OFP

So I recently conformed to society, and have a new boyfriend.  On a scale from 1-10, he falls between an 11-20 depending on the day.  And last night marks our first real fight...

For New Years, we both had to work all day and felt like doing nothing except snuggling and going to bed likely before the ball dropped.  So, we decided we would meet at my dad’s house, search for my phone (again) and then go to his house for the night.  I had talked about how I needed to do a few things around the house, laundry included, but I could tell he was antsy to get home.

“Lindsey, let me help you find your phone.”  “Absolutely not.  Sit and have Chinese with my dad, my room is a mess.” I say as I walked away, and didn’t hear his  “Fine”

……no phone was found, so I quickly packed a single bag. “Alright, I’m ready to go.” 

“Where’s your laundry?  We already discussed it.  We’re doing it at my house.”

“I changed my mind, I’ll do it Monday night when I get home from work.”

“Nope, we have lots of time tonight and tomorrow night, and it will make you feel so good to have it all done.”

“But…”  “Please go get it,” “NO!” “Please?”

…..a lindseyfern-bitch-fit ensues…..

I storm up to room, so absolutely peeved that I was following orders from a man.  Stomping my feet, throwing clothes; all out dramatic scene. I heard my dad say to my step mom,  “She’s on her OFP again…”  Dad made this up to mean: “Own Fucking Program.”  And you’re damn straight I am, have been since the minute I was born, and probably will be until the end of time, so why in the hell is this so shocking?  I want to do laundry when I want to.  I want to clean, or simply not clean my room and use excuses like “I’m busy,” “I’m too tired” or “I’m never home.” 

I have a boyfriend who works three jobs, just got into Grad school, has a family whom he makes dinner for or takes out to dinner frequently, helps out around his mom’s house, goes to a sporting events and concerts constantly, of which I now get to go along, and somehow still finds the time to genuinely make my life easier EVERYDAY. He finds time to play basketball at 530 am before work, and works out at his little gym at 930 pm when he’s all done.  Sometimes, he even goes for late night runs. If anyone has reason to make excuses, it’s him.  Nope, not Jared James Booker Bradbury.  Instead of seeing him for the helpful, compassionate, unselfish man he is, I ungratefully throw my clothes in a hamper and practically heave it in his arms and make him promise to not TOUCH my dirty clothes, that I will be doing it when we get there.  I’m such a self-destructive little bitch sometimes.  Knowing he wins, he asks me sweetly to put down all my bags, which I do immediately, defeated…and carries each one out to his car.  Yea, if he doesn’t scream “I’M A KEEPER” than I give up.

We made up in 7 minutes.  I cried and apologized for being an impatient brat; he chuckled, told me I’m beautiful, kissed my hand and apologized for causing stress at all to my life.

And I have NO idea what he sees in me.

It’s a “Full House.”

While I religiously watched this sitcom growing up, I would always change it when it got to the ending to avoid the anger it would stir up in me.  Stephanie or DJ would do something terrible like steal dad’s car and crash it or something age-inappropriate like make out with a boy, drink alcohol or other things we young ones eventually do. 

What makes me angry, is when my parents would come in my room at the end of a dramatic 23 minute (minus commercials) drama, no one calmly sat on my bed (tune into heartwarming, forgivey music) and explained the consequences of my “unwise decision.”  Then promptly hugged me and told me they loved me endlessly and then hold hands and decide to clean up whatever mess together.  NO. Wrong.  Wrong.  ALL WRONG.

My parents would be in my personal space so fast that I’d hardly have time to formulate my words, and they would treat my unwise decision (this time ironing a shirt with worlds hottest iron on a nice kitchen table) as the same as discovering drugs in my laundry or all of sudden uncovering I’m secretly a gambler, or the Wilton prostitute.  Seriously, guys.  Not cool.  Ikea tables never burn and I’m pretty sure that you’re world’s hottest iron would light an IRONING BOARD on fire. 

Either way, this is not how we handle these situations where I “act out.”  No, we yell.  In this case, Laura and I left hate mail on top of the burned remains of the table for each other to read on their way out of the house the next day, 5 or 6 am.  The sun hadn’t even risen and I’ve already considered how to really act out just to be a shit head.

