Crash-Landing" and "Santa in a Mack Truck"). This year was less subversive and more...pastel. Please remember, however, that the purpose of building the gingerbread creations is not great artwork...it's all about the sugar high.

Without further ado, I give you...

The Gingerbread Carousel of Wonder!!!

Here we have Lisa kneading the dough for the gingerbread. Yes, this is the first year we've made our own and didn't just trim some pre-made panels from a kit. It was surprisingly easy. Actually, I think it was easier, as we were able to make exactly the shapes we needed. Please note how she divided and shaped the dough as an exact replica of her ta-tas.
Her large, brown, crumbly ta-tas.

Again with the Lisa and the sexy things. Seriously, girl...control yourself! Sheesh...

Finally she gets down to work!

We've barely begun and we're already taking horrible self-portraits under the influence of Devil Sugar.

Top view of the Carousel in mid-construction. Those tiny pastel colored non-pariels were soooo good. They were white chocolate and minty with just a little bit of crunch from the little white sprinkly thingies. Candy? What candy?

Rock on. Last year it was me with gummy coke bottles up my nose. I'm so proud of Lisa for carrying on this year with dual nostril candy cane poles plus the lipped arch. Nice.

And here's the pretty pretty carousel. The final product had candy cane poles with circus animal...well, animals...aaaand candy cane fence with a sugar wafer walkway and a big Santa at the carousel controls and a gummy sugar santa sitting on a bench watching and a mommy gingerbread lady looking on and a gummy sugar tree and another bench aaaaaaand...that was a kick-ass run-on.

Imagine you are a teeny tiny gingerbread kid walking up to board the ride. Fun, right?

Overhead shot.

Closeup near Santa at the controls.

Yes, Rocky Horror was playing while we constructed. That was only after we watched Disney's Sword in the Stone. Hockety-pockety.

Gratuitous anatomically correct gingerbread people in the rack shot! Yippee!

Gratuitous sugar gummy Chimney Santa in Lisa's rack shot! Sweet!

So goes another year of yummy architectural goodies. Tummy aches can be worth it sometimes.

This Ain't Home

Well, here I am in Southern Cali again. It usually only happens once a year, so that isn't so bad.

It's so strange here. Or rather, I feel so strange here. When I'm driving down the freeway basking in sunlight that just doesn't scream "Christmas", I enjoy it for a little while. There's a freedom in being behind the wheel. I feel like I could go...wherever. The sun's pretty nice, too. This winter in NYC has been mild as hell, but there's nothing like wide open spaces with trees and blue sky.

But that's only for a few hours. I get sick of it pretty quickly. Oddly, I find myself with a much dirtier mouth here. It's as if I miss the grit of NY so much, I make up for it with a sailor's tongue. I can only handle so much perkiness.

There are so many teenagers here. It's like the land of silicone and teenagers. Where have all the 20/30 somethings gone? I'm not kidding. I don't think I've seen a single person my age. Granted, I was shopping (I'm soooo behind with Christmas gifties) and the mall is the denizen of the teens...but still. And no-one at all that I would be attracted to. They're all so...preppy? Or wanna-be gangsta. (Or maybe real gangsta. Who knows?)

This doesn't feel like home. I'm already so bored. I flew in last night and I've been here basically one day. It's only 6 pm and I'm ready to go to bed. There's just nothing to do. The only music venues I know are further away and not the type I'm interested in. Too "L.A.". I could go sit in a movie theatre. I could... Fuck. I really tried to think of something else to do and I couldn't think of anything. Oh holy crap, man. At least Christmas Eve and Christmas are sort of taken care of. I'm hanging out with a friend for a little bit on the 26th.... Wow.

This just really ain't home anymore.

Blah Blah Me Me Me

Hmm...some update-y thingies:

So my granma's out of the loony bin. I asked my mom if she was lucid and sane now and she answered "as much as she ever was". Hee.

I was blessed with a free ticket to a Krishna Das private concert. Freaking awesome. And kinda coolio that last weekend was a Guns N' Roses concert and this week it's kirtans. Neat-o.

My phone is going bonkers coo-coo cocopuffs. A couple weeks ago it erased my calendar. The other day it erased all my contact numbers. Now it is having trouble syncing at all. Mercury goes out of retrograde November 17th. November 17th.......

