Welcome to the Concrete Jungle

I don't know if you can call what's happening in the Gulf of Mexico a spill.

For those that continue to refer to it as such, I say SQUEEZE ME?!?!

Catastrophic. Unbelievable. Mind blowing.

One word why we are drilling into the sea. GREED.

Our dependency on oil is too great. Our ability to control is too little.

We are too busy on our iPods, iPads, Blackberrys, iPhones to notice.

Try putting down these trinkets and walk your neighborhood - alone, without an electronic device.

Look at the trees, listen to the birds, walk in the park. Get out of the city. Look at nature and its own community.

Now imagine devastation. Talk to the folks in neighboring cities near the Gulf and understand what we all take for granted.

Welcome to the concrete jungle. And you think the weapons of mass destruction are in the Middle East. Enter BP.

Sweet Dream or Beautiful Nightmare

Time and time again, I have the weirdest sensations. I honestly believe I have a sixth sense. Premonition, gut feeling, odd dream, call it whatever you want.

They don't come often, but when they do, the results are inevitably correct.

Last night I had the strangest dream--or was it a beautiful nightmare?

Squeeze me?

It was about work. I have many dreams of work. When you have two lives, home and work, it is inevitable you will dream of both. But my dream showed many things. Upheaval. Change. Death. I know...sounds sadistic. Sometimes I choose to tell people, sometimes I refrain. Old cultural folklore demands one not to reveal premonitions before or after they happen.

Today when I came to work, I heard about upheaval, change and death. All in that order.

I want to brush off the sixth sense.

I'm learning not to be rattled.

But it lives within me, as a warning and sometimes a guide. It follows me during the day and haunts me at night.

Release me...sometimes knowing is too much.

Mind vacation

Do you ever walk into a room, on a mission and forget why you are there?

Do you ever pick up the phone, dial the number and forget who you called?

Do you ever go to the grocery store, buy your stuff and come out wondering where your car is?

Do you see a person you know, flag them over and then forget their name?

What is the common theme running here?

I think these last couple of years, I have been on a mind vacation.

Squeeze me?

I eat almonds, I play crossword puzzles, I watch Jeopardy, I read three books a week but I feel like my mind is separating from my body. Alzheimers scares the sh** out of me so I am really trying to push my mind beyond its limits (which is not hard to do, joke some friends) in the attempts to boost my memory.

I will remember an event three years ago but ask me what I ate for breakfast today and I draw a blank.

Some call it Mommy Brain. Its true and I ask women who have had children whether they have the same affliction and 90% agree--they cannot remember important details.

If my mind and body take a vacation at the same time, I'm afraid I will end up in a catatonic state. But aren't we all already there?

DTA

DTA

Don't Trust Anyone

Squeeze me?

From a young age, my baby brother always said this to me. DTA.
I used to brush his comment aside and laugh!

But as I grew older, I kept DTA close to me. Maybe because it was my brother's younger wisdom that I admired. Maybe because I knew deep, down inside...that it was true.

Today, someone stole a possession of mine from a very public place. I was working in my director's office to work on multiple tasks. He is great that way--he let's all his team members use the office for this purpose or for brainstorming sessions.

My laptop, purse and phone was on the desk. I left for a one hour meeting and since a fellow co-worker was in the office with me from a previous meeting, he left the door open when he left.

When I came back, my Blackberry had disappeared. Frantically, I looked everywhere and then proceeded to check my purse. Credit cards, check. Money, check. ID, check.

But no BlackBerry. My co-worker remembered seeing my phone in the office when he left. I was stunned--someone was brazen enough to enter the office and take my phone? I called and it went straight to voicemail. I dropped my head, saddened. How can someone just walk in and take MY possessions?

I thought my work world was safe. I was wrong. A wise nod to you, baby bro.

Emotions are the latest fashion

I wear my emotions on my sleeve.

I cannot hide the fact that I am:

-happy
-sad
-depressed
-amused
-angry
-flustered
-aggravated
-puzzled
-moved

Ok, so the list goes on and trust me, may face resembles a cartoon character. Some people are politically correct and very diplomatic by not showing others how they REALLY feel. There are times I admire this quality but then I think to myself, "Aren't you cheating?!?"

Squeeze me?

Are we whipped and trained to control our emotions so much so that we are untrue to ourselves and the people we interact with? Of course, we all know (or do we) that it depends on the situation. Yeah, yeah, I was angry because Sheila's gift to me this year was the exact same gift I gave her last year. Bloody cheapskate! Ok Dad, I will bite my tongue.

Maybe its a woman thing. Women just let other women have it! We don't hold back. Meow! But then again, we manipulate, lie, deceive and just plain hide the truth to sometimes...oh yeah, get what we want ;)

Men say what they mean and mean what they say. And they get into less trouble then women. So is it contingent on gender?

Or maybe its just me? I wash that sleeve every night and those old emotions keep coming right back.