But this time, the music of love and forgiveness came on when I walked in the house that night.  “Laura, I’m really sorry for ruining your table.  I won’t begin to make excuses.  And Im sorry for leaving mean words like a 5 year old.”  And then I told her that the reason I was defensive was not the table at all, but feelings of not fitting in since I can remember.  And here I was, desperately trying to blend into this house like I belonged. The woman was upset about her table.  I fit in just fine, if not perfectly.  The drama was not in burning the table, the drama was in my head.  I’m such a drama queen.  I’m sure you’re so surprised.

We had a beautiful talk and the time went by and soon enough, dad drove in the driveway.  We hugged, “lets not fight anymore.  Lets love each other like no one in this family loves.”  When it comes to love, it’s ALWAYS just like that.  I may not have 3 dads like the Tanner family, but they were certainly on to something.  AND…my step-mother had already fixed the table.  She’s fuckin’ Macgyvor. 

10/18/11

“Hows Boston babe?”

What a pregnant question.  Or maybe the answer is pregnant; either way, this is multifacetingly complicated.  Yea I made that word up…So. What.

I work a good 9-10 hours a day, travel another three, and just recently stopped making excuses for not working out.  Yea, that was a real great idea. I’m left with just enough sleep to get me through the next day with the same to do list that is exhausting, will not show immediate results, and will take a well behaved and delightful Lindsey, and not a disgruntled, impatient Lindsey in order to accomplish with grace and high regard.  If you’re thinking, “Lindsey, you’re very very clearly setting yourself up for extreme failure” then you’re right.

Last night I layed in my bed, and just smiled.  I painted my walls a psychotic lime green.  Like, soda can Mellow yellow colored.  I’m sure if one approached my bedroom door they would be shocked to find a highly functioning and completely insightful 25 year old, and not a scraggly haired little girl with sticky hands and toys everywhere.  Oh well…sometimes I’m 7, and sometimes I’m colorblind to circumstance.  So I guess the analogy is perfect.  “They call me mellow yellow…”

I layed in bed, and could here the mice scuttling through the walls…sounds more like a stampede of mice…in fact, one night I was certain it was my cat in the wall.  Now tonight, it was just funny.  No judgment on this house or my family; just acknowledgement that this certainly wasn’t my room, that these mice in the walls lived here long before me.  I technically share this room.  With a family of mice…and lets just hope they don’t try to eat my wimpy little kitten-looking cat, who is afraid of everything and good for nothing.  But, she’s SO pretty.

I shut the light off, and try to smile my joint pain away.  Two days ago, after a very long day of dressing up like a Barbie doll and being “Dinner Party Skipper” to promote Boston Sports Clubs in my community, my boss and I went back to Boston Sports Club to close up and reconvene with the other managers.  Walking from my office on the way to the main lobby, down a HUGE flight of stairs, I take 3 steps, my knee gives out making me miss a step, and I then proceeded to fly headfirst down the staircase.   In a dress, and in 4 inch black patent leather Steve Maddens.  I swept my legs under me as quick as possible so as not to show my gym and employees my “lacey luluthong” (compliments of lululemon athletica, the most overpriced and underappreciated undergarment in this world), just in time for my managers to hand me my belongings, which went everywhere.  At LEAST 8 people witnessed this.  I didn’t know whether to laugh or cry from the unreserved embarrassment.  So I did neither, and pretended like my bruised and bleeding knees didn’t hurt.  You can dress the girl up but you clearly can’t take her out….or she will trip up eventually.

New, intense job.  Ridiculous commute.  No personal life.  Lime green room and a mice infested habitat; and finally, biffing it down a staircase for the ENTIRE Leadership team plus a few innocent passerby’s to witness, causing me to consult an orthopedist about a third knee surgery, so not to put my dignity up for grabs in future events…AND, my life is absolutely chosen, joyful and PERFECT.

NYC Adventure, Part 1

I knew it was going to be a good trip to NYC when I was driving around downtown Boston searching for parking this weekend in the pouring rain.  And finally, I found the best deal, though I had to circle the block because the entrance was blocked by a big truck.  And circle 3 or 4, I noticed that this truck was emitting dead pigs.  Right on the doorstep of Asian cuisine.  Can’t make this shit up.  A scrawny man in clothes too big is throwing these dead pigs right at the door.  Gross, Boston.  Gross.

So I park, and I walk into South Station to await my Megabus.  Of course the midnight bus is late, and I’m pleased to say that my seat partner is a young athlete, and wears swishy pants, and is seemingly normal compared to the other clientele. She contorts herself into the tiniest ball and falls asleep almost immediately, as do I.  Unfortunately, the guy behind us has woken up everyone in a one hundred mile radius with his snoring…I somehow managed to sleep through it almost entirely.  Poor girl next to me was swishin’ all over…by the sound of her pants, she was not pleased with the man.

