Just Kimber

All this for a bowl of mac and cheese?

2009-10-23T08:07:00.000-07:00

I am a pretty independent woman. There isn't too much that frightens me. But we all have our breaking point, that one surprising thing that pushes us over the edge and fills our bodies with a fear so strong that we are rendered immobile.

Recently, I was forced to stare down the source of my ultimate trepidation.

It was after 7pm and I realized I hadn't begun to think about dinner. I was already cranky from the pain in my ankle from jacking it up the night before in Krav. So I hobbled into my kitchen hoping to miraculously find a cooked three course gourmet meal waiting for me. Reality hit quick as I stared into an empty fridge and bare cupboards. I pulled from the depths of my echoing pantry my emergency box of 50 cent macaroni and cheese. I knew there was a reason I had kept that thing around.

Just as I poured my macaroni into the pot, I swiveled around on my one good foot to grab the milk and that's when I saw it.

A bee.....in my kitchen.

It was hovering above me intent on stinging through the plastic covering of the fluorescent lights. At first I thought the worst - I figured it was trying to lay eggs and I imagined waking up to a swarm of baby bees buzzing at my head. I just stared at it. It was so focussed on this one particular square that I was almost mesmerized by it relentless efforts to penetrate the plastic. Over and over again it tried to jam its stinger into the cover and flailed its wings - getting more and more angry. I watched and I watched.

And then I freaked out.

Over the years I've tackled spiders, roof rats, maggots, flour beetles (don't leave open flour in your pantry for five years) and countless lizards. I'm sure the bile crept up into my throat on some of these occasions, but I never felt this powerless, debilitating fear before. Instead of tapping into that strong independent spirit I pride myself on, I ran to the phone to call my daddy. I begged him to come over and rescue me from this fierce predator.

He wasn't having any of that. He told me I was being ridiculous and to just kill it. His thought was to swat at it and as it torpedoed towards me, I could squash out its life with my bare hands. Right, and have the stinger penetrate my hand? Not working for me.

My fear was that I would miss and anger it even more and it would go straight for my eyes since I was looking up at it. After much childlike whining, I heeded my father's advice and grabbed a can of hairspray.

So there I am in my kitchen wielding a huge can of hairspray, my dad is on speakerphone and I am shrieking so loudly I am annoying myself. At this point, I wouldn't have been surprised if my neighbors called the cops in fear I was actually being attacked.

The bee is still compulsively grinding away at the plastic. I aim the can and recoil about 19 times. All the while my dad is on the phone coaching me through this. Now, to his credit, he isn't yelling at me yet, but his annoyance is becoming more and more apparent. I am oblivious to his sarcasm as I am truly gripped by this tension filled apprehension I am feeling toward this bee.

By now I have convinced myself that it is actually a wasp and it is about to turn and sting me between the eyes and I am going to have a massive allergic reaction and need to be rushed to the hospital. I saw all those Tom and Jerry cartoons. I know the power of bees.

And then I remember a lesson I learned in Krav. A strike can't hurt you much if you don't have any air in your lungs. You can recover much quicker because the wind doesn't get knocked out of you. So, I figure this could work with a bee sting, right? I gather this huge breath and let out this massive gut wrenching primal scream as I take aim with the hairspray bottle.

All chaos breaks loose. My dad starts flipping out on the phone because I am screaming so much he thinks a band of wild boar must have found their way into my house and attacked me. He's yelling to find out what's happening, I'm yelling because the bee is flying about in frantic spasms and I am spraying everywhere in my kitchen.

The bee lands on top of my refrigerator and I can't see it. I grab a chair and hop onto it - realizing that my injured ankle is taking a brutal beating as it begins to swell again. The bee has found its way to the rubber seal on the top portion of my refrigerator door. But it won't die. It is still flapping around. Since I don't seem to keep much food in there, I figure hairspray can't do too much damage to the fridge. I close my eyes and unleash the rest of the can all over the door seal. The bee finally turns to its back, legs gripping the air as it makes its final peace with Mother Earth.

I grab about 50 paper towels and scoop it up - taking one final look at my nemesis. And as it is inches away from my face, the wings begin to flutter. The roar of terror that escapes my lips probably deafened all the dogs in the neighborhood.

Still on speakerphone, my dad has lost all patience with his inept, cowardly daughter. "Smash it. Smash it already and be done with it," he bellows into the phone. With my heart racing, I squash it up in the paper towels.

The silence is so profound that I can hear the swoosh as my lungs fill with air and the repetitive thud as my heartbeat struggles to slow down.

I looked up at my fridge to see the sticky, dripping mess this episode had left behind.

My ankle is throbbing. I am sweating. My father is laughing and my mac and cheese has boiled over.

Is Krav Maga turning me into a redneck?

2009-10-11T11:40:00.000-07:00

I don't know much about guns. I've never really been a fan or felt the urge to even learn about them. Coming from a pretty liberal and wonderfully naive family, we tended to avoid any discussion that involved artillery. It didn't seem to be a necessity to expose ourselves to such a violent and hostile reality. I viewed guns as weapons that killed. They were dangerous and often mishandled and gun owners were reckless to leave them around where children could access them so easily.

My ignorance of guns caused me to fear them.

I immediately shunned the idea that people could shoot for sport. I threw out the notion that proper education and training could lead to safe gun usage. I shut my mind to any possibility of a positive relationship with a gun.

And then I began taking Krav Maga and I was exposed to gun defenses. I hated it. I was uncomfortable handling the rubber guns and it was awkward. The idea of being threatened with a gun had never even entered my realm of possibilities. I didn't take the gun training seriously as I had no situational knowledge to relate it to. This was so foreign to me and I could not figure out how to apply it to my own life.

I soon discovered that I was in the minority by not being a gun owner. Guns and Krav Maga seem to go hand in hand. It was a constant shock only to me when discussions turned to bragging rights about the contents of their own private arsenals. I had never known people who owned a gun or talked about it so openly.

Slowly, I could feel a shift in me taking place. I wanted to be exposed to this world I had always feared. I watched a few friends handle their guns in front of me and I was surprised as I began to feel a tingle of excitement course through my body. I knew I wanted more.

Turns out there is a gun called a Kimber. How fitting! I decided to find out for myself what all the excitement was about. I faced my fears and went down to the shooting range with some friends. My friend has a Kimber so I was super excited to have that as my first shooting experience. After an hour of gun protocol, proper handling and training, I was itching to get out there.

I had no idea what to expect and I let my body completely relax. As I squeezed that trigger and got the first shot off, I was stunned by the recoil. But I was instantly addicted. The power gripped my body and consumed me with an adrenaline force I had never experienced before. I couldn't get enough. I ripped of an entire magazine in seconds. I didn't have to think. I could just obliterate without thought. How strangely empowering.

My hands were pretty steady and I was focussed. I spent some time working on my aim and visualizing my target. It is amazing how the mind can drum up such specific imagery and then in a millisecond, you can destroy it.

I loved the smell of the gun powder and I relished in the sting in my eyes. My whole body was rigid with anticipation yet totally relaxed in execution. I can't wait to go back for more.

So I guess all these Krav Maga rednecks aren't as reckless with their guns as I had once thought! Seems like there is a method to their gun toting madness after all!