Surge-urge-ury is coming up. I'm excited and scared and nervous and happy and sad and curious and lots of stuff. I'm not good at asking for help and I'm going to need a lot of it. I know my friends love me and will do what they can, but I also know I'm going to have to rely on them more than I think they realize. I'm not going to be able to vacuum or do laundry or change the litter box or pack my suitcase for Christmas or anyfing. I'm afraid that I'm going to be left to my own devices too much. It's a very "alone" feeling. Not lonely exactly. Alone. That's what happens when you go through something major like this and don't have family around or a mate. Since I was teeny tiny I've always said "All by mine self". Well, I can't do this by mine self. Hardly at all. There's also this thing that because this is an elective surgery and not a "have to", I feel almost like I don't have a right to ask for help. Like, if it were open heart surgery or something I had to had to had to have, then I could ask for help. But because it is what it is and it isn't necessary for survival, then I can't.

Then there is the matter of Thanksgiving. And my lack of plans. Something always turns up, but this time it hasn't. Kind of strange. I hope I'm okay if nothing occurs. I mean, I think I will be, but I don't want to start feeling sorry for myself or something stoopidly lame like that. That whole "feeling sorry for myself" thing is boring. Bo-ring.

I've been signing a handful of new clients lately which is cool cool cool. Makes me quite aware that I need to continue doing workshops and teleclasses and such. Perhaps more frequently. Maybe while I'm recovering I'll do some planning/prep on that front. I'll have to fill my time with something, right? More than Netflix, that is.

Alrighty. Tha's that for now.

This Gingerbread House Needs an Intervention

First! Ever! Photo! Blog!

Okay, so any year that Lisa and I are together over the holidays, we make a Gingerbread House. But this, she is no ordinary Gingerbread House! No no. One year we had an alien crash landing in the back yard. Another year we made a big MAC truck and had Santa driving it. This year...it is the HOUSE OF SIN! THE DEN OF INIQUITY! THE...THE... It's lotsa vices thrown together with some candy is what it is.

So here we go...

Here is the front of our lovely home. Please note the references to Gambling, Alcoholism, and Smoking.

A close-up and overhead view of the front yard reveals our homeowner passed out naked on the front lawn. We also had a Gingerbread naked lady with a vagina made from black icing and a piece of licorice, but I broke her from making the Gingerbread people have too much sex and then I bit her legs off.

An angled view of the front and side reveal our despondent Mr. Snowman, who sadly hung himself from the chimney. Ah, we barely knew ye.

In homage of the dearly departed, we offer this close-up image of his final moments.

I apologize for the joke about the candy cigarettes on the roof. I'm just not very funny.

Poor Santa. Some nasty drug dealer came over to swipe some of the pot plant growing out back and Santa got in the way of the action. Dude cut Santa up with that broken beer bottle. That's just what you get when you roll wit us.

This guy was too fucked up to come to Santa's aid. Naked, passed out in his own vomit next to a pile of dog poo. That's classy.

I gotta say, though, that Gingerbread Guy was hot. I simply couldn't help myself.

This photo should never be looked at ever again.

Lisa looks pretty hot herself, what with ALL THE LEFTOVER GUMBALLS IN HER MOUTH AT ONCE! That's just gotta make you jealous of her lucky husband. I mean, look how far she can open that mouth of hers. Dayum!

But then she just spooges it all out.

This last pic is the worst of the bunch. This is what happens when a girl who never eats sugar...eats sugar! She gets totally high on that white devil and starts snorting things up her nose. Things that should never GO in a nose. Things like gummy bottles. That's just sick. And wrong. Why am I posting this picture again?

We are sick puppies and silly monkeys. But damn that was fun.

Ease Has Been Lost In This Alternate Reality

My parents' house is an alternate reality. The laws of nature don't work here the way you'd think they were supposed to. Linear reasoning is an impossibility and I have long since given up trying to understand what's going on half the time.