Destination New York, and while I don’t really know where I am, I gather my bags and my sleepy brain and head towards Grand Central Station.  I walked about 20 blocks, and would have much preferred a better option on this fine Saturday morning than “Everyday Gourmet” where a little cat is randomly roaming the floors.  It doesn’t quite look like it belongs, but no one seems to care.  I normally like cats, but this one is creeping all over.  Creepy.  And kind of gross.  I’d much preferred Luci, who always looks afraid thus endearing, rather than this cat who though tiny, looked like it would scratch your face off.  This NYC kitty is a G…no doubt.  Also, the signs advertise this place as an “internet café.”  Perfect.  Except they don’t have internet, and when I asked about it, they looked at me like I had “dumbass” stamped to my forehead.  And this was how I knew my weekend of life coaching was off to a great start.

Next stop….STARBUCKS, where I will seek out their internet and an Americano.  And then, New York Sports Club, where I will work out and shower.  Oh hell, I’ll probably just take a shower.  Who am I kidding.  And then off to the Hyatt to get my ass kicked into life coaching shape.   What have I signed myself up for?

The Housesitter...

So, I tried to tell Cinnamon about how I am pretty sure I roofied myself in her own apartment, and she encouraged me to write it out..  Fine, you’re a genius, Cinn.  This one is for you.

Just another day like every other.  I’m living out of a tiny suitcase awaiting my move to New England; and SOMEHOW this 2 X 1 suitcase is supposed to hold my dearest of items.  REALLY?  It holds my exploding outfits from wrinkled dresses and heels to workout gear to baggy t shirts; meant to help me turn career spice to workout spice in 6 seconds, though looking at the state of my suitcase makes me want to go naked spice.  I can’t find my brush.  That is evident from the fro I’ve sported for a week.  

Here I am in Cinn’s apartment, nursing my knee post-surgery, trying not to lose my mind with this move, and happily caring for Cinnamon’s kitties while she is away.  And just like my common sense, I have misplaced everything valuable, including my pain killers.  The do-it-herselfer in me doesn’t bother trifling through my bags, but goes straight to Cinn’s medicine cabinet to see what I can find.  And there it sits: a full, untouched bottle of vicoden.

Yea, try to explain this incident to one of your friends: "I swear, I took one of Cinnamon’s vicoden; no she wasn’t there.  She doesn’t know, yet…well, it said vicoden on the bottle...”  Not only do few believe me, but everyone thinks that maybe it was the “wine” or that I unintentionally mixed it.  Ok guys, pleased to say, I don’t do drugs for leisure and this time, I hadn’t drank any of the beer that I did excitedly grab with dinner.  The simple truth is I was sober, thought I was taking a vicoden, knowing full well that I would tell Cinnamon and thank her for her contribution to my knee pain.  I instead get to write her a fantastic story about my rendition of how her cat Peahead roofied me.

And I am sure; peahead the cat did this.  I have in fact and sadly been roofied before, so this was a familiar feeling.  Round 1: I land myself in the ER after an innocent girls night out went bad on the wrong side of town.  My girlfriends had the sense and concern knowing I’d drank no more than them, that something was not right.  While everything turned out ok and there was no harm done, I would prefer to never spend the night in the ER again.  My alcohol level was dangerously high, and now lives a creepy story of a creepy guy who was around me all night, whom I don't remember.  My girl friends later found me outside, on the side of the street, apparently passed out.  Also, I was a wearing a short jean skirt…and I’d been robbed.  Thankfully, I not only live to tell the story, but that appears to be the extent of it.

Round 2, mid “Project Date DC”…I’m on a random date with a random guy whom I hadn’t previously met.  (Yea, I now realize that signing up for the sketchiest online dating website to meet people then write about it was NOT a good idea…but, who knew.)  This dude ordered me a drink before I got there (hint….RED FLAG) and only had a few sips before I realized that I couldn’t finish my sentences, and was simply stuttering all over the place.  All of a sudden, it came together…I was at the W Hotel rooftop bar…(only the best place to go in DC)….but nonetheless, I was in a fucking hotel, and I was getting drugged, and I was supposed to end up in a room the next day, who even knows if I was supposed to still be alive.  I feigned illness and got the hell out of there, then dealt with the phone calls from a slew of people who just yelled at me.  I did not eat my wheaties this day.  Deserved.  No more dating projects for me...