What is an apology?

2009-09-30T23:09:00.000-07:00

a·pol·o·gy (saying you're sorry)

noun

1. An acknowledgment intended as an atonement for some improper or injurious remark or act.

2. A voluntary admission to another of a wrong or discourtesy behavior done to her, produced by a desire to regain lost respect.

3. Expression of regret for hurting someone you once bared your soul to.

Because it seems some of us have forgotten our manners.

What is a coward?

2009-09-29T09:10:00.000-07:00

cow⋅ard

noun

1. a person who lacks courage in facing confrontation, danger, difficulty, opposition or pain, etc.; a timid or easily intimidated person.

2. a person who chooses selfish comfort or ignorance over actions and deeds that are good, true, and right, even when those deeds are difficult or frightening.

3. a person who is concerned more about preserving his ego than preserving the relationships he's built.

Just to be clear.

The Michael Franti Experience

2009-09-20T16:29:00.000-07:00

There is life in this love
There is love in this life

I went to the House of Blues the other night to enjoy a Michael Franti and Spearhead concert. What I came away with was an experience that provoked a sense of responsibility, a fearlessness, a new insight that we are limitless in our opportunities.

The passion, the energy, the love for music and people and a better world just spilled over from this phenomenal icon of spirituality. It wasn't just a concert. It was an odyssey into the possible. The surge of true belief for a better world electrified the audience and we all became a part of this journey.

You could feel the music soar through your soul as your body responded with every beat. Standing still and silent was not an option. The sounds ignited every cell in your being and propelled you to express your acceptance of the unknown through movement.

It is so difficult to explain through words the transcendence of emotions I went through that night. It wasn't a moment or a word or a song. It was a collection of the remarkable energy that burst back and forth from stage to audience. We all became part of the solution. We all became one unit of power and belief. We all wanted to love life.

So many time people turn their backs to you
Cause they don't wanna see what's inside of you
Cause lookin' inside of you they might realize
There's somethin' in side of them they might not wanna find

He is so connected to his fans. He is so genuine and sincere and makes you feel that just by being there, you've strengthened his musical output.

Every musician played and sang to the limits of human capacity.

God is too big for just one religion

Up next: the ganja, the gyrating sex, the concert Krav moves

Broken & dented - he was never really mine to lose

2009-09-08T18:35:00.000-07:00

“If you love something set it free. If it comes back to you, it’s yours. If it doesn’t, it never was.“

But what if that something decides to leave on his own, before love is actualized?

I’m not certain you can lose something that was never really yours to begin with.

---------

I’m not sure anyone has ever told you before

I’d like you to know that you’re not the man you think you are

Outside you exhibit near perfection

All the while inside you are a wreckage of abused and neglected debris

I understand what it is like to be broken

As I’ve had to put my own pieces back together

That feels like ages ago

And now I am close to whole

Your own pilgrimage has finally begun

Casting truths to those well guarded and deeply tucked away secrets

“Why are you always so happy?”

Just asking me that shows me how shattered your soul really is

I look into your empty searching eyes

And know that the fault is not mine

Holding a gun and standing post, doesn’t give you strength

Character is born from the choices that are made in everyday life

You invited me into your past, forcing me to question

my own moral compass

As you dumped the evilness into my lap

Your past is a place I don’t belong

A place I never planned on trudging through with you

You explained away your uncertain future

Hiding behind systems and policies that were suddenly out of your control

I never pressured you to be part of this unpredictable journey

It was too soon to know if I even wanted to join you out in the unknown

All I wanted was your present; your today; this moment

But you’re too busy running from demons and chasing down simulated ambition

To realize that today is all I’ve ever asked for

Your busted up perception forces you to keep one eye staring

in the rearview mirror

While the other anxiously searches out a better tomorrow

Left blinded to what stands right in front of you

Shielding yourself from present day emotions

Choosing numbness over sensation

I married the military mindset once before

I know that I just don’t have it in me to do again

If that makes me weak or unkind or selfish

I’ll own it all.

This same self-indulgent narcissistic methodology came close to destroying me once

Who would I be if I allowed history to repeat itself, having learned nothing?

Could you wipe your conscience clean if you found the courage to answer why

You feel the urgency to volunteer to return to war once more?

Are you running to help a nation in crisis?

Or running away from a fear far greater than war?

…the dread of the unknown

…the horror of what comes next when war is no more

The answers you’ve been struggling to find

Don’t lie in the sands of Afghanistan

But you’ll soon discover

That those very questions you’re trying to escape from

will still be here to slap you in the face upon your return

Why did he get off the train?

2009-09-06T21:38:00.000-07:00

At the last minute I decided not to drive. I was burnt out and just needed to clear my mind. I walked into the train station with my morning coffee, ready for a little adventure. Since I had never taken the train, I wasn’t really certain of what to expect. But my mind was wide open with possibilities and I was just thrilled not to be burdened with the stress of driving through traffic. I walked towards the platform, climbed the stairs and began looking for a suitable place to make myself comfortable for the next three hours until I got to Los Angeles.

I noticed him the moment I turned the corner and silently cursed myself for choosing the comfort of jeans and a sweatshirt over something a little more fashionable for the trip. I could feel his energy drawing me into his personal space. My first thought, “Scrumptious!” My eyes danced over his lion’s mane of blond hair.

I chose the empty row of seats in front of him and as I lifted my bags up to the storage bin I slowly turned and gave him a very deliberate glance. I smiled, lingering a fraction of a moment longer than socially acceptable.

I flashed my dimples and cast my gaze downward until I locked onto his. I managed an almost inaudible, “Hi.”

He grinned back and said hello. It was in that unscripted exchange that I knew instantly of our mutual desire for one another. With a warm glow burning inside, I slid into my seat and waited.

It had only been a moment’s glance, but already etched in my mind’s eye were those inviting green eyes sprinkled with flecks of gold. I dozed off with images of his sun drenched long hair flying recklessly in the wind, surfboard tucked under his arm running down the beach in search of the next perfect wave.

After two hours of daydreaming, I was yearning to experience more of the reality. As I got up to stretch in the back of the train car I turned to him and smiled. I could feel our eyes burning into each other’s soul, searching, wanting, and silently asking all those things strangers never ask each other.

When I walked out of the lavatory, there he was, his eyes teasing me and daring me to make a play. I could feel the lust rising in my throat as I was silently begging him to push me back into the small compartment, thrust me on the counter and quench this unspoken desire we had burning between us.

Instead I returned to my seat. Moments later he leaned over the seat and the quiet lusting took on a voice as we began to explore one another through seductive banter. The chemistry was palpable and our growing connection was deepening each time his eyes bore into mine. We both felt the synergy. We were acutely aware that this went way beyond a chance encounter. The meaning would be far greater than either of us would comprehend at that exact time.

He leaned in and with an urgent huskiness in his voice he told me how sexy I was. My insides danced and my pulse quickened. My body was throbbing with such an intense yearning that I could barely utter a word for fear that my erratic breathing would leave my raw hunger exposed. That same necessity to quench a developing craving was reflected in his eyes.

