The Odd Broad

Lunchtime Musings (of the menstrual variety)

Last month I finally got my period after a nearly twenty month hiatus.  (TMI?  Saw-reee.)  Apparently breastfeeding delays the return of menses (did I just say menses?), and although I'm still nursing, my sweet baby is a year old now and my body must have just been ready.  My vacation from the rag was something I didn't give much thought to, and only now in hindsight can I truly appreciate how lovely it had been.  Because did it ever return with a vengeance.  I got it again the other day and man (TMI alert): cramps galore, heavy flow, and talk about the moody blues.  It's the kind of mood that at one time in my life may have inspired me to listen to Radiohead all day, or create bad poetry, or write things like, "Doubt, if you must, but persist!" on my bedroom walls, or maybe go for a walk with my friend Vanessa and sign up for Scientology classes.  

But I don't really have time for such indulgences these days!  I'm somebody's mama now!

Still, my current emotional temperature has inspired me to take stock.  I really adored Gretchen Rubin's book, The Happiness Project, and Hubby got me one of her 2012 page-a-day calendars for Christmas. (Incidentally, I've read that her birthday falls in December and I can't help but wonder: Sagittarius or Capricorn?)  Among doing a million and one other really helpful, insightful things, Ms. Rubin's book encourages the reader to establish a set of personal commandments by which to live.  I suppose I've been sort of informally keeping a running list going in my head, and this morning while I was gargling I happened to think of a few...

1. Buy the extra large box of tampons, for crying out loud!  Yes, I have access to an unlimited supply in the bathroom at work, and a box containing 36 tampons certainly does seem like more than I'll ever possibly use, but come on, now.  I'll use them.  Of course I will.  And while we're on the subject, do I enjoy running around in a frenzy, searching through old purses and junk baskets in the hopes of finding some forgotten old tampon?  And yet, why does this happen, time after time?  (I know I'm not the only one, either, because Sissy told me she did the same thing last month.)

2. If someone does something (or forgets to do something) that ends up hurting me, I don't have to fall apart over it.  I don't have to hold a grudge, but I don't necessarily have to go out of my way to be overly nice to them, either.  And I do not have to take it personally, because most of the time it has nothing to do with me.  Being a lifelong people pleaser, this lesson has proven to be very difficult to come by, but I think going through childbirth may have sealed the deal. I simply don't have to try so hard!  (These days I'm too tired to be a serious people pleaser, anyways.)

3. If something is really bothering me, either do something to try and fix it, or resolve to let it go.  I'm the type of person who will stew over something until it makes me crazy, but often times if I just address the problem I can let it go without a second thought.  Sometimes I have to be a big girl and stand up for myself, and if I don't feel compelled to, well, it mustn't have been that important to me in the first place. (Hence I should stop obsessing over it!)

4. Strive to surround myself with the warm and fuzzies.  I'm realizing I need to be reminded often of things that on the surface may seem really obvious.  My favorite quotes, books, and teachers, for example- all of the things that give me those happy, usually fleeting moments of Zen- I need to remind myself of these things on a daily basis or it's shockingly easy for me to go off track.  (As in, Zen...Zen...Zen, "Hey you a*shole, there's a stop sign there!!")  My favorite teacher in college had a beautiful book of poems published posthumously, and when I read her words, not only do I feel her spirit, but I become enveloped by such a profound sense of peace.  Why don't I open up Julie's book more?  Why don't I ever practice my Qi Gong?  I think I need to make more of an effort to set myself up for Zen, or else it just isn't going to happen.

And on that note, it's back to work for me.  Happy Monday, Dear Reader.  

Love,

The Menstrual Broad xoxo

Last night I had a very vivid dream.  I was in Science class and my 7th grade Geography teacher, Mr. Phelan, had just asked me to give a witty speech about why Robert Pattinson was smoking hot.  I had only minutes to prepare.  My friend Amy was with me, and I sat at the back of the auditorium, hunched over my notebook.  I wrote frantically.