Here I was now, house sitting with an entire bowl of delicious macaroni and cheese that I could hardly wait to eat..and I suddenly was too sleepy.  I was so tired, that I woke up a few minutes later, still holding my bowl of dinner; beer in hand, drool coming out of my wide open mouth.  True story.  I woke up just long enough to put the food down and climb in bed.  Did not plug in my phone OR set an alarm…did not brush my teeth….did not pass go and collect 200 dollars.  I didn't even put my bud light lime back in the fridge.  And I stayed asleep for 12 hours.

I awake with the realization that I had one hour to be work, my phone was dead, and I fell asleep without letting my girlfriend in.  Yep, it was bestie date night.  And she had to go to our other friends…what an ass I am.  So; I either rapied myself for no good reason by innocently taking said vicoden for knee pain; when really, it is something else entirely; or my tolerance for prescription drugs is embarrassingly weak.  It was that easy…and far less scary when you do it to yourself.  The only thing that took advantage of me was Peahead the cat….he snuggled all night long. 

If you’re never feared being taken advantage of, or are a dude, then you have not a clue what I’m talking about.  Let me explain for you; 2 in 3 women are abused physically.  Why so high?  Because more often than not, repeat offenders get away with it.  We’re afraid of what will happen if we push back.  Well, not afraid.  EPICLY DEVESTATED.  We sometimes feel the power of “no” in our soul but we can’t express it with the emphasis that we are worth so much more because we sadly don’t see or believe it.  We wear the victim cape until it gets old.  For some of us it’s a week, and others a lifetime.  Often times, we are so out of touch with this awareness; that that is what landed us with this giant doucher in the first place.  We question, even worse, when we let go of those who hurt us, would anyone believe me?  Would anyone support me and love me in spite of my poor decision?  No.  No.  Definitely NOT.  We put up with it, and pretend like life goes quietly on, meanwhile the suffering is settling in for the long haul.  Everyday this happens, and statistically, it’s happened to most of the women in your life.

Was it Vicoden?  Probably.  But only peahead knows.

House Surgery

Today I went and looked at a new house with dad and laura.  They’re looking for that old fixer upper…that house that kids “these days” can’t possibly appreciate.  And in that 2 and a half hour long process of talking with the owners (while wishing I’d brought the rollerskate I’d rented to drive myself home) I was supremely happy that I’d come along and listened to their every word.

You see, my parents have a unique gift.  Much like I do with people, they know and understand houses better than the house itself.  They can look at it, know exactly the work that goes into it, know what flooring, color paint, style of curtains, theme of guest bedroom, or what year of antique fits the room.  They know where you find such art, and then go on a mad hunt for the perfect piece or cloth or couch or cushion.  They have already decided where the addition in a few years will go.  You name the house and location, and they’ll show up and make it spectacular.  They’ll add gardens.  They’ll put in a patio.  They’ll even fit their animals into the space, and within a week the neighbors are stopping to pet the dogs and call them by name, as if the particular house has been in our family for years.  My parent’s are the perfect neighbors, the most gracious of hosts.  My dad will shovel the old ladies driveway next door, probably at the same time my step mother is baking her some delicious treat.  And, the old lady is still sleeping because it’s 7 in the morning, and doesn’t yet know about the many ways in which the Norses have risen to the occasion.  Also, if you’re pet gets sick…no worries.  My step mother will know what dosage of human meds to give it and how to nurse it back to health.  She grew up in California, but she’s a bonafide farmers daughter.  All those years in Vermont has taught her a thing or two.

Don’t even get me STARTED about the holidays.  Soon enough, the neighbors will think we have an uncle that may or may not be a pilgrim due to the shrine of corn and hay and pumpkins and other festive features that will sit on the old fashioned wagon that my dad will build.  I wish I could tell you this were an  exaggeration, or that this is at all funny.  But in all actuality, at the old farmhouse, people offered MONEY to dad for this landmark on our yard.  When it snowed, don’t you worry…Laura turned it into a sleigh in no time.  I’m certain neighborhood kids believed that native North-Poler’s had a time share with us, or that we secretly were elves.  I mean who else would allow the amount of Christmas lights and maple syrup in one place?  Only Santa.  Also, we compete for biggest decorated tree in the whole world, and lose only to Rockafeller Center…but it’s always a close call.  Damn ceiling…

This is their third home together, and as far as I’m concerned, their third round of “Renter’s face-lift.”  This cottage is about to be Norse-ified. That’s right…my parents are surgeons…of houses.  And it costs way more, they make way less, and also they will lose years on it.  One day, their young looking houses will pay off, and they will choose to make it their own and stay there until they die.  Until then, the rest of the world will benefit from their gift. 