Our time was limited. His stop was coming up, his departure from my life imminent. He didn’t want to get off the train. I desperately wanted him to stay on with me, but uttered not a word. I wanted his lust to boil over from within him, forcing him to make the decision to stay. He was unsure of himself and I understood. The force of our sexual energy was making my head spin and our judgment was being marred by the fog of our sheer physical needs waiting to be fulfilled.

We felt the magnitude of importance to not let this gift of fate from the universe slip away. We just stared at each other, hoping the other would understand all the things we were too uncertain to put into words. The urgency of desire and the pressure of time were engulfing us. We needed longer to explore the realm of possibilities that were staring us in the face. Yet our own hunger was making it impossible to live beyond the present moment.

As the minutes ticked by we knew we were being tested. There were too many needs left unmet, too many questions not yet asked. And we were lost in a magnetic attraction where time and space held no boundaries. We pushed away the outer world and breathed in each other’s intoxicating essence until the final call for his departure was heard.

With momentary defeat and unfulfilled desire thundering in his chest, he reluctantly stumbled off the train with my number in his front pocket and the glimmer of hope that one day soon we would capitalize on this once in a lifetime chance meeting.

Discovering reality in all those erotic visions wasn’t to be this time around. And yet with every fiber of my being, I know that there will be another encounter where we will fully explore the depths of these fantasies.

So for now, I am content in the knowledge that every time he mounts his surf board and rides a wave, he’ll be imagining, contemplating, romanticizing and he’ll absolutely be smiling in wonderment.

Boundaries? What boundaries?

2009-08-23T11:28:00.000-07:00

While my dad was busy succumbing to one of his greatest passions - laboring in the earth's soil planting flowers and gardening in his backyard, I was chatting with my mom on the telephone.

So goes the conversation:

Mom: "Your father just walked in from the yard. He is totally black from head to toe."

Me: "Oh that could be fun. You can go live out your fantasy of being with a black man."

Mom: .....silence

Me: (Laughing hysterically) "Believe me, it's pretty amazing."

Mom: "I think I'm gonna hang up now."

Where do I come from - for real?

2009-08-21T21:01:00.000-07:00

I was having this random conversation the other night with Dreamy Eyes after Krav class. We were talking about my last name and I told him it was German. I tell everyone that my name is German. I am quite proud of that heritage. In fact, when I was over in Austria, I was flattered to see my named splayed across building after building as it means tobacco in German. Very popular name.

Unmoved by my genealogy, Dreamy Eyes said if I pronounced it with a slight variation it sounded Israeli. He thought that was funny since I'm Jewish and we were in an Israeli martial arts class. For some reason I found this funny too.

Wanting to share the humor over the oddity of our family name, I repeated it a few days later to my father in another very random conversation.

Note to self - start having meaningful conversations that have some substance rather than random exchanges of nothingness.

My father just rolled his eyes, shook his head and made the most unexpected declaration I've ever heard.

"Our name isn't German. It's Russian."

I was aghast. "That's not true. It means tobacco in German."

"It means tobacco in French too. Doesn't mean you're French. My father was from Russia."

My mother pipes in. "I think my father's family was from Germany. But my father hated Germans because of the war."

So there is a small part of me that is German, although there is apparent reluctance to shout it out from the family tree.

I spent my entire life believing my name was German and I therefore was predominantly German. How did I not know my namesake, my direct lineage is Russian?

That must have been the third of me that's a Pollack.

Leap and love will catch you

2009-08-17T00:31:00.000-07:00

I lay awake at night

Can’t seem to stop the stream of tears that cascade down my cheeks

Questions and doubts fill my thoughts

And I feel a scream rising up from the bowels of my being

Confusion replaces confidence

As the uncertainty of tomorrow reveals itself

A gesture left unstirred, untaken

Burns deeply in the soul from which it was offered

Rationalizations swarm the parameters of the desperation

Attempts to harvest a barrier result in foolish mockery

You can feel it. You can want it. You can hope for it.

But you can’t lose what you’ve never really had

I understand that now more than ever

We make it into something it never was, not wanting to see it for what it really is, just because we are too afraid to admit that it could never be what we had hoped it would turn into.

But do I truly believe it was never mine, not even a flicker of spark was for me alone to own?

And so the sadness beckons and the healing must begin

As the pain proves to be the one prevailing constant – it is always the same

Even as the sorrow leaks from my eyes, I am reminded of a faint hope of what could one day be mine again.

For now the loneliness echoes in my head and my body hungers for a touch that will not come tonight

Yet I am still unafraid to feel, unafraid to trust, unafraid to love

So thankful for those precious few moments where I was once again reminded

Of what it’s like to let yourself be loved, no matter what

I have loved from my soul and I have loved with great magnitudes of strength, commitment and desire.

And that love once crushed me.

Living in that fear serves me no purpose. For now I know I can survive love at any level.

I will leap….and love will catch me.

Blurring the boundaries of family

2009-08-01T08:06:00.000-07:00

I have been searching for months for my linens to match my summer bedspread. I figured in my quest to purge the clutter, I swept them up with the other donations and sent them off to the thrift store for a second chance at happiness.

Fast forward to hanging out at my sister's house a month later and playing with my niece in her bedroom. My niece has me lay down on her makeshift bed, covers me with blankets and starts reading me a story. I know - super adorable. She decided I needed to be more comfortable and drags in this huge king size pillow for me to lay my head on. As I get situated, I gasp in total shock as I note the pattern on the pillow sham is an exact match for my missing linens.

Me: "Hadarya, where did you get this pillow?"

Hadarya: "It's mine Kimmy."

Cut me some slack - reasoning with 2 year olds is not my strength.

I hop up and ransack my sister's linen closet where I find the matching pillow sham.

I run into the family room with the evidence dripping from my grip and stare at her in utter disbelief.

Me: "How in the hell did my pillow shams get in your house?"

Sister: "I don't know. But if you had helped me clean out my linen closet like I asked, you would have found them much sooner."

Classic.

Are we showing compassion for our soldiers?

2009-07-24T08:25:00.000-07:00

When a soldier comes home, he finds it hard....

...to listen to his son whine about being bored.

...to keep a straight face when people complain about potholes.

...to be tolerant of people who complain about the hassle of getting ready for work.

...to be understanding when a co-worker complains about a bad night's sleep

...to be silent when people pray to God for a new car.

...to control his panic when his wife tells him he needs to drive slower.

...to be compassionate when a businessman expresses a fear of flying.

...to keep from laughing when anxious parents say they're afraid to send their kids off to summer camp.

...to keep from ridiculing someone who complains about hot weather.

...to control his frustration when a colleague gripes about his coffee being cold.
...to remain calm when his daughter complains about having to walk the dog.
...to be civil to people who complain about their jobs.

...to just walk away when someone says they only get two weeks vacation a year.
...to be forgiving when someone says how hard it is to have a new baby in the house.

The only thing harder than being a Soldier...

Is loving one.

Pull up your pants on your own time

2009-07-17T11:21:00.000-07:00

I went to a client's office building the other day.

Working from home, I tend to forget the importance some people put on the corporate rat race and all the facets that go along with creating that perfect image and style just to compete with the guy in the next cubicle. So much time is spent trying to be who we think others want us to be without regard to who we really are. I find it all exhausting and downright silly.