In some ways, I'm gaining new perspective and even respect for the places in which my parents are stuck. How can they be anywhere other than where they are what with everything going on? Of course they're fighting. Of course their moods switch faster than you can blink. Of course they're eating themselves into comas. Of course they hold grudges and give silent treatments and roll their eyes and yell about the inconsequential. Their lives have been turned UPSIDE DOWN over the last seven months and it seems like there isn't going to be any letting up soon. So they yell when they're sad and they cry when they're mad and they glare when all they want is a hug.

I'm seeing more how all of their various issues are conspiring together to keep them where they are and make it impossible for them to grow and change. Their house sucks the energy like a whirlpool drain. I find myself grazing in the kitchen, wolfing down mango slices even though I'm not hungry. I catch myself starting to engage in arguments and discussions that really don't make any sense. Even my physical energy is in the toilet. I was sitting on the floor today and I just didn't want to get up. I was amazed I was able to run on the treadmill the first couple of days I was here. Where did I get that energy and motivation? Cuz it ain't there now! (I realize, thank god, the "stuckness" isn't mine and I'm very sure I'll find my drive again once I'm back on my own turf.)

Surprisingly, I am feeling a level of compassion that had been difficult for me to access of late. Yes, despite all the criticisms above these lines and below this post, I'm feeling warmer towards my parents. I think I "get it" more. Rather than feeling distanced and disgusted in amazement at their behavior; I'm finding tolerance is coming easier. There's a little less judgment in my bones. But I still don't like it. I don't think I ever will. And I don't have to, I suppose. Of course I wish things were different, but...

I hope hope hope they heal soon. My folks aren't always like this. They haven't always been this way. Or maybe they have and I've just become more aware of it through my own growth. I don't know. But there is an ease that is missing and I'd like it to be found again.

Hexmas

Again again again.

Christmas fucked my shit up.

That's okay though. It happens. Shit happens. Family happens. Screaming babies happens. Perfectionist parents happens. Strange relatives happens.

Seriously. I'm a little pissed off, a little disappointed. But I'm really feeling okay with things.

Is that the wine typing?

That's okay too.

Merry merry.

Howzit in Hell-A

I have been on my feet ALL FREAKING DAY. Cooking. Cooking all day for Christmas. Oh fun and joy.

The time here with my folks has been up and down and up and down and bouncing like a trampoline. It's amazing how quickly a perfectly benign conversation can turn into antagonism and tension.

Example #1:

Talking to my dad this morning about my forays into holistic nutrition and the like. This is a topic over which we usually connect quite well, owing to his business history. But he's in the vitamin field, and I'm encouraging people to get their nutrition out of food. Somehow, some-bloody-how, he starts pressing me and asking "Well, people don't really want to change their diet and lifestyle and they want a quick fix like a vitamin, so how do you reach them?" And I say that those people won't be the ones coming to me for help. He keeps pressing and saying "Well, but you can only reach so many people, so what do you do then?" And I tell him that there are over 1,100 people in my school this year alone. If we each talk to only one person, that's another 1,100 people who are thinking about nutrition in a new way. He comes back with "But that's only a small percentage of the population. People don't want to change their lifestyles." Blah blah. He kept going on. Anyway. So what was the deal there? And he didn't understand why I might get angry with what he was saying. Gee, dad. You basically spent ten minutes arguing to me that what I'm doing isn't worthwhile because I can't possibly change the world. I HAD ALREADY SAID EARLIER that I AGREED that in certain cases, vitamins were totally necessary and that most people DIDN'T get everything they needed out of food alone. I had also said that the people who aren't willing to make any diet and lifestyle changes probably aren't going to be the ones starting on a serious vitamin regimen either. But he kept coming at me asking how do I expect to reach the people that don't want to change? I'm not going to reach enough people through counseling, Thanks, dad. Thanks for that amazing support.