Elizabeth Gilbert Brilliance...

My favorite author, who wrote "Eat, pray, love." Also, this book her extremely wealthy, later turned into a mediocre movie.  She says this in her second book, "Committed."

 "People think a soul mate is your perfect fit, and that's what everyone wants. But a true soul mate is a mirror, the person who shows you everything that is holding you back, the person who brings you to your own attention so you can change your life.


A true soul mate is probably the most important person you'll ever meet, because they tear down your walls and smack you awake. But to live with a soul mate forever? Nah. Too painful. Soul mates, they come into your life just to reveal another layer of yourself to you, and then leave.


A soul mates purpose is to shake you up, tear apart your ego a little bit, show you your obstacles and addictions, break your heart open so new light can get in, make you so desperate and out of control that you have to transform your life, then introduce you to your spiritual master..."


Couldn't have said it better myself.

Quarter Life Un-Crisis

So, I’m 25.  And the other day I felt overwhelmed with all the changes coming my way...much like the breakdowns we have when we turn 50, get divorced and remarried, and start researching hair plugs. And then it occurred to me that this is not crisis mode…it’s UNCRISIS mode.  As it should, moving my whole life to Boston is causing a bit of anxiety in my normal, care-free life.  Actually, that is partially inaccurate…I’m only care free sometimes.  FINE.  I’m care free never…that sure does feel gross to say.  

Anxiety, and a whole lot of uncertainty.  My bosses seem great, but have placed the solvation of world peace in under a month on my plate.  (Literally, they just called to tell me to take as much time as I needed because i'm about to not have a life.  Excellent.)  I don’t have a car but know I will drive at LEAST a couple of hours a day.  I’m moving back in with my parents, whom I havn’t lived with since I was 14.  My siblings lives are absolutely jam packed, and I have two friends there, and let’s just say, they know eachother.  Friggen fantastic.  Every once in a while I remind myself how hard this really could be…

Instead though of defeat, I’m kind of excited to fight with my dad.  Dysfunctional?  Probably.  I can’t wait to be the manager of a club where it’s quite possible I’m hazed, and not liked.  My new boss is probably a giant doucher, and could make my life a living hell.  I will probably drive a car whose door is a different color than the body, and will break down on my way to work, and I’ll be too poor to afford AAA, and my dad will be four hours away in another state working and I’ll be stranded in my broken, 2-colored car.  “How to lose a job in ten days” will be the title to the next blogpost.  Either way, the likelihood of me crying myself to sleep for two weeks is promising.

Above is a fantasticly funny story I've told myself.  None of it is true...I can’t waste another minute not living ever remaining minute of my life from a place of possibility and generating my very soon coming success.  Everyday I don’t: write, explore; make time for a good friend; give unselfishly; hold back because of fear and insecurity; or push through the discomfort, I’m being just like every other average jane with “potential”. I don’t fall in the middle of the pack…I lead the pack.  I am unafraid.  And that’s just that.

Nancy Drew

Big girl wine nights are my favorite…I get so excited because one could never predict the direction our conversations will go. You can imagine the build up when Wendy texts me a couple of hours before we meet on her porch…”I have something CRAZY to tell you.  I have knots in my stomach.” The best part?  I have NO idea what to expect.

Fast forward…porch sitting, wine glasses in hand:

Me: Wendy, do tell.  Is he gay?  Does he have secret children?  Drug dealer??  So, what is it?

Wendy:  No, are you crazy!  Nothing like that.  I’ve been a sleuth. 

Me:  A sleuth?  Lol, what do you mean? 

Wendy:  Well, I was awake last night when he snuck out…it was 1:54 am.

Me:  Youre convincing me your psycho right now, but this is gonna be good.  Go on.

Wendy (shrugging, and in the most casual possible way, she then says): Lol.  So, I got outa bed, ya know, brushed my teeth and washed my face.  Then I got all dressed in black and followed him.

Me: SHUT THE FRONT DOOR.  Now…I’m convinced, your nuts.  But go on.

Wendy: Well, I just wanted to see if he went to his store like he said he did.  So I went to the store, and he wasn’t there.