My sister wasn't surprised at my dream.  She's in her second trimester of pregnancy now, and will be the first to credit Edward Cullen as a good deal of the inspiration for conceiving her second born.  R-Pat is even better looking, she contests, when he's not wearing:

1.) a peacoat

2.) whiteface

and

3.) lipstick

You may already know my thoughts regarding the Twilight sensation.  While I find the self-loathing Bella a wretched role model for young girls, and the intensity of her relationship with Edward dangerously limiting (ie: she'd rather lie in a field staring into the sparkly boy's eyes than take the frigging SAT's), even I can admit that vampire is rather dreamy.  If one is into that sort of thing.

I won't lie, most of the time I play for Team Jacob.  Especially after watching New Moon.  (I'm raising my eyebrows as I type this last sentence, can you tell?)  Yes, the sunny werewolf has my vote even after I went on imdb and discovered, much to my horror, that Taylor Lautner was born in 1992.  (He did just turn eighteen, though!)

Impure thoughts regarding shirtless, tanned werewolf minors aside, my dream last night was a weird one.  R-Pat dominated much of the conversation at work today, and a friend told me to google what he revealed this week on The View.

Have you heard about this, Dear Reader?  How R. Pattinson told Details magazine he's allergic to (and hates) vaginas?  He was also quoted on The View as saying he thinks Betty White is one of "the sexiest women in America."

Say what?

So, R-Pat...what you're saying is...I have a chance.  Come on, even on my worst day I'm way hotter than Rose Nyland!  I'm just saying.

Fakin Bacon

Today I somehow got it into my head that I would try to become a vegan.  (What do you want from me?  I'm reading "Skinny Bitch" and I'm rather impressionable.  The chapter on the slaughterhouses made me cry.)

I can act...rashly at times.  To sum it up quickly, this morning I decided to permanently give up meat and dairy.  (And, while I was at it, coffee, Advil and wine containing sulfites.  I already don't drink soda or else I'd have given that up as well.)

Things were really zooming along blissfully until about lunchtime.  This is when I found myself slumped on a bench in Copley Square, listless and pale, with a splitting headache, feeling as if I was about to either fall asleep or faint.  What had I been thinking?

Back at work, I texted Hubby.  He texted me back: "Perhaps you should...ease into something like this."

Perhaps I should.  My husband is ever the voice of reason.

He texted me again: "Please take some Advil."

A moment later, my dear friend Gregg informed me he will force feed me a cheeseburger if I don't snap out of it by the end of the week. 

Tonight we headed over to "The Other Side" because I knew they'd have something meatless for me to nosh on.  It was there that I tasted my very first bit of "vegan cheese" and it was not an unpleasant experience.  It somehow tasted buttery.  Of course, it helped that it was smothered on top of tortillas and vegetarian chili.

The "Fakin Bacon" was a different story entirely.  It reminded me of the Pupperoni (Pup, Puperoni, PUP Puperoni) strips we used to feed my friend Laurie's Yorkshire Terrier when we were little.  Hmmm.  Needless to say, I could only get down a few bites of my vegan "B.L.T"...

"How do you know what dog treats taste like anyway?" Hubby wanted to know. 

No comment.

When all else fails, give 'em Big Eyes!

I finally saw the Twilight movie last night. 

For starters, what was up with Jasper?  Why was he constantly doing big eyes?  Was this the director's preference, or a misguided character choice that somehow eluded the editing room?  That dude creeped me out!  During the better part of the film he looked like a frigging cadaver.

Everyone seemed to be doing big eyes, for that matter.  Even Billy Black!  (OK, Billy, can you make your eyes a little wider for me?  Good...and...cut!)

Incidentally, I'm doing big eyes now as I type this, can you tell?

I blame the director.  In acting school, they introduced to us a term called indicating, which became a kind of catch phrase with the students.  As in, don't indicate to the audience that your character is angry, just be angry!  (Or happy, sad, etc.)  In other words, don't make your eyes wide to indicate that you're feeling frightfully tense (Jaspie); and don't dramatically bring your fist to your mouth and squeeze your eyes shut to indicate to us that you'd like to suck your classmate's blood (Eddie).  We're a smart audience.  Most of us have even read the book.  We'll get what you're doing. 