Our true character always comes through in due time - no matter what.

So maybe it is my new calling - to keep us all in check of our authentic selves.

I'm walking out of the women's restroom - it is shared by multiple office suites. The door faces the men's room. Some overly coiffed guy is standing in the doorway, absently propping the door open with his much too obvious Italian loafers while zipping up his tailored suit pants, tucking in his Ralph Lauren designer shirt and adjusting his snakeskin belt.

I paused briefly and locked onto his arrogant gaze. His eyes suddenly betrayed him as I recognized his own acknowledgement to the fact that I had just cut through his facade and seen him for what he truly was instead of what he was pretending to be.

With an obvious edge of disgust, I threw out some timely advice. "You might want to try doing all that with the door shut next time."

With a downward glance he shuffled back to his office.

It won't ever matter how much money you spend to buy things to impress the people you don't even know - if you don't have the class to back it all up.

Some things just need to be said.

How will you remember Michael Jackson?

2009-07-05T06:18:00.000-07:00

There is no disputing that Michael Jackson was a musical genius. He changed the landscape of music forever and challenged artists around the world to be more creative and innovative.

I got it. Kudos to him.

Lest we forget that the man is also a pedophile. Now, I know technically, he was acquitted of the charges. But then again, so was OJ and how many of you still believe he's innocent? MJ paid off countless families in order to avoid possible molestation charges. How is there so much tolerance for such morally corrupt behavior? Why in his death is this all forgotten and forgiven?

And now his death has become a circus. Isn't it about time to put all this back in perspective?

Be sad. Mourn. Do the moonwalk in your driveway. I don't care - let's just not idolize a man that couldn't grasp that his actions with children were totally and completely inappropriate.

Genius aside - he was seriously disturbed and I am more than over the speculations and constant adulations.

Krav Maga: why do I do it?

2009-06-28T03:29:00.000-07:00

A little over a year ago I began taking Krav Maga classes. Since then I have embarked on a special odyssey. I was never really sure where it would take me or why exactly I was doing it. But from the start I was captivated by the excruciating physical demands of the techniques. The camaraderie that was quickly built amongst the students enthralled me and I couldn’t get enough of it.

I trained hard and I trained often. Probably too often as my body has taken its fair share of bumps and bruises along the way. Most people phase in and out of sports and activities. But there is something about Krav Maga that creates an adrenaline rush so strong that at times I feel empty without it.

With all the physical contact and abrasive nature of Krav, some question whether or not it is really the right fit for women. I have found that it is much more of a struggle for me to reach an acceptable level of aggression, something that comes much more naturally for a man. But fighting to get to where you want to be is the foundation for Krav Maga.

Yesterday I reached a major personal milestone in Krav. I took my level 2-3 exam. There was only one other woman besides me that took the test. If we pass, we will be the highest ranked female students at our gym. To me, that’s a huge accomplishment. As a woman, I felt I had to want it more and fight harder to prove that I deserved to be there.

I definitely felt a mental shift in me several months ago. I realized that I wanted more from Krav. I wanted it to mean more to me than simply a social gathering where I deposited enormous amounts of sweat on the gym mats. I noticed there were fewer and fewer women sticking with it and were dropping out. I wanted that to change. Krav Maga is really tough both on your body and your mind. I firmly believe that because of the combative and relentless nature of Krav, it builds character and changes your perspective on life. You find strength where you thought you had none. You learn to turn your vulnerability into empowerment. For me, it was time to make my mark, learn something valuable and set an example to the other women that attend classes.

I began to take myself more seriously, and I noticed my instructors began to push me harder. I took that as a sign of respect that they were willing to invest in me and my training. As I began to focus more on my goals, they too raised their expectations of me and forced me to train harder and not accept average from myself. I will always be grateful to them for believing enough in me to not let me manipulate my way through the training and for forcing me to fight to make every strike and kick mean something.

The test was a brutal 6 hours of intense drills that focused on technique, endurance and intensity. Just when we thought we had reached the end, we were instructed to suit up and begin a series of sparring rounds. It was more than physically exhausting. I have bruises on top of bruises, swollen muscles and twisted body parts. But in spite of the physical pain, I have never felt stronger mentally. At no point during those six hours or the weeks leading up to the test did I feel the urge to quit or give in to the pain.

There is a sense of empowerment and confidence that comes with training Krav, especially for women. Krav Maga teaches us so much more than how to defend ourselves. For me, I have reached a new level of inner confidence and mental strength. What I thought I could never achieve, I have exceeded. What I considered impossible, I have overcome. And what I believed I could never endure, I have surpassed.

There is so much power within me. My race is not yet finished. Whether or not I passed - I still think I deserve the title of "Bad Ass Krav Chick"!

Guys in drag I can take. The giant cross on the wall turned me off

2009-06-15T11:33:00.000-07:00

I always know I am in for a fun adventure when my friend Kim is the activities director. So the other night when she told me she was taking me out for a birthday celebration filled with surprises, I knew to expect the unexpected. After a great sushi dinner we headed toward the entertainment portion of the evening - no details were provided and I was excited!

To my delight, we arrived at a theater! I love watching plays so I was super excited to experience the arts for a night. The marquee should have raised a few red flags, but ever the optimist, I simply pondered to myself all the possibilities that "Bad Night In A Men's Room Off Sunset Boulevard" would hold. The fact that we were smack in the middle of the sexually liberal and all loving Hillcrest, never even crossed my naive little mind.

We sat in the very front row in this tiny little eclectic theater. I had no idea what was coming next. As I started reading through the program, Kim nudges me and tells me that there is a little more to this play than meets the eye. I get to the big passage where the debate about who can love whom or have sex with whom or marry whom is discussed. Despite the passage of Proposition 8 banning gay marriage in California, the topic is still a major hot button. I support gay marriage so a play articulating those challenges and struggles for equality piqued my interest.

Just before the lights went down, Kim informed me that there was only one female in the play and she was not the love interest. There were some transgender roles being played out. I looked up at her to respond, but my attention was taken up by this enormous wooden cross with a crucifix hanging in the middle of the set. The guys in drag didn't faze me at all. But I was contemplating walking out due to that oversized, out of place cross bearing down on me.

My mind was open as the play began. It quickly shut after about 10 minutes of the worst acting I had ever witnessed. The main character pees on the stage in quiet defiance, not really adding much to the actual conflict being set up. All these characters did was shout at each other. There was so much overacting and yelling that I thought I was in the middle of auditions for American Idol.

Every single stereotype you can think of played out in the first act of this play. There was alcoholism, incest, addiction, rehab, jail time, gender confusion, cross dressing, gender reassignment, bisexuality, child neglect, infidelity, depression, fame, and family dysfunction. It was unreal. And all the time they yelled at each other in their attempt to communicate. I was distracted by the phenomenal amount of cuss words, which saturated the script. It was difficult to focus on the meaning of the words hidden behind all those swear words.

Just as I was sensing the beginning signs of a yawn and praying intermission would interrupt my wandering mind, the climax came - literally.