Me:  So then you came home…

Wendy:  NO!  Then I went to his house, and his lights were on…but those damn blinds! I couldn’t see anything!  And I had to be careful because they have an alarm system…

Me: And it’s a good thing they do, to prevent you from sneaking in through the windows!!  You mean to tell me…you’re crazy ass got out of your car??

Wendy (again, in a completely casual and I-do-this-shit-all-the-time kind of voice): Oh its not the first time I’ve gotten out of my car and inspected his house before…

Me (now big eyed, and laughing hysterically): Of course you have wendy….

Wendy:  Lol, what?!?! Just a modern day Nancy Drew.. (I can’t make that shit up…she really said that…)

Me (now laughing too hard to speak….)

Wendy: WHAT?! You would have done it too!!

Me: no, not a chance…but I’m not judging.  Dude, you didn’t think this one through, wen.  What if you had gotten caught?!

Wendy: Oh!! Well, here’s the crazy par-

Me: THERE’S A CRAZY PART?!?!

Wendy (still laughing..) Well, I had printed out the information for Go Green Arlington and was going to pretend to be a door to door girl…you know, trying to convince them to, ya know, go green!!

Me:  Of COURSE.  (My head is now shaking in my hands…and if in this conversation I was speechless, I’m now that, times 10.)

Wendy: What?!!? If that’s not thought out, I don’t know what is!!

Dialogue went on for some time.  The truth is, our modern day nancy drew here is one of my favorite people in the whole world.  She’s resourceful and while this story might convince you otherwise, she’s highly intelligent. AND she’s beautiful.  She has a billion guys following her around all the time, hoping that they will get that chance to tie her down, but she’s kind of un-tie-down-able.  It’s my personal favorite, when she invites all the men in her life to a party, and they all show up, thinking their with her.  She has the imagination of a 7 year old, yet last night we celebrated her 30^th birthday. I personally hope that she never, ever grows up and will always remain my modern day “Nancy Drew.”

The kitties move to NH. And me too.

  My dad and eldest brother Josh just drove my entire, meowing life away in a 5 X 8 U haul truck.  I’m not sure what condition my remains will be in when they arrive to its newest destination, New Hampshire, but I guess I should have thought of that when it was neatly displayed in my apartment.

   I really don’t know what I’ve gotten myself into.  Moving to a new job, in a new state, in a new home.  It all feels a little bit on the unreal side. I can best describe the feeling by looking into the eyes of my complete mess of a feline; who nearly took my dad’s face off as we jammed her in her car carrier…the fear that’s always in her eyes, now circumstantially heightened, is striking.  People ask me all the time why I even bother with her, which usually in turn renders me speechless.  (I technically inherited her from my roommate; an evil, evil barn cat.)  In truth, I guess I kind of detest the little thing.  She has a serious attitude problem, she’s a straight up little bitch who knows she’s just pretty enough to be kept. She has a knack for turning her charm on when she’s done particularly bad things, like pee on my roommates clean clothes or unrolled an entire roll of toilet paper…again.  And for two solid years she thinks that she is the center of all worth…WRONG.  She is quite undeserving, at least as far as kitty’s go, she couldn’t be any more opposite of my other perfect cat.  (Enter second cat…perfect.) In fact, I have a few friends who call him Jesus.  I wish I could lie and say I’m kidding…but I’m not.  Handsome is the Savior of cats….WWHD…what would Handsome do.  Should be on cat collars with a picture of his sweet face; coming soon to a cat near you…

   In an uncanny way, I am just like the little bitch-cat.  She is in fact a cat version of myself; scared, seemingly narcissistic, and over-confident, to name a few of our dominant flaws.  I do think, though, that people would hold in high regard my “keeper” characteristic amongst my many, many downfalls, even if they can’t figure out one single reason why to “keep” me.   I have no idea why I keep her!  Many times have I considered “accidentally” opening the doors and chasing her out. But I, too, hiss at people when I feel defenseless, and symbolically claw for my own life when the outcome is out of my control.  I wouldn’t let you shove me in a cage without a vicious fight where I try to rip your face off either (sorry, face.)  I would most certainly cry for an hour or two at the mere suggestion of such bull shit.  So sadly I watched her today act out of pure survival, and realized I keep her for her near humane qualities (or my ridiculous bitch cat qualities…whatever.) Most prominently, I wonder if people see the apprehension in my eyes as clearly as I did in hers.

