Pole Dancing is easier than Aerial Arts

1. A pole is stationary and therefore provides resistance
2. Aerial arts requires an abnormally ridiculous amount of upper body and core strength (neither of which I have)
3.  It's hard to look sexy when your ankle is tangled up in fabric and your veins are popping out of your neck.

So this year I have declared as the year I start my bucket list.  I am going to do one thing per month that I haven't ever done before as part of the "I am turning 40 this year and therefore I will start living life to its fullest" plan.

In January a friend and I went to a pole dancing class.  It was two hours long and the first hour was all floor work working your core and teaching you ways to look sexy while exercising.  All this time I thought strippers had an easy job.  Turns out lying there moving your legs in a bicycling motion for more than, oh let's say 1 minute, is really really hard.  I mean really really hard. If you don't believe me, give it a try.  (I wasn't even wearing a thong either so that would add a whole other element)  I feel badly now for the few times I have been in a strip club tipping only a few dollars.  We also learned to do what our instructor (who was an elementary teacher by day) called "the showstopper"; a move guaranteed to get your significant others attention of whatever he/she is ignoring you for.  I have yet to attempt the use of said move.

The second half of the class was actually learning to work the pole.  There's a phrase I never thought I would use.  I learned to do what they call in the "biz" a firefly move.  Here is a little video tutorial of what I learned:  Firefly Move  It took a few attempts to get the hang of it (no pun intended) and to start getting into the rhythm of it but once I did I was having a blast.  I came away sore & bruised but feeling very empowered and very sexy!  I even took one of my last turns on the pole wearing some silver sequined heels.  It was an addictive feeling.  I am going to go back for another class.  I might even have a party there!  I highly encourage women to visit the S Factor Studio and take at least one class.

February was the month of the Aerial Arts.   Video of "Beginning Aerial Fabric"  A few friends and I went on a rainy Saturday morning to an industrial building in downtown Houston to fly through the air with the greatest of ease.  A few minor things I should point out:  flying through the air for me meant being roughly 18" off the ground AND it was not with ease.  In fact it was with great difficulty.  It did NOT look like the video clip above.  I did not feel sexy.  There were no sequins.  I would like to blame my height (too tall) on the reason I didn't take to it very easily but in reality the truth is that I have no upper body strength or core strength.  Be right back, I need a cupcake.  Okay, where was I?  Yes...no core strength. No upper body strength.  Everybody all caught up?  Great. Moving on... 

I felt pretty good about my attempt at the "aerial arts" until the instructor told me she had been doing it for about 2.5 years shortly after having a c-section.  I said, "Oh I know...I had two c-sections myself and that lower abdomen just isn't the same."  (Thankfully she didn't ask how old my kids were then I would have been forced to admit that my two back to back c-sections took place in 1996 and 1997.)  I tried to get my friends to agree to jump her and let me beat her up but they didn't go for it.  (Note to self:  find some bad ass friends not afraid to take someone down.) 

It was a lot more difficult than they make it look.  It is tiring and I am pretty sure I used muscles that hadn't been used in quite awhile.  I did have fun though.  I had a lot of fun which was the point.  Have fun with friends trying something new.  Would I do it again?  Yes but only once I admit to myself that I am only in it for fun and not actually under the impression that I am going to be so fabulous at it that a scout will recruit me for Cirque du Soleil. 

Now the pole dancing...well that is an entirely different story. 
  

The Shrew Should Be Tamed

1.  She isn't a "Real Housewife" and therefore she can't properly wear bitchy and pretentious.
2.  I am debating adding it to my bucket list.
3. It's a democracy and the majority rules. (Even the silent majority)


What is the definition of a shrew?  The online dictionary states:

"1. Resembling a mouse but having a long pointed snout and small eyes and ears. 

2. A woman with a violent, scolding, or nagging temperament; a scold."

I was actually shocked to NOT see the face of the woman I thoroughly despise looking back at me although the little rodent looking picture did look seemingly familiar.   Perhaps she is a shape-shifter; like that little rat, Scabbers, in the Harry Potter series.  It would answer so many questions.   I know that at this point you are either laughing hysterically because you know exactly who I am referring to, you are laughing hysterically because you know someone just like her, or you are very intrigued and want to know more. CONGRATULATIONS!   I am naturally a detailed and long winded story teller and today I am slightly hormonal so you are in luck!

There is this woman I work with...well not directly work with, indirectly work with.  We don't work together day to day in the same building but we are a part of a larger group with a common goal.  Unless the goal is not her goal, then all bets are off.  You see, this shrew believes she is a god, or at the very least a demi-god.  Her opinion is the only opinion that matters and she will badger you and attempt to intimidate you until you agree with her.  I can barely stand to be in the same room with her because of the stink of her giant ego.  