But what the hell do I know?

On a different note, if they needed a blond to play Rosalie, why not cast an actress with blond hair?  It was apparent that a lot of the actor's hair had been dyed, which in my opinion made them look kind of...weird. 

In summation, I found this movie confusing, Bella's flat delivery of her lines irritating (again, was this a directorial choice?) and Carlisle wasn't nearly as smoking hot as I feel he needed to be.  The latter was a real let down.

I just spent my Saturday morning analyzing a vampire movie.  I need to get a life.

I heart boys who sparkle

The prestigious Boston Latin School is a vampire free zone.  At least the headmaster said so today, in a notice to parents, teachers and students. 

It's undeniable that Stephenie Meyer's Twilight series has caused a major sensation.  I've just finished the first book and overall I found it pretty enjoyable, but it's also raised some questions/concerns that I'd like to dwell on for a moment or two.  A virtual Odd Broad book club, if you will...

For starters, why is Bella always being carried about?  Think about it.  Even Alice picks her up!  She is forever being conveyed like a tiny baby.  If it happened only once I probably wouldn't have taken notice, but it happens more than once. 

As for Edward, his smoldering protectiveness is kind of dreamy, but it also suggests a certain helplessness in Bella that I just couldn't get past.  So she's awkward, we get it!  But are we truly expected to accept the fact that she's so clumsy that her own mother would believe she's uncoordinated enough to trip on a staircase and fall through a plate glass window?  (Be more careful walking, honey.)

And then there's the hearts and roses factor.  Before I began reading this book I'd heard it described over and over again as romantic.  I have to say, at first I agreed with this general consensus.  That is, until I didn't.  The irony is, I'm a total romantic!  When I love someone,  I have no qualms about telling them just why I love them, over and over again, at times in teary eyed detail.  (Set the scene...have we been drinking?)  But I suppose I just couldn't get over the fact that our heroine is, after all, a junior in high school; a seventeen year old kid who says things to her boyfriend like: "You are my life.  You're the only thing it would hurt me to lose."  (page 474.)

They haven't even properly made out yet!  Unless we count lightly pressing one's cold lips underneath a jawbone as heavy petting.  (I don't.)

He's a gorgeous, century old vampire who's desperately attracted to her scent and blood.  She's a loner teen who just can't live without him.  Is it socially irresponsible to suggest to young readers that this sort of hyper intense, self-destructive relationship is not only acceptable and appropriate, but a thing to envy and strive for?  While Bella was being carried around all that time I started to wonder, is this child going to take her SAT's?  Where does she want to go to college?

I'm not turning up my nose at young love.  But Bella has such a stereotypically teenage one track mind; I never get the impression she feels any real affection for anything but Edward.  This kid has no passion, no hobbies, no hopes or dreams, save those concerning her boyfriend.  She doesn't play sports, is blase and indifferent towards both parents and school friends.  Life is but a boring chore and she basically white knuckles her way through the day until the moment she can be with Edward again.  At the risk of sounding cynical, I just don't find this very sweet. 

I understand how it feels to love someone so much you'd rather die (or in this case, never die) than be without him.  But I'm certainly not going to write an effing children's book about it!  And I'm not going to turn to my own (hypothetical, nonexistent) seventeen year old daughter and admit, "I used to cry over Daddy!  And wrote bad poetry in my journals about how much I loved and needed him!  And wanted to drop out of my senior year of college to be with him!"  I'll keep that shit to myself.

Bella, five hundred years from now, during a heated domestic argument, do you really think you're not going to lash out at Ed and say, "You asshole, I NEVER should've become immortal for you!"  (And he'll roll his timeless, ageless eyes and say, "There you go again!  Always the f***ing immortality thing!  I TOLD you not to do it!")

And I digress.  When religious circles criticized the Harry Potter books it made me boiling mad.  Apart from the carefully crafted story lines and lovingly developed characters, there was an underlying message that love and goodness would prevail.  JK Rowling's young wizards were noble and brave.  They loved each other, and yet they also had great regard for the world at large.  Harry was too noble to even kill Wormtail, for Christ's sake! 

By comparison, in this first book at least, Bella and Edward mostly only love each other.  It's this sort of single-mindedness that I find most concerning.  Nothing in the Harry Potter series ever led me to believe they were unfit novels for children, and yet many parts of Twilight caused me to take pause.  The heroes in Harry Potter are selfless.  The characters in Twilight are simply self-destructive. 

As I said earlier, I found this story to be entertaining and a lot of fun.  But the feminist in me worries about young people reading it.  Our heroine tells us over and over again that she is not worth saving, and remains passive in everything but her love for her boyfriend.  (Let's face it, the snippets of affection she doles out to her mother and father are afterthoughts, at best.)  And on page 473 she actually says, (when Edward attempts to keep her in the dark, yet again, for her own good), "A man and woman have to be somewhat equal."  Somewhat?  What the?

I'm no child psychologist, and I'm no mother; but if I did have a teenaged daughter I'm not sure I'd be lending her my copy anytime soon.  What do you think?

Heathcliff!

I had atrocious nightmares the other night after staying up late to read Wuthering Heights.  And who wouldn't?  In the few chapters I devoured that evening, Hindley stuck a knife in between Nelly's teeth, Heathcliff tied a handkerchief around the neck of a dog and hung him from a hook, Isabella was clawing Catherine's arm, leaving crescent shaped bloody nail marks... 

No wonder my sleep time morphed into bad dream central.  No sooner would I close my eyes than another new, twisted nightmare would commence.

But oh, this is a fabulous novel!  I can't get enough!  I have been absorbed completely into Emily Bronte's dark, macabre world!  I want to read it always; on my lunch hour, at bed time, while commuting on the T.  The Green Line was especially warm yesterday and left me feeling quite feverish and weak.  I came home and immediately informed Hubby I probably had the consumption.  There was also a good chance that in a few days time I would be stark raving mad.  Bronte style.

Hanging in Self Help

I'm a real book store junkie.  If I had my way, I'd be quite happy squandering all of my hard earned money on books, dining out, lip gloss, perfume and tropical vacations.  An earthly, perhaps shallow list, I'll admit; but it's the little things in life, is it not?  It's my long held belief that a small purchase such as lip plumper can be nothing less than life affirming, especially when one is feeling down in the dumps.

But my books are my true comfort; warm and fuzzy little dog-eared cronies who only grow better with age, even as they start to smell a bit funky.  Who am I kidding- especially as they begin to smell a bit funky!

I enjoy silently poking around a book store on my lunch break, escaping from a rainy afternoon and curling up on a warm radiator to read a few pages of something or other.  Right now I'm picturing the Barnes and Noble on Lexington Avenue...I'm not even sure if the one I'm thinking of in Boston has radiators by the windows to curl up on or not.  I must investigate that.  I certainly hope they do.

What's your favorite section of the book store or library?  I love fiction, but I'm often limited to authors I already know and love, thus having to wait around for their latest literary endeavor.  I know I shouldn't do this, but I'm a creature of habit.  More times than naught I find myself creeping over to the Metaphysical or Cook Book section. 

Analytical in my sunniest of moods, it's not surprising that some of my favorite authors reside in Self Help, which let's face it, is not really an aisle the cool kids loiter in.  What is more awkward than a sales clerk asking, "Finding everything alright?" when all I really long to ask is, "which way to Self Help?"  Inevitably, some tiny shred of self preservation stops me from uttering this. 

Not too long ago I eagerly pressed my copy of A New Earth onto Dad, though I'm fairly positive he won't read it.  Last week my yearning to once again have the book in my possession grew too great; and there I was in Borders, standing a touch too close to a man who smelled curiously of beef stew, staring at books on past lives, faeries, and others with titles like:

What Color is your Aura? 

Happiness for Dummies

and

Why is God Laughing?

I never did find Eckhart Tolle.  I think he hangs in the Metaphysical section anyhow.  I was sort of relieved when Hubby called and gave me an excuse to skedaddle, leaving beef stew guy to peruse to his spicy heart's content.

Happiness...is a book store.

The Odd Broad recommends...

*****************************

****************************

I was recently captivated by the novel The Monsters of Templeton.  So much so, in fact, that I found myself longing for it days after I'd already finished reading.  Lauren Groff's characters are haunting and intriguing, her plot lines lovingly and expertly woven.  This is tantalizing storytelling!  I relished every page.

xoxo

Going outta my head

So I'm reading A New Earth.  I'd been meaning to buy it, but when a friend lent me his copy recently I took it as a sign.  The only troubling thing is, this person had already given the book to someone else who was apparently reading it a rather leisurely pace.  This prompted the owner of the book to take it back and lend it to me instead.  Did I feel at ease accepting a book that had been snatched away from someone mid-read?  Not really.  Especially seeing as this is a book on enlightenment!  But they both insisted and in the end I complied, promising to return it to the previous reader as soon as I was finished.

I feel I should mention that the owner of this book hasn't actually read it, nor does he plan to.  (He's decided he just isn't ready to be enlightened.)  If he had read it, I'm guessing there wouldn't have been any of the lending/nonlending shenanigans that delivered this lovely book to me in the first place.  But that's neither here nor there.

I love A New Earth.  I'm having trouble putting it down.  I'm sort of in that stage where I seem to be biting my tongue, perhaps deciding if I really want to say that which my brain is urging me to say.  The other night we were watching TV when Hubby turned to me, no doubt expecting a smart alec, wisenhiemer remark to come dancing out of my mouth.  But I had nothing.  Nada.  Zilch.  The content of the commercial we'd just seen was such that ordinarily I'd instantly be off on some sort of mouthy diatribe.  But it didn't bother me, you see.

I have indulged myself once or twice, of course, when I felt something was truly worthy of going off my diet of enlightenment for.  To the man in the park on Tuesday, I'm sorry.  (You know who you are.)  You, who were repeatedly doing flips and practicing some sort of martial arts in a frantic, athletic, feverish way?  I didn't want to say you were "displaying," as the male chimpanzees do when they see the female chimps on Animal Planet's Escape to Chimp Eden.  Pointing this catty observation out to Hubby was perhaps the equivalent to someone on a strict diet devouring several Big Macs.  But it did feel warm and fuzzy, I have to say.  (If that wasn't an example of displaying then I don't know what is.  Although I suppose you'd have to watch the show to really understand what I'm talking about.  It's fantastic.)   

Other than one or two other brief relapses, I do hope these peaceful, in the moment feelings last.  (And no, that's not me speaking with an air of doubtfulness, it's my ego.  She's always trying to get airtime.  The bitch.)

xoxo

Bittersweetness

Have no fear, there are no Harry Potter spoilers lurking within this subdued little post of mine.  On the contrary, Dear Reader, I merely felt the need to share this with you: at 6:09 PM today, EST, I finished reading Harry Potter. 

This week was an especially eventful one, but I spent every stolen moment I could find reading in the greediest of manners.  I read on the subway and on subway platforms.  Lunchtimes found me poring over pages, sitting on stone steps or perched on uncomfortable metal chairs. 

One lunch hour I became deeply perturbed, as my cozy reading spot suddenly became the setting for an outdoor jazz concert.  I escaped as surreptitiously as I could, sneaking out after the second song.  (I desperately needed to read without distraction; plus my husband is a blues/rock/funk musician, therefore by marriage I have a strong aversion to all things jazz.) 

And so, I found my reading concluded exactly as it had commenced: nestled snugly in my bed, sipping coffee, Kittie lazily stretched out beside me, snoring sporadically.  Like last Sunday, occasionally I emerged from the bedroom to inform my husband of the many vitally important happenings in the wizarding world.  And let's face it, there was a hell of a lot going on.

I laughed, I cried (aloud), I wanted more.  No doubt I will always want more.  One thing is for certain: my dreams tonight shall be sprinkled with visions of Hogwarts.

Most endings, I find, are bittersweet...

XOXO