   I keep her because someone’s got to love and look out for the impossible bitch “Lindsey’s” of the world.  This version happens to be small, have fine graying hair, and requires allergy medicine on occasion.  She’s also unfortunately expensive…typical.  (WHAT?! We have good taste.)  She is needy, overly curious, catastrophically messy; a tragic cliché of a cat.  She is everything people hate in cats.  Am I everything people hate in women?  Fuck.

   Is it weird that I see myself in a cat?  Perfect.  Love me or leave me…us.  In the state of New Hampshire, we are now officially a two-fer.  (*If you are not from DC, do read Lindsey’s dictionary definition: two-fer: noun; word attaching two objects; two for one deal.  “Now that Lindsey spent $300 dollars in unnecessary shots and has fed her faithfully for over two years, she and her cat Luci are now unfortunately considered a two-fer; leaving Lindsey likely single until the death of said bitch-cat.”)

Into the soul of an addict.

I have known for years that I have an addictive personality.  I wrote an entire blog post about how much I hate change…I am first and foremost, addicted to what I know.  In all openness, I really have lived a very harmful lifestyle, and I’m sad to say that that is all I know.  I know waking up and falling asleep with espresso in hand, and using that in between time to kill myself trying to tackle an impossibly long to-do list full of unnecessary shit.  I make myself feel so guilty for not getting it all done, for not using my 24 hours that day most efficiently.  The first thing I cut into is sleep…I mean, who could sleep at a time like this? There is dishes to do, a blog to contribute to, trails to run…so clearly, I’m unkind to myself.  I offer compassion to everyone and ANYONE except for myself.

I realized the other day that what the world needs is not another highly functioning “do-er.”  Who I am being is somewhat of a chaotic tornado that thrives on caffeine, to-do lists, adrenaline rushes and bodily and intellectual  torment.  A good friend pointed out to me the other day, “Lindsey, who told you that the real you wasn’t enough?” Wow.  Right on sister.  But, for some reason, I’ve felt that my best self is the girl who bounces off the walls, never tires, and always says yes.  And now that I’m saying this out loud, I realize the dysfunction.  There is no inner joy in this nor is it remotely sustainable.  There are moments of success, in fact there have been a lot of them in my life.  This lifestyle works for me, and has created a huge level of achievement.  But my heart is vacant and when I let myself come down from this caffeine high…I realize, I’m a fraud.  That is not me.  I’m out of integrity with myself.  The world doesn’t need any more frauds. 

So, I have made the decision to give up caffeine.  Ok, I’m giving up coffee for a short while, espresso probably permanently.  I want a life of true freedom…free from needing to “be” anything other than what I am...ultimately free from addiction.  I can’t be free if my life revolves around a cup of joe, sometimes more than one.  Maybe underneath it all, I really am tired, and I want that to be ok.  Maybe I’m sad, and MAYBE I’m really quite delightful at my core, but none of us ever noticed it because I’m too busy babbling off stories of what is next on my list.  Maybe I’m witty and maybe I’m slower to respond.  I have always wanted to be “sweet”, and maybe I am if I am not distracted with some said goal needing accomplishment.  Perhaps I’ve been afraid of what actually sits underneath it all untouched.  Oh well, regardless, it all is coming out, like it or not.  Here's to being real....

Two days later…Decaf sucks reeeeeal bad, and did not trick my body one bit.  This addiction thing is no joke…thank god it’s not crack or something ridiculous…this is hard enough.

Five days later…I’ve been in bed for two days with a ridiculous cold.  My immune system apparently isn't as convinced as I am that I don't need caffeine.  However, I am tired earlier and get great sleep.  This is good news!

30 Days of Gratitude...DAY 2

So, last night, circa 11 pm, my phone rings. It is my amazing father...

Cliche, maybe, but my dad is a superhero. Again...it's not something that he did for me recently that makes me think this. To anyone else, he's an ordinary, honest, hard working, middle class man. We try to talk a couple of times a week, but since he gave me the gift/curse of an incredible work ethic, we often times go a week or two without talking, due to being held up at work or just crashing from exhaustion as soon as we aren't on the go. And while our relationship has gone from one extreme to the other, I believe that not having him for a bit makes me appreciate him that much more.

I am the younger, female version of papa Norse. We have the EXACT same humor that it's gross....we both like running the same one joke into the ground, because to him and I, it's STILL funny and will never get old. Everyone around us wants us to die, both while we're telling that joke, and then following our telling of it, when him and I are the only two so inconsolable from laughter that everyone else has left the room but him and I....still laughing. We might have rewinded a few parts of Napoleon Dynamite to get a second dose...and both laugh hysterically every time a teenage boy movie comes on, even though we both say how stupid it is, and that we're probably wasting brain cells watching it. Also, when my dad laughs his lunatic laugh, I can't help but laugh with him, even if I don't want to because I don't even know why I'm laughing in the first place..it's like a God damn spell was cast on me...what can I say, the man is hilarious.