At every single meeting she goes on and on simply for the sake of listening to herself speak because no one else gives a damn about anything she says.  I don't know why the leader(s) appease her because all it does it cause her to think she is more important than she is and cause a silent (and cursing) revolt amongst the masses. 

Even her emails can induce a coma and homicidal thoughts.  She goes on and on with technical terms no one knows, understands, or gives a damn about.  I have gone back and forth between wondering if she can seriously be that clueless or if she just uses terminology no one can understand to make herself feel superior.  I used to pity her but now she just irritates me.  I mean on a scale of irritating range 1 to 10 I would have to say that a yeast infection is about an 8 and she runs between a 7-10 depending.  If there were ever a time I had to be in her presence WHILE I had a yeast infection I am pretty sure someone would have to medicate me.

She utterly hates it when anyone has the audacity to question her or offer up a different opinion and if you really want to get under her skin just remotely imply anything regarding copyright infringement.  That just about sends her over the edge.  Last week she attempted a passive aggressive attack on me through the new (and ridiculously flawed) inter-library loan system but I don't play like that so I harnessed my ninja-like passive aggressive skills and threw a few back in her direction.  

When it comes to her I try to carefully choose my battles.  This year was the year that I officially deemed the year I was going to tame the shrew or at the very least have fun trying.  I kind of view it as part hobby part community service.  As the second semester wages closer and closer to Spring Break I have to say that she is still in her natural, untamed state (somehow I knew she wouldn't go down easily) but I sure have enjoyed the ride so far.  It has been so freeing to finally click "send" to those emails instead of "delete".  

Now before you go get all "this is a no bully zone" on me, SHE is the real bully.   I am simply standing up to her and giving her a taste of her own medicine.  I know that I am speaking for the majority and I don't mind being the one to have the balls big enough to finally do it because when I go to sleep at night I don't really give a crap what she thinks of me.  I have no respect for someone who condescends and patronizes her colleagues.

I kind of have this fantasy where I am the "Rosie the Riveter" or the "Gloria Steinem" of the library world, or at least the library world of which I am part.  I get to stand up to her in a meeting and say things like, "You can't handle the truth!", sing songs like, "Ding Dong the witch is dead" (not really; merely symbolically...c'mon, I am not that much of a bitch!)  and then everyone hoists me up on their shoulders and carries me out while chanting my name all "RUDY! RUDY!" style.  Ahhh, a girl can dream, can't she? 

P.S.  I am choosing to NOT properly cite my source above just because I know it would drive her to insanity.  It really IS the little things in life. : )

China is Awesome

1.  My son was born there

2.  They can get your order at McDonald’s 100% accurate even though there is a total language barrier.

3.  The people are gracious, kind, and steeped in tradition and culture.

On January 26, 2008 we finally made it back to US soil after spending 16 days traveling China to complete the adoption process of our son.  He was two at the time and I look back over the past four years at how much he has grown and how much he has changed our lives and I know that I have been forever touched by the hand of God.

As a child I knew that both a very close cousin and my grandfather were both adopted.  Both adoptions were for different reasons, under different circumstances, and of course in two very different eras.  Nonetheless, after  knowing their stories and understanding how selfless adoption is I decided at a very young age that I wanted to one day adopt.

When Clint and I were dating in the early 1990’s and discussing our future I mentioned that I wanted to adopt.  He response was that he too wanted to adopt, specifically a little boy from China.  I laughed it off because at that time in history international adoptions from China were rare and those that were happening were most certainly not male children.

After being married a few years we decided it was time to start planning our family.  But as the old saying goes, “Man plans, God laughs.”  This was not good news for me as I am the ultimate planner.  Hard to believe I know.  I fought God for a long time on this issue as I have never really been intimidated by confrontation.   I used science to my advantage and filled my body with hormones and fertility inducing drugs.  I laid upside down, had a chart and thermometer beside my bed.  We spun sperm, counted days, and went through the process of insemination.  More than once.  Not fun by the way.  Pretty painful actually.  

I had been challenged and I did not like it.  I did not like that my plan was more than a year behind schedule.  It quite pissed me off to be honest.   How dare MY timeline be questioned?  I was not going to accept the possibility of no children.  It was not.going.to.go.down.that.way.for.me.  In the meantime I research alternatives and adoption.  Both options were super expensive for a young couple living on one income while I was finishing college.  But I kept that giant maroon binder with ill-gotten copies of copyrighted material (see how desperate I was to resort to copyright infringement?) on the top shelf in my closet ‘for whenever I needed it’.

After two years of battling infertility (AKA God’s Plan) I was tired.  No, scratch that. I was broken.  “Okay fine God, you win.”  As if we didn’t all see THAT outcome coming.  So in October of 1995 I didn’t renew my fertility drug prescription.  I told my doctor that I “needed a break to focus on my last semester of college”.  What I needed was to let go.   So I let go.  I gave everything up.  I mean I gave everything UP.  I let go to let God.  Trust me, relinquishing control is probably one of the most difficult things for me to do, even to this day.  It felt like I was living my life like I was trapped in a pair of Chinese handcuffs.  The harder I fought, the tighter the hold was.  And just like when your fingers are trapped in Chinese handcuffs, as soon as you relax, stop struggling, and relinquish control…you are freed.  Three months after I let go I found myself in the ER in the middle of the night with a rupturing ovarian cyst and a positive pregnancy test that I didn’t believe was mine.  Morgan was born that October.   

The day that she had her four month checkup scheduled I too had a checkup scheduled.  I found myself staring at the business end of a positive pregnancy test.  This was before the internet lingo was big so when I say I had a WTH moment I mean I literally said, “What the hell?  Whose test is that?”  I was in shock and that is putting it mildly.  I couldn’t help but laugh at the irony…which by the way, the true definition of irony is – God’s sense of humor.  In shock, I drove almost an hour to my husband’s work to hand deliver the positive pregnancy test.  His reaction? “Whose test is that?”  The next October, ten days after Morgan’s first birthday, Madison was born.

Life kept us busy for a while.  In July 2006 we were enjoying some wine at a winery in Fredericksburg, Texas when the topic of another child came up again.  Again, he said he wanted to adopt a boy from China.  I honestly didn’t think it could be done or done easily and I thought he was screwing with me so I would drop the topic of another kid.  You would think after being married for so long he would know me better than that by then.  When I finally mentioned that I was serious about him either getting on board with another child or getting on board with a vasectomy we started talking.  A few bottles of wine later we decided that we did want to adopt but would take some time to research the process and the costs, try to pay off some debts, and spend a considerable amount of time praying for guidance to lead us to do the right thing.  So that is exactly what we did.

A few weeks later I got a call from the college asking if I wanted to interview for a part time position that I had previously applied for…three years earlier.  I took that as a sign.  I did my paperwork and began my new part time job on a Sunday afternoon shift.  The full time employee I was working with a woman about my age so as we got to know one another the topic naturally turned to children.  She shared with me that she had a two year old son and a two year old son.  Wait…what??  To clarify, she had a two year old biological son and a two year old adopted son…and in fact, she was leaving a few months later to pick him up and finalized the adoption paperwork.  She would be leaving at the end of October for…China.  I know, it seems almost like a cheesy movie and if you didn’t live it I can see how it would be difficult to believe.  I took it as a sign.  I was almost too excited to get home and tell Clint who was, by Clint standards, excited.  The next week before I was able to go back and ask her the list of questions that we had prepared we were lying in bed watching a new episode of The Office where Michael  comes in and announces that, after watching Oprah, he has decided to adopt a baby from China.  I sat up in bed, looked and Clint, and said something to the effect of, “Seriously?” 

A few months later, while my friend was in China picking up her son, we signed with an adoption agency and started the journey to adoption.  That was November 2006.  We specified we wanted a boy age 1 month to 3 years old and selected a few from a long list of “special needs” that we would be willing to accept.  When we signed the wait time was about 18 months.  By the first of the New Year the wait had climbed to 24 months and counting.  That July the agency changed the way it handled waiting child adoptions from posting a list and allowing families to apply to requiring families to complete an application and would then match waiting children to families.  I filled out the application and submitted it.   

In August, right as I was going back to work the agency called.  A few stressful days of phone tag finally ended when the agency finally reached me only to tell me that they had a match for us and were sending us a file for review.  We had about 3 days to have his file reviewed and then let them know our decision.  I raced home and opened the file and immediately knew that the pictures I was looking at were that of our son, Eli.  After having the medical files reviewed and accepting the referral we waited for travel arrangements.   

We left for China on January 10^th, 2008 and came home on January 26^th, just 15 months since signing the adoption agency papers.   After experiencing this life I have no doubt that I have been touched by the hand of God.   To shorten our 16 day trip and the emotional journey to just a few sentences seems unjust but thankfully I blogged the entire emotional journey because sometimes, just sometimes, the truth is stranger than fiction.