Example #2:

Talking to my mom this afternoon. We were actually having kind of a great conversation. I was able to share things with her that were going on in my life. I was opening up about some stuff that I had been holding back on and I was even considering broaching some really deep subjects. Until she turned the conversation to rehashing an argument we had several weeks earlier. She started telling me how self-centered and self-involved I am. How she doesn't understand it and doesn't like it. How she sees that my friendships change over the years and I don't seem to keep friends very long (Never mind that one of my friends has been since KINDERGARTEN, another is from ELEMENTARY SCHOOL, and others are several years long. Never mind THAT of course.). She said that I obviously don't value my relationships and don't treasure or hold dear my friendships. She loves her friends and wants to keep them around. She also said that the older people get, the more they get set in their ways and the more naturally self-centered they become and do I ever worry that I'm never going to be able to have a long term relationship because I will be so self-involved that I won't be able to let anyone into my life. Holy shit. I mean, COME ON. At that point, I said that I am no longer going to sit there while she calls me cold and hard and self-centered. She left to go take a shower and when she came back, it was like NOTHING HAD EVER HAPPENED.

Seriously. Seriously. Again. Seriously.

So I'm an iceberg, huh? A lonely island iceberg. Nice.

Wish me a merry miracle Christmas, please. I've managed to avoid fights and arguments and engaging and getting sucked in. I'm doing a damn good job, I think. I've even had some fun moments. But I ate some dark chocolate twice today, nibbled too much on my own cooking, and tomorrow I have to deal with 9 more family members. WISH ME FUCKING LUCK!!!!!

Fucker Mother

Passive aggressive mothers are DEADLY.

It is absolutely impossible to argue with someone who resorts to behavior even a five-year-old would be embarrassed to display. Refusing to engage only makes them more furious.

"Them", "someone"...fuck theoretics. My mother pissed me the hell OFF today. I'm still relatively stewing some seven and a half hours later. As much as I've learned to disengage, the woman can still get under my skin.

And she wonders why I'm NOT looking forward to coming "home" for Christmas? Gee...can't imagine why.

She brings the crazy.

In Being Seen, There Is Care

The last 10 to 15 minutes or so of my yoga class consist of laying in the corpse pose in silent meditation. At the start of this final pose, my yoga instructor, J., chants. It's the most amazing sound

His voice vibrates and resonates on an auditory plane that cuts right to my inner energy. It's as if I'm an infant in my crib and my daddy is crooning a lullaby; I'm a woman in my lover's embrace and he's singing me to sleep; I'm pure spirit in a cloud-like nest and the universe is cradling me in its giant arms.

And after that...silence.

While the spiritual/physical connection is always wonderful, today I wasn't quite as "in" it as usual, which is why I think the following affected me as it did. During the silence, I heard people talking out in the lobby. I heard a man's voice, and I had a moment of panic. I thought, for a second, that J. had walked out and left me and my classmate alone. Suddenly I felt abandoned.

It only took a matter of seconds to realize that J. was indeed still in the room with us; but that fleeting moment of panic was enough to set my wheels spinning.

What deep fear did that moment tap into?

What does it mean to be seen? To be watched over? To be validated? To be protected?

What does it mean for someone to care?

As an only child, now grown into an single adult woman living alone in a big bad city...I've become quite used to solitude. I'm familiar with entertaining myself, mothering myself, disciplining myself, playing with myself--the basic gamut. But it's all easier when someone cares.

For Rob Brezsny to care to have us write down our most painful issues so that he could take them home, pray over them, and burn them...that moved me to tears.

For J. to care to stay in the room with us in our silence, holding the energy of the space to keep us safe...I need that.

For Samantha to care to call me because she hadn't heard from me in a few days and was concerned because "that wasn't like" me...it made me feel loved.

It would be nice to be self-contained enough so that I wouldn't care if others cared. I wish I could be that blase. But I'm not a good liar and my face never succeeds in concealing my true emotions. I CARE. I need people to care about me.

Earlier I indulged myself in a little pity party: nobody made sure I had Thanksgiving plans..Nobody wonders what I'm doing this weekend..Nobody is curious what I'm doing right now. Blah angsty blah trite blah poor fucking blah me.

I tried to type that crap in earlier, but I couldn't do it. Well, obviously I could cuz it's THERE. But I couldn't leave it sans self-referrential context because it was just too fucking LAME. I'm sure that in reality, there are indeed people out there who care. Not just my mother, but real live other people who aren't obligated to give a crap just because we share the same DNA. Sometimes though, especially when the days get shorter and colder and the season steals people away, it can be easy to forget.

The holidays fucking suck.

And it ain't even December yet.

Lisa -- I tried to write a positive post. But shit is up right now and although I can act, I can't pretend.