The married but sexually confused Hollywood actor that was caught in a men's room enjoying sexual favors similar to those of Senator Craig and the flamboyant, doe-eyed transgender stage hand come together for a pivotal scene. They stare not so convincingly into each other's eyes and share an awkward embrace. Now if the acting had been less than horrible, perhaps I could have gotten lost in their passionate embrace and believed in their longing for one another. But because the acting was so forced and so disconnected, I didn't buy into this strange story of forbidden love.

So they danced together and kissed. And soon their clothes were being tossed onto the floor. I fully expected undergarments to be part of the wardrobe selections. But no - there before me, just five short feet away - two men stood stark naked with their junk swinging in the breeze. As their bodies molded to one another my only thought was - "Hmmm. Not so impressive. I've seen better."

The dominant man hoists the other man up, wrapping his legs around his naked body. I grabbed for Kim's leg and pinched her as if to ask "Why, Kim? Why did you bring me here."

That would have been a perfect place to call "scene" and bring up the lights for intermission. But we weren't done being voyeurs yet. They moved to the bedroom and began to loudly explore their happy endings with each other. I wanted to look away. I really did. I think I was frozen in shock. And finally, almost mercifully, the stage lights dimmed and the house lights brightened.

I sat rigid in my seat, not moving, my eyes staring forward. I slowly turned my head toward Kim and before I could even begin to speak, she was apologizing all over the place. This was not what she had expected at all. She was just as horrified as I was.

And then we laughed - hard, uncontrollable nervous laughter poured out of us. Probably partly to relieve the awkward stress of watching two men play out scenes from Deep Throat and partly because we felt a little embarrassed that we didn't enjoy it the way the rest of the audience seemed to.

We contemplated leaving before the second act. But then, we aren't quitters. And seriously, what else could they possibly do to shock us anymore than they already had? With renewed atitudes and open minds, we stayed and laughed our way through the much funnier and less naked second half.

I love that Kim planned a fabulous evening for my birthday. Her intent was amazing. Her execution, a little off.

Now I got mileage to go with my baggage

2009-06-01T23:04:00.000-07:00

There aren't adequate enough words for me to describe my experience of running in the San Diego Rock n' Roll marathon.

It is a day I'll never forget. It proved to be the ultimate test of endurance, stamina and most importantly - inner strength. The physical pain paled in comparison to the mental obstacle course I navigated through. I never knew that I could push my body so far beyond what I allowed my mind to believe it could do.

There were moments of elation and extreme clarity. And then there were flashes of anguish as the pain and boredom set in and the miles before me seemed to go on forever.

The corrals opened and I flooded the course along with 40,000 other crazy folk. We started out slowly before the crowd thinned a bit and we all got our pace going. Since I had just spent a very long and annoying 45 minutes in line for the port-o-potty, I didn't have any time to stretch and warm up. I literally got to my corral as the gun went off. So it took me a mile or so to warm up and get it going. I began to hit my stride around mile three.

And then this amazing euphoria kicked in for the next 4 miles. I think they call it the runner's high. It was like I was no longer attached to my body. I was just moving, pounding the pavement and propelling my body forward, but my mind was far far away. I was in a zone of thought that I cannot even begin to comprehend. It was strangely freeing. I think for the first time in years, the constant tape I play in my head that causes me hugely unfortunate bouts of insomnia just disappeared. My mind was free and blank and if felt wonderful. I thought about nothing, yet I felt everything.

Apparently I hadn't quite learned all the tricks of the trade. I missed the training class on how to sustain that high for a long period of time. It left me after about 4 miles. Just gone. And I was only at the 7-mile marker. I kept toying with myself. I'd question why I was even doing this.

Was it worth it and what was I trying to prove? And as I listened to asphalt being smacked down under the pressure of my own feet, I found the answers. It was absolutely worth it because I was running in loving memory of my Aunt and my dear friend who suffered from the very diseases I was raising money for.

I slipped into a walk, just for a minute to catch my breath. I looked up and there was a man in a wheelchair holding up a sign. He looked over at me and said he was a survivor. "Don't quit on me now. You can do this. Pick up your pace and keep on going because you can." And I did. And I cried.

I started to feel some pain in my foot and thought this would be the end of the running for me. I was around mile 9 but I just couldn't go any further. I started to walk again. And then this woman came out of nowhere, saw the pain in my eyes and said to me, "Nothing will hurt more than the shame of not crossing that finish like. Keep going. You can do this."

So I ran. And I cried. But I started to have serious doubts about myself and began to question what made me think I could actually do this crazy thing? I didn't take the training all that seriously so I really wasn't all that prepared. Why did I really want to keep running? As if reading my mind, some woman ran past me, but not before I read the back of her shirt, "I run for those that are no longer here to run for themselves." And I was once again off and running with determination. This was my constant mental battle between sitting in pain and pushing through it.

I was running on the 163 freeway and it is a horrible 3 mile journey of one long continuous climb up a hill without any reprieve. I suddenly got filled with frustration and anxiety and just didn't want to continue. I looked ahead at all the people not quitting and they gave me inspiration.

My true melt down came towards the top of the 163. I could feel it stirring inside. I looked up and saw the mile marker for the 15K and tears of panic sprang to my eyes. I knew I didn't have it in me to finish. But just as suddenly, when I looked up again, I clearly saw an image of my lovely Auntie Judy smiling at me and laughing. She never quit anything. She always fought for her kids, her family, and her life. So she hung with me for the next two miles pushing me to run through the pain to get to the other side of the hill. I could hear her laughter, I could see her face in my mind's eye and I could feel her presence. Call me crazy, but she was there with me, making sure I didn't give up on myself. And then I started down the hill and she was gone. She knew when I needed her most.

And then it hit me. I felt this huge shift in my mind. I understood the tremendous conflict between feeling the urge to want to quit and then wanting to search for that strength to push through it all. It was intense and it was profound and I alone owned that struggle within myself.

Seeing my friends along the route was incredible and inspiring. I could never have kept on going without those cheers of good wishes, quick pictures and loving hugs! The true bond of friendship was proven when Hottie Krav Instructor Sam forced me to walk another 5 miles after the race - just to get to his car. No curbside pickup?

As I got close to that finish line, my heart filled with pride. I saw it through, finished what I set out to do four months ago. Something that so many weren't convinced I could - or questioned why I'd want to. I never really knew the answer to that until I crossed that line and hugged my friends and family. It was for a different kind of bragging rights.

It was such a personal accomplishment to be able to push my battered body plagued with multiple injuries to perform at an optimal athletic level. I didn't allow my self-doubt to sabotage my goal. I had to keep mentally pushing myself through each mile with lots of self-talk and mantras that made me believe I was good enough and was worth it enough to see it through. I know that this new inner belief in myself and this internal strength and determination will be with me forever.

Everyone has their own story of why they chose to run this marathon. Mine is neither for heroic reasons nor athletic prowess. I simply wanted to see if the "girl that wasn't really built for running", could in fact run a marathon.

And I did.

If I were into S & M, I'd call it foreplay

2009-05-13T23:15:00.000-07:00

But I'm not, so I guess it isn't. But since there is sure to be another edition to this seemingly endless plight of hysterical brutality, I maintain my right to dress it up as I see fit in order to endure each sticky little predicament that is forced upon me.