Me Mufassa

Do you find that you only ponder the meaning of life when staring death in the face?

It is not uncommon to hear this and its probably a cliche. The whole episode that when faced with danger, a person's whole life flashes before their eyes.

We have heard it all before. We talk about it, experience it and then we are stopped in our tracks.

I haven't been able to move on for a week now while I ponder the meaning of life. The circle of life...Lion King.

Squeeze me?

I remember the first time I watched the Lion King. Everyone loved it when it first came out. They adored Simba, admired Mufassa and ahborred Scar. Despite everyone's affinity with the characters and storyline, as I watched the movie, I silently and morbidly thought about death. Like Mufassa, Simba would grow up, procreate and die like his father. The circle of life.

My mother died when I was eighteen and herself was very young. My feelings at the time were about the unjustness of it all. But as time wore on, and the shock wore off, I realized she would always be with me. I know she was there as I stood over her grave grieving. I know she was there when I got married and looked over my shoulder at the empty space next to my father. I know she was there in the delivery room when I placed my daughters on my chest. The circle of life.

She tells me in my dreams, "Just move forward"...and I open my eyes to catch my breath.

The Spidey Punching Bag

My friend at work has a Spidey punching bag in her office. At times I find myself gravitating there to punch the bag, knowing that since I internalize my grief, I need an outlet. Several things had been bothering me, and as I carried all my burdens, I felt so helpless and tired.

The Spidey bag taught me a lesson today: the harder I hit, the harder it came back.

It was my sign.

Squeeze me?

Sometimes I just have to back down from the fight,let Spidey stand and stare me square in the face.

"The world breaks everyone, and afterward, some are strong at the broken places."
-Ernest Hemingway

Mr.Roboto

The mind is a strange thing.

It is amazing how we remember and forget. I am very detailed-oriented on a day to day basis at work but ask me what I had for breakfast that morning, I blank out completely.

What's worse is that I am losing pieces of past, rapidly.

Squeeze me?

Over the weekend, my sister (who remembers EVERYTHING) referred to an event that happened in our childhood. As she recounted the details, the feelings flooded back. And I realized that I had blocked out that event because it was associated to negative feelings. So much so that when she told me the story, I relived each moment like it was yesterday.

Now this is not a new revelation. Many psychologists have researched the brain and the effects of traumatizing past events but it really dawned on me how nonchalantly we deflect those feelings and memories to a point that they never exist today.

For us who want to move forward, do our new, lovely memories in fact replace the old, bad ones? Is this done consciously or unconsciously?
Or is it a matter of feelings? Do we feel less than previous generations? Are we out of touch with reality as we move away from social interaction?

As life passes us by, are we just going through the motions...Mr.Roboto?

Bullocks! She got cheated out of that Oscar

While driving into work this morning, I heard the disturbing news that Sandra's Bullock husband, Jesse James, cheated on her with a tattoo model he met and the same day, had sex with on his office couch.

Squeeze me?

I remember vividly how she thanked him when she received her Oscar, with tears in both their eyes! Oh Gawd.

Donald Trump even quipped with James, "What the hell does she see in you?"

Imagine: You tell Barbara Walters that your husband is the love of your life and he pushes you to attain your highest goals. You then win the Oscar and thank your bozo husband in front of millions. A week later, you find texts from the mistress on his phone and you move out of the family home and cancel your movie premiere.

High one week and absolutely at your lowest point the next.

Jesse, Tiger, Eddie and all you male hotshots...just because you are a celebrity doesn't mean you won't get caught. Money and fame do not control the world.

Remember the 90/10 rule. 10% you can control, the other 90% is your reaction.

Sandra, your reaction? Throw the Oscar at his nuts!

Trying to make someone fall in love with you is about as pointless as trying to control who you fall in love with

"Friendship is imnportant to me,
And in my heart I see,
That friendship is a gift.
But when there is no more friendship
The gift is broken into so many pieces,
That Love cannot count them."

I wrote this poem in Grade 6 and left my teacher sobbing. Cheesy as it may sound, it made the yearbook and raised my celebrity that year--ironically the year I had no friends.

Squeeze me?

I yearned for friends growing up, actually aching for someone to recognize my uniqueness. Bullied for being different, I conformed to their standards, willing to forfeit my morals and values just to fit in. The more I was bullied, the more I changed and abandonned my true self. By Grade 8, I didn't recognize who I had become, BUT I had two friends.

Fast forward 5 years. High school and maturity. I could breathe easy and finally be myself and accepted for my differences. I had a gazillion friends. But it was a struggle to find my identity. Trying to control the situation and my friends.

Today, one friend in particular is strong, aggressive and too bold for her own good. I see her wanting respect and acceptance. But I see her going down the wrong road.

I remain quiet and wait. And eventually she turns a corner and realizes her lack of compassion. Without me saying a word, she is starting to change, soften and relent. She isn't losing control; she is learning not to control. Makes my heart rise and want to hug her hard.

If you want friends, just set them free.