Binkytowne

Rightthissecond

 Things to love:

1. Starbucks Dark Cherry Mocha. I don't even like coffee. I don't drink mochas, I drink tea, but every morning my local Starbucks has mini samples of the dark cherry mocha on the counter complete with whipped cream & sprinkles. Those little chocoalte sprinkles? They melt in your mouth. Literally. 

2. Light Blue by Dolce & Gabbana is my signature scent: It's in the citrus-y family and a little sweet and it makes me feel fancy.

3. Lady Gaga & Telephone. I know I'm late to the party, but I think I love her. Not in her bisexual-fantasy way. Just lover her creativity and her mad skillz.

4. Adele 19. Again, late on the uptake to this but her track Daydreaming? Swoon worthy. Her voice is like butter. Warm sweet butter. With a whiskey chaser.

5. Jonathan Rhys Meyers. I'm currently re-watching all of the previous seasons of the Tudors to get ready for season 5. I never get tired of (him) that show. Where was I?

6. My husband bought me this Sugio running tank. It's bright and pretty, snug where it should be and long enough that I can tuck it into my running tights. That way I can focus on running and not worry about it riding up and flashing everyone my muffin top. 

7. eos lip balm. The sweet mint flavor. Soothes angry winter lips.

8. EMU boots. I almost feel sorry* that it has been warm enough for me to not need to wear my Emu boots. They are like a wool blanket on your feet. That's not true at all*.

9. Pacific Natural Foods Tomato and Red Pepper Soup. Divine.

10. Ahsoka Tano. I am deeply and firecely entrenched in my five year old's 24/7 Star Wars obsession. Ahsoka is a jedi and she kicks ass.

I lifted this from Metalia. Tell me, what do you love love love rightthisminute? 

There was a Chicken Bone in my Lunch

One would think that reporting that one had spent hard earned dollars to purchase something that makes me feel depressed when I take it out the microwave and sit down to eat it would be enough.

I hate eating microwaved food. I refuse to eat anything that comes out of a microwave that has meat or a meat-like substance in it. The texture (gag) makes me want to (gag) nevermind what it makes me want to do - you could be eating lunch right now. (I hope, for your sake, it's not chicken.)

See I'm trying to up my whole grains and I've been told to add protein so I'm not chewing on my arm by mid-afternoon. I bought the fancy frozen business, the kind that rhyme with Mashi, with all kinds of good stuff and a little bit of chicken. I'm minding my own business, thinking, this is going quite well actually when CHUNK. My teeth hit bone. A mother clucking chicken bone. IN MY MOUTH. I was eating lunch at my desk and found myself frantically trying to quiet my gag reflex. I quickly instant messaged my husband, he would know what to do:

Me: I think I'm going to vomit at my desk. Just bit down on a chicken bone. 

Him: Think about ponies.

Green pastures. Sunny skies. Running. Running away fast. From the chicken bone. It was tough, but I made it to the other side and the crisis was averted. I moved my garbage bin back to it's rightful place and got back to work. So I ate depressing microwave food and bit down on some poor chicken's leg, maybe it was a wing, I don't know, and that should be enough to say it was a bad thing that had happened to me.

At work I refuse to take anyone seriously who walks around talking about how busy they are, because, really, if you are that busy, hanging around and complaining about it has probably added to your delay and you are not doing yourself or anyone else any favors with that kind of talk. Also because, hey, we are all busy. Put your big girl (or big boy, if the brief fits) pants on and deal.  

That's how I feel about misfortune. Everyone has it rough. Maybe not today, but perhaps last year was a challenge and if that's not so, you can bet you are on the list for 2011. I never want to write with the intention of complaining about my life, my circumstances, my bad days, just for the sake of doing so. There's enough of that around, no one needs to find it here.

My challenge is to write around that. My 14 year career where I work could potentially be one business meeting in New York away from over. Or not. My finances are tapped, a big bonus that should have materialized didn't. Lots of people are walking this tightrope beside me, their shoes dangle on the wire as as they shift the weight of worry to try to balance it with looking on the bright side while updating their LinkedIn profile. My story is not new or original, but it's hard to carry this worry. Every day.   

There was a time when finding a chicken bone in my lunch would have been the worst thing that had happened to me in a long time. 

My Hips Don't Lie

They merely stretch the truth..

Although I had friends who made quite a few pretty dollar bills while they were at it, I wonder sometimes, while driving on that stretch of highway past the gentlemen's club, what it was in my upbringing that made me never even consider it. All those hours I spent around priests? My short haired women's studies professors spouting Adrienne Rich? I don't know.

In Zumba class the music is loud and it's hot. I've always danced- Ballet, pom-poms, nightclubs. The Zumba instructor was my funk aerobics teacher for years at the gym. I know her and how she moves so when she calls LOWER! SHOULDERS BACK! ABS TIGHT! I comply. I never take my eyes off the shimmy of her hips. I feel my long hair brush against my shoulders and the bass is booming and I bring it down and I turn it in a circle.

I zoom past the strip club which sits, with a healthy dose of symbolism, at the end of a dead end street. I exhale. Relief. I am grateful that I have sons. I will not have to teach a daughter the syncopated steps of how to love a woman's body. Really love it. Every curve and soft handful. To shake it to the music but also to recognize when the beat shifts and it's time for the dance to slow down.