As if getting my ass kicked in sparring over the weekend wasn't enough, I just came from Krav Maga class where once again, my ego was crushed as I tried to hang with the boys.

For some reason, Shawn (is there really any reason not to call him out at this point?) has taken it upon himself to make it his personal mission to help me reach new depths of aggression. I get that he is doing it in my best interest, to help me improve my training, but that little sparkle of pleasure in his eyes as he beats me to a pulp is starting to grate on my nerves.

We paired up for full body sparring and I did my best to avoid him most of the night. But then the inevitable smacked me in the gut as we were told to switch partners one more time. We were the only two that hadn't partnered up yet. As we touched gloves to begin the round, I saw this flash of determined madness in his eyes. The instinct to run away and hide kicked in full force.

I have this strange idiosyncrasy in my personality. I chalk it up to being a Gemini. I am an "all in" or "all out" kind of gal. I don't really have a happy medium about me. I go to one extreme or another with my emotions. It is pretty exhausting at times and I am sure quite frustrating for those around me to keep up with my constantly fluctuating hot and cold personifications. I am on a continuous journey to find that happy medium. I am getting better, however, I do fail to reach that goal more often than not.

Shawn is quite familiar with my Gemini nuttiness and recognized right away that the aggressive Kimber had left the building. He has this special knack for being able to zone right in on my every weakness and capitalizes on it just to push my buttons. I sensed that he was out to prove something to me, but I kept turning my back as he advanced towards me. I just couldn't get into the fight.

But what have we learned about Shawn?

He enjoys our combative slapstick relationship so much that he refuses to allow me any slack whatsoever, even when I am exhausted and want to exit from the skirmish. One would think he would sense my cautious, timid nature and ease up a bit. Oh no, not Shawn. What does he do instead? He comes flying at me like a crazy banshee hunting his defenseless prey.

I, of course, turn away - willing him to just leave me alone. No such luck. He is fixated on making me tap into my aggression and pull myself back into the fight.

We start to cover a lot of ground as he pursues me. Nothing is off limits. As is he throwing jabs at my head I am flailing around, taking everything down along the way. Other teams are sparring, but we don’t care. As the gym floor becomes our playground, we knock into people, pushing them out of our way.

I get tangled up between two heavy boxing bags and he pounces on me. I can’t get my footing and I feel this primal scream rising in my throat for him to get off me. He has succeeded. I am super pissed off. I lunge at him plowing through the other people in my way. Here is where my hot and cold switch kicks in. I am incensed so my power is completely uncontrollable. I run at him with wild eyes filled with rage and throw all kinds of kicks and punches. Technical prowess is replaced with my need to inflict a certain amount of pain.

Just when I feel the energy shift stirring in me again, threatening to resurface, Richard, the owner, appears out of nowhere – and starts cheering us on, shouting words of encouragement and fighting tips. Shouldn’t he have been yelling at Shawn to ease up?

We start charging through the gym again like a tornado. No one in our path is safe. Shawn grabs me in a bear hug attack and slams me against the back wall. With my face smashed up against the drywall and Shawn’s sweat invading my personal space, I happen to turn and look at the spectators by the door. The look of horror on their faces as this guy is seemingly beating up on this delicate flower of a woman fueled my rage and made me counter attack with a fanatical force.

Finally, the instructor steps in and breaks it up. I’m ready for Shawn to get his ass chewed for instigating this circus of a sparring match with me, but instead, I get critiqued on my inability to stay in my fighting stance.

Are you kidding me? Is there a lesson here that I am just not getting?

Is being one of the guys worth it?

2009-05-12T14:05:00.000-07:00

I've never really been one of those girly girls. I’m not a big fan of dresses and gobs of makeup really take me outside of my comfort zone. I prefer a football game to shopping and clean more than I cook. Growing up I played a lot of sports, while still trying to balance it with the obligatory dance classes my mom was convinced would give me some sense of gracefulness. After all this time, I am thinking that it just didn't take.

I always loved hanging with the guys and found that I usually had much more in common with them than the girls that wanted to braid my hair and play dress up. I chose to make mud pies in the dirt and ride bikes around the neighborhood.

While I tried not to go to extremes, I did manage to find a comfortable balance between rolling in the dirt and wearing pantyhose. I learned to embrace my restless inner voice that sought danger and adventure while submitting to a life of eyebrow plucking, pedicures and leg shaving.

I have created this intensely strong exterior that sometimes portrays a tougher façade than of what actually lies within it. But at my core of who I am and what I stand for, I am quite certain that I am a feminine woman. I enjoy being taken care of and treated as a sensitive woman. I can so easily tap into my feminine energy that it sometimes comes as a surprise when I find myself unable to pull myself out of the “masculine energy” box my friends have put me in.

I love doing anything physical. Engaging my whole body in some kind of battle makes me feel alive. In our Krav Maga training there is a lot of physical contact and I tend to set my own standard of intensity. I enjoy the combative nature of the drills. But, I like to do it on my terms, just as any woman does.

So when I was invited to spar with some guy friends over the weekend I was pretty sure I was going to be able to play the girl card, just in case things got too rough. They were used to training with me in Krav, but in truth, what guy wants to beat up on a girl?

I couldn’t have been more wrong. As I stepped into the garage and got geared up, I saw the concentration in their eyes. I knew they weren’t going to hold back and would not tolerate anything but my full effort.

Normally, I would be flattered for being treated as one of the guys and not receiving special treatment just for being a girl. Truthfully, nothing annoys me more. But this day was a little bit different. They were so determined and intent on us practicing for the impending belt test, that I knew there was no room for whining girl tactics. I had to match their focus. I was nervous and not sure I could measure up.

Sparring was hard and intense and I am quite certain that getting my ass kicked, twice, was not on my to-do list when I woke up that morning. They are strong guys with amazing skills that I can’t begin to match.

We sparred in multiple three minutes rounds and each of them somehow managed to punch me squarely in the face, sending me flying backwards in a dizzying body flailing motion. I barely recovered before they were on me again with kicks and punches to the liver. My blocking was pathetic but I managed to get in a few decent shots.

These guys sent body shots, hooks and straight punches without a single thought that I may break a nail, or worse, start to bleed. As I fought one opponent, the other shouted advice and offered suggestions on how to improve. There wasn’t a single moment that they made me feel inferior to them.

I did have one very girly moment where I just couldn’t dig deep enough to find the energy I knew I needed for the final round. I just didn’t have it in me and I could feel the excuses and whines building up inside me. Instead of giving in to my laziness and letting me quit, my friend did his best to piss me off and raise my level of aggression. He yelled at me and wouldn’t accept any of my excuses. He wouldn’t indulge me in my quest to play my girl card. He made me fight for it. It worked. And it was strangely supportive.

While it is nice to play with the boys, there comes a point where I feel like I have to remind them that I am a girl. I do want them to view me as a woman, yet not treat me like one when we are training.

At least no one laughed when I asked for a bottle of aspirin and some ice for the mild concussion they gave me. That's progress.

I know I can’t have it both ways, but isn’t it just like a woman to want it that way?