He has no idea how smart he is. He is sensitive that he never had the opportunity to finish school. But in actuality, he always has intelligent answers to major life questions, and the profundity from which he speaks has inspired me on MANY occasions. He is one of those rare people who speaks from his experiences, his heart, and his brain...which is far more valuable than any degree out there. He is not simple...he is always expanding his knowledge and is open to new ideas. He is the only person I know that reads the paper everyday, starting with the obituaries and the sports sections. I guess he kinda needs to be a little crazy and open minded, because with a daughter like me...you can't exactly be narrow-minded.

He loves and gives his love when he believes it is a good cause. Obvi, I'm a great cause, and so he loves the hell out of me. I remember him and my step-mother "adopting" an underprivileged family for christmas one year, and my step mom later told me they overspent because he didn't want to put back any of the things he had picked out. (He was in charge of the dad and the little girl!) He loves all of his kids, and even when he's frustrated with one of us, he would never outrightly give up on us or walk away. He doesn't throw his hands up at us, even though we have countless times done that to him. We can always come home. We all know it, and we all, at one point, have taken him for granted. Somehow, he still loves us and is proud of every one of us, and never misses a chance to highlight our accomplishments or forgive our shortcomings.

Last night, dad was tired. He felt (though he didn't say this) that he was spinning his wheels, working so hard to get by and was just exhausted by the every day bullshit of life. I can't wait until my dad and my step mother are able to retire, and sit and appreciate the people and environments that they helped create. I can't wait for them to never have to worry about anything except for staying healthy so they can live long into their grandkids lives. I am impatient for the day that they live next door to me...I lived the first 25 years away from them, and I kinda wanna spend the next 25 all up in there business, driving them absolutely fucking crazy. Get ready guys...I am moving home soon, and you won't be able to get rid of me. :-)

Best memories of my father:

-I was 13, desperate for a pony. He took me to my horsebackriding lesson every saturday morning, and read the paper and drank his coffee, and watched me through the glass windows. He took me to see one that was being sold, and then entertained the idea of actually buying it, going through the magazine of equipment we would need for this pony, along side me at our kitchen table. I was practically putting together a business proposal: why dad should buy me a pony and how much it will cost. I never got a pony. Instead, I had an empathetic and sincere father who wanted for me to have a pony. Better...

-Never a christmas or holiday goes by that he didn't give me a sentimental piece of jewelry that I have saved. A locket, a sun/moon charm that I had put on my charm bracelet which was later another dad/laura gift...a beautiful bracelet he sent to me when we weren't talking. I have yet to have a boyfriend buy me anything that remotely compares....

--The time he visited me at college and took me and my friends mini-golfing and screams out when we're getting our equipment.."I want the blue balls!" ...of course followed by his lunatic laugh. Gross dad....but hilarious.

--When we couldn't find parking, so he parked in handi-capped and grabbed his broken golf club out of the back of the truck and tapped it on the street, pretending to be blind....

--They day I watched him marry the love of his life, and felt happy for him and jealous at the same time...

--Watching him play with his grandson Luke, because Luke is under the same spell I am, which is...

Extreme, stupid, overwhelming admiration and gratitude for all that makes up our better half, Dennis Norse Sr.

Aesthetic Intelligence, 101

Walk onto a train on the metro and ask each person why living healthfully (via decent nutrition and exercise) is important, and I can guarantee you would receive very different answers. The first issue here is that we would all define “living healthfully” quite differently, but there is also another issue. Most of us are unwilling to admit our deepest desire for our physical health: to be jaw-dropping, crowd-stopping, whisper-worthy…beautiful. Another issue, even the “pretty” people of the world are the first to point out: their oversized nose, their skinny legs, their receding hair line. To arrive at the intersection of Beautiful and Confident really is a long and twisted route with no signs and lots of driving against the traffic…

It’s why my girlfriends’ hair appointments are treated with the same urgency as that of a heart transplant. It’s why cosmetic surgeries are no longer an anomaly for movie stars, but an absolute consideration for just about EVERY housewife in America. It’s why we buy certain jeans that promise a fabulous behind, or buy specