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Not My Blog
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Tuesday, June 11, 2013
Dry, dry, dry. Today I've been off the bottle for seven years. Nothing special to report. I'm still amused by the odd comment here and there, generally from people who watch way too much television (reality TV especially). I do not act like the TV people. I still occasionally cook with wine or cognac, and no, I'm not worried that I'll suddenly commence guzzling again. (And if you're tempted to forward articles to me re: cooking not getting rid of alcohol in food, just don't, thanks.) I'm not saying I'm incorruptible. I am saying that I don't miss alcohol's effect one bit.
Saturday, June 08, 2013
SPFGDBH. I turn 50 in four days. WHEN is my family going to stop dieting for me?
This outburst is related to an upcoming long-ish post about The Great Gut Tangle of 2013. I haven't written it yet because I'm fairly irascible in my convalescence (as you can see). I have to say, however, that if I keep getting diet referrals and suggestions and comments, etc., I may very well strangle the guilty relative with a loop of my fractious intestines. Sick to death of this interference, which is pedantry disguised to be well-meaning and concerned. Tuesday, January 29, 2013
Just be yourself! Except at work, or out in public anywhere that may have you opening your mouth. Once again, something I said in complete innocence (really!) was misinterpreted by someone who can cause quite an upheaval in my life. An employer, in other words. I accept that the problem is mine -- that despite a few similar missteps in the past, I still manage to drop a clanger here and there. The problem with thinking before speaking is that it's the same old brain doing the damn thinking. I've come to terms with being quite dim at times, despite my best intentions, but I suppose it's unrealistic to expect others to accept my flaws readily.
What it does, each time it happens to me, is make me more forgiving of my dear old Dad, Mad Melvin. For a smart man, Dad drops the most amazing bombs at times, precisely because what he says sounded good to him, and therefore he couldn't see any reason not to say it. Meanwhile, horror, shock, outrage, etc., among the listeners. Self-acceptance: I accept that I am an occasional bonehead. I accept that I may just have to get used to apologizing profusely for stuff that I can't believe has upset another person, especially someone whom I thought knew me better than that -- i.e., knew that I wouldn't intentionally give offence without very good reason. But even the oldest friends are still prone to human frailties, and everyone has sore spots. Which, apparently, I can tapdance upon without knowing. DAMN. Tuesday, December 25, 2012
Happy Christmas, or as I tend to call it, December 25. Spending another one on my own, here in Renton, WA, on cousin Les's farm. I'm going to drive into Bellevue in a couple of hours to take a noon yoga class. That, I guess, is my new Christmas tradition: getting drenched with sweat and then heading home to overeat.
Many things fermenting in the cranium. Almost too many to set down in one entry. I don't want to give up on this blog, because it's been such a good tool over the last 12 years. I think blogs are far more useful than most fart-in-the-wind social media. Just as a diary was better for recording thoughts than phoning them to people. Many things to be thankful for: family. True friends. The refreshing perspective of middle age. And a body that is always willing to forgive the brain's missteps. By the way, thanks to the workouts and the yoga, I'm getting quite nice arm and back muscles. I would never have credited this body for being able to look good, and yet: she look good. I have a half-hour or so before I have to leave for yoga. What to do, in the spirit of the season? VACUUM. Wednesday, June 06, 2012
I Talk Too Much. I've taken two consecutive morning yoga classes where the instructors talked incessantly, start to finish. One woman allowed three quiet savasanas in the Floor Series. Today's instructor had *one*. Slowly Enlightening Jane is honest enough to admit that she, too, yips on far too much when teaching. As a student, I'd like to have more silent savasanas in order to check in with my body. SO! New Rule: whenever possible, talk only in the first savasana in a posture, and stay silent in the second savasana.
Maybe this will also help me finish classes ahead of time, and, heh, prevent terse e-mails from studio owners who don't always love what I have to say. This week's yipping teachers made it clear: don't talk, teach. In fact, if I ever open a studio, I'm calling it Bikram Yoga Shuttup. Tuesday, May 15, 2012
3 Signs That You Do Not Know How to Drive in a Traffic Circle/Roundabout:
1. You think there are alternating rights of way at all entrances to the circle.
Heresy, here. I can't believe how monumentally bored I am with "Game of Thrones." I know that most fantasy fiction isn't to my liking, with some notable exceptions (Pullman, particularly). So I accept that the fault is mine, not the book's. But sword sword dwarf fight wolf dress sword sex BLAH BLAH FREAKIN' BLAH.
Saturday, March 17, 2012
Yeah, yeah. "The Hunger Games." I had heard about this young adult book series when I was still living on the RR and had access to a great many authors for free. A housemate had an audio copy of THG, but I came across a hard copy last summer. The first instalment was quite readable, even with its "and-then-what-happened," or basic, plot line. I decided to give the whole trilogy a try, despite hearing Howie T's voice in my head: "Why do these things always come in THREES?" So I downloaded the second and third books, and commenced to read. I was disappointed. Just like the Mormon vampire books, the first was okay, and the subsequent books dwindled into the basic formula of "I like two guys and they really like me, and I know I have to choose, but . . . like, this is such a hard choice, you know?" Blah, blah, blah. Is it me, or is everything turning into goddamned Facebook? Go ahead and post about what you wore and how hot that dude was, but don't publish the damn thing and call it literature. And no, I don't think I'll spend $20 to see THG in 3D. I'll be off now to kick at a puppy and drive the neighbours mad with the squeaks of my rocking chair on the porch.
Copyright © 2000-2011 Jane Farries
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