Let the carb loading begin

2009-05-10T17:55:00.000-07:00

I find people to being absolutely remarkable. At every turn, my friends seem to surprise the hell out of me - mostly in amazing ways that lift my spirits and fill me with unbridled gratitude. I have been fortunate in my life to have had some pretty incredible experiences that have afforded me the opportunity to travel the world and meet some unbelievable people along the way. I have built friendships from so many different facets of my life and it is such a special feeling when I am reminded of the magnitude of the bonds of friendship that we've created together.

When I began this crazy journey to run a marathon, the initial reactions from family and friends were mixed. Most of you thought I was crazy. Some figured I wouldn't actually go through with it. Many of you reminded me that since I had just finished recovering from a knee injury, a re-injury was probably inevitable with all the training that was involved. And would that risk be worth it?

But as soon as I proclaimed my intention with steadfast certainty, you were all in my corner showering me with overwhelming support. And the support has been so much more than just financial. I am getting words of encouragement and motivation from all sides. Even as I suffered from multiple injuries while training - yes you were all correct with the foresight of a re-injury - no one told me to quit. No one has ever said to me, "You can't do this. Just give up trying." How lucky am I to have people in my life that believe so deeply in my ability to fulfill my own dreams?

Everyone seems to have gotten involved and staked their claim in my journey to see this through. While I appreciate being encouraged during Krav Maga classes not to quit and push myself harder since I am in marathon training mode, I'm pretty sure the constant yelling could be curtailed just a bit, right? But I do love being held accountable and I appreciate the willingness to help me succeed.

Thanks to all of you, I have successfully reached my fundraising goal of over $1800 for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. I am just mere weeks away from living out this wild ambition of mine. Due to some lingering injuries, I have conceded to running the half marathon instead of the full. But I am still fully committed and incredibly excited to embody this phenomenal experience!

I am not sure how to begin to thank my friends for the unbelievable generosity and the support you have shown me over the last few months. Friendships from every era of my life have come forward to give me strength and encouragement. Those of you from my childhood, high school and corporate working days have helped me rekindle my belief that true friendships do indeed endure the test of time. And I feel closer than ever to the more recent friendships in my life as your confidence in me only deepens our connection.

I hope to see some of you out on race day. I'm counting on you guys to bring a stretcher and some extra ice.

Saving lives - one groin kick at a time

2009-05-02T07:36:00.000-07:00

I have this stubborn streak in me and it runs pretty deep. It is not often that I find the courage to back down from my own belief system long enough to hear the advice being offered by others. But luckily, I allowed the universe to intervene on my behalf and I actually listened to my friends as they relentlessly, yet gently, coaxed me into attending a women's only rape prevention seminar held at my Krav Maga gym last week. It turned out to be an incredibly empowering and amazing experience.

At first I really didn't want to go. Being faced with all the emotional baggage that stems from learning about violent attacks was not something that interested me. I was knee deep into avoidance and being confronted with the reality that 1 in 3 women will be attacked in their lifetime, was really something I was willing to never know. They say ignorance is bliss. But in this situation ignorance is stupidity and can lead to me being an unwilling victim. To be perfectly honest, it really came down to me not being comfortable with exposing my vulnerability. I was sure that some crazed and emotional reaction was going to be ignited within me when I was charged with creating a mock attack scene.

I hadn't realized just how much my life was benefiting from my Krav Maga training until I found myself needing to push past some mental barriers. During the seminar, I was able to tap into an emotional and physical strength I wasn't aware I possessed. The drills were designed to push us past our comfort zone and to test our boundaries. Even as I was shaking, I felt safe enough to expose my inner weaknesses and play full out in each scenario. All of the stress drills we performed in Krav classes were now part of my muscle memory and the fear of the unknown wasn't as scary for me as it was for some others.

As I watched these women, these fellow soldiers standing next to me in this fight to protect our bodies, I saw them break down and then pick themselves up and carry on. They were fighting with their own mental limitations. The same fight I endure each time I glove up and take to the mats during class. To be a part of their transformations was a phenomenal experience. Through the tears, the doubt, the uncertainty, they found the strength from deep within to knock the monkey off their backs and move forward in their lives.

When we got to the final drill, the actual physical attack by the instructors, I could barely contain my excitement and my anxiety. They were in these padded suits and we were going to be able to kick them with full force. I was excited because I was going to be able to finally feel the affects of all my Krav training and unleash it on an attacker. My anxiety came from the thought that I would freeze up and not know what to do - rendering all my time training Krav worthless. Since there were only two of us in this seminar that had trained Krav Maga, I felt that we had to represent and I felt the pressure to perform.

We lined up and one by one the women found themselves faced with a single attacker. Countless groin strikes were delivered with force and purpose. The unleashing of the groin kicks and eye strikes are the best weapons we have against an attacker. These women were incredible. With each groin strike they delivered, they were taking back their lives and destroying the demons trying to take over.

Then my turn came. As I closed my eyes, one of the instructors leaned in and whispered into my ear, "You better be ready." Adrenaline instantly poured into my veins and my senses were on fire. I knew something was coming. I was attacked and I fought back. I delivered groin strikes and elbows and knees. I could hear everyone cheering and it felt great. As my attacker was going to the ground we got tangled up and I rolled to the floor as well. I popped up instantly thinking I was done and happy with what I achieved. Just as I was about to celebrate, another attacker charged me. This time I wasn't as prepared. I didn't have all the combos in my head and I was taken off guard. I had to work off instinct rather than focus on technique. I wasn't drilling it, I was fighting back. It was awesome.

Some of these women have now found their way into our Krav Maga program. With each class, I can see their inner strength deepening and their empowerment growing. I feel so much pride having been a part of this program. This is truly an amazing experience every woman should partake in. And learning to send vicious kicks to the groin is a super fun bonus!

It wasn't your bulging biceps that first caught my eye

2009-04-13T15:33:00.000-07:00

Everyone has that one thing they notice about someone when they first meet them. It is an involuntary and subconscious knee jerk evaluation about their physical attributes. You may focus directly on their eyes and how staring into them you see the reflection of your own soul or some touchy feely crap like that. Some take a more shallow approach and check out the ass or pectoral regions.

I wonder if what we first notice about others is a projection of our own insecurities of what we wish we had better of. I am one that tends to fixate on teeth – with a quiet mania for the straight, white, delectably even, non-gummy variety.

Interestingly enough though, closer examination of my ex-husbands’ chops and you’d quickly question the validity of my previous admission to a fascination with all things blissfully aligned. I guess a good set of pecs and a tight ass can make up for a lot of shortcomings after all – at least for a little while.

Anyway – you can imagine my revulsion when I discovered that my new jitter juice addiction was having adverse affects on my pristine smile. I have always held onto a massive insecurity that my fang like teeth are crooked with a mellow yellow sheen to them. I long for a straight, even, immaculate smile. You know, the artificial ones actors pay thousands of dollars to transplant into their mouths. I’m not big on the whole medical intervention for vanity sake, so I do my best to curtail my compulsive preoccupation with my own teeth. I use a special whitening toothpaste everyday and I have even been known to take a nail file to those fangs in a vain attempt to shave them down a bit if I’m feeling too vampire like.

But to know that I am aiding and abetting my own tooth demise by consuming so much of this black liquid is making me a whole new kind of crazy. The elation I feel after the mild caffeine high coupled with the newly discovered bonus of the suppression of appetite has me torn. The ever-growing java stained reflection mocks me as I stare into the glass with a frightening madness. But how do I choose between a newfound love and a life long obsession for a brighter, whiter grin?

With shame in my heart and a mind too weak to say no, I continue to drink the object of my desire. I do my best to minimize the adverse consequences of my shameful craving by wearing hydrogen peroxide filled teeth whitening molds a few times a week. But this is only so I can continue to feed my never-ending yearning for that next cup of Joe.

Keep your meat out of my car

2009-04-11T06:25:00.000-07:00

To say I am a compulsive neat freak is probably an understatement. I have issues. Lots of issues. One of my more annoying and problematic obsessive behaviors has to do with preserving the purity and cleanliness of my vehicle. Back when I was making great money and living a life I am now completely disassociated with - I treated myself to a very expensive car. I had a momentary lapse in judgment and went the pretentious route, but stopped just shy of being completely ostentatious.

I drive an overpriced Volvo. I don't even like it because it has a horrible turning radius. It just doesn't fit my personality or who I am anymore. I'm certainly not a soccer mom. Nor do I personify the typical Volvo owner profile of a conservative safe driver. Truth be told, I am really not even that great of a driver. But I am stuck with it. Who would buy it in this economy? So I am forced to make the best out of a rather irresponsible decision. The guilt alone for driving this car keeps me from loving it completely.

Yet I am remarkably uptight about the interior upkeep. Outside, layers of dust may embed themselves into the paint, just as long as my leather seats remain pristine. It is really no fun at all being a passenger in my car. I have rules. Lots of rules. The problem is, until you break one, you usually aren't subjected to them. I allow you inside, hold my breath and hope there are no violations of what you don't know.

Some of the rules include no kids, no car seats, no shoes resting on the door or dashboard, jewelry is monitored for the possibility of snagging the leather (stop laughing, it happens. I have the hole to prove it), and no food because food leads to crumbs and all sorts of messy incidents I would ultimately obsess over. Interestingly enough, I don't adhere to any of these rules in other people's cars because I just can't imagine anyone else would be this preoccupied with something as petty as car cleanliness.

So the other night I was working on my laptop in the passenger seat in between Krav Maga classes. One of my buddies, also killing time until the next class, popped over for a friendly chat. Since I was in the customary guest spot, he climbed into the driver's seat and settled right in. Now he has been in my car many times before without incident so I didn't think there would be reason to panic.

He tossed a cheerful nod in my direction as he whipped out a hunk of chicken from a previously concealed ziplock bag. Chicken!?!? In my car. Panic surged throughout my body. He must have confused the look of horror on my face with hunger as he pushed the poultry in my direction asking me if I wanted a bite. Still in shock, I leaned in and took a bite of the stringy chicken, unable to completely grasp the events unfolding so quickly before my eyes.

I momentarily paused to evaluate the importance of our friendship as I contemplated unleashing a fury and throwing him out of my vehicle. But he is a very good friend of mine and thankfully some sanity began to seep back into my conscious being. But then he started touching my steering wheel with those slimy fingers leaving traces of chicken bits for me to discover later on. He was testing the strength of our bond without even realizing it. I even think a few particles of the meat tore off and landed outside his oral cavity - ultimately onto my carpeted floor mats.

Thankfully the hearty laughter we shared provided enough distraction for me to be able to curb my own needless fixation on car hygiene. Although when he offered to roll up the window on his way out, I quickly calculated the number of surfaces those fowl laden fingers would have to come in contact with and I cheerfully declined the assistance.

Never mentioned the word addiction...

2009-04-02T10:08:00.001-07:00

Today marks my very first coffee making experience. How I made it into my 3os without owning a coffee maker is beyond me. But the truth is, I have consciously limited my electrical appliance usage, knowing matters of the kitchen are not my strength. Alas, the downward turn of the economy has forced me to take stock of my economic situation and make some tough decisions. It's not what you think. Making the determination to not go to a coffee house was not the barrier to my behavior change. It was the realization that I was going to have to actually figure out how to use an appliance previously foreign to me.

There are so many components that go into making coffee. There is the selection of the proper bean, the grinder, the measuring tool, the filter, the proper water level selection. Wow. I was a bit overwhelmed, but I was determined. I could barely get to sleep last night as my heart was filled with joyful anticipation at the prospect of masterfully creating my first pot of liquid addiction.

It took me slightly less than an hour to get my first pot started. There was a flurry of activity as I desperately tried to manage all the elements. My first attempt was thwarted as I realized after you grind the beans, you cannot simply pull off the top of the grinder. The grounds spill everywhere making a clean freak like me go a little berserk. After cleaning up that spillage - and I must say coffee grounds spread like a rash - I started again. This time I realized the error of my ways and turned the grinder upside down to allow the grounds to fall lovingly into the holder for easy transport.

Now although my hands are a bit shaky and my mind is whirling, I have already learned a few key factors in my brief experience with this vehicle to my new obsession.

You don't have to make 12 cups every time.
If you do make 12 cups because you didn't know you didn't have to, you certainly don't have to drink all 12.
There is a tool of measurement for the coffee grounds. Filling the filter to capacity is not the answer. Can we say caffeine overload?
There is such a thing as decaffeinated options.
Coffee grounds cannot be reused and they drip when transported to the trash can.
Caffeine seems to act as an appetite suppressant. Woohoo!
Peeing. There is so much peeing after all that coffee consumption.
Patience is key - do not remove the pot in mid brew. The time spent cleaning up the mess discounts the thrill of getting a cup three minutes quicker.

I sit and await the imminent crash that is sure to follow this overload of heart palpitating, caffeine infused adrenaline. My hands are shaky and my mind is whirling about. Interesting that I chose to go the fully caffeinated route as I haven't indulged in caffeinated beverages in over six years. I am pretty sure my brain function is having major spasms and my circuits are contemplating shorting out. Has an addiction already formed? If so, I must be my own worst nightmare as I have conveniently become my own dealer.

A year ago today...

2009-03-31T06:00:00.000-07:00

It was a year ago today

A flood of emotion seeps through my superficial veneer

As I close my eyes the sound of your giggles fill my ears

I see you only in my labyrinth of memories

Throughout my childhood, adolescence and into my adult years

You were always there

With each step, every milestone, all those heartaches and triumphs

You shared equally in the glow of my glory as in the anguish of my defeat

My constant cheerleader, my forever fan, my endless supply of hope

You never let me down

The eternal optimist & true believer that giving loves makes you happiest

You lived without judging others and used truth as your weapon of choice

Laugh loudly and be nice you'd say

Your code was simple and you owned it

Never apologizing for your quirky ways or inquisitive nature

I secretly admired your loyalty to captain your own soul

So much of who I am today is reflected in how you lived your life

Even through your pain, you found a way to laugh and put others first

Today I stare at my lost reflection and wonder

Did I love you enough; laugh with you enough; care for you enough

Did I share with you enough; confide in you enough

...enough for you to truly understand how very much you meant to me

It was a year ago today that your suffering was quieted

And as I said goodbye, mine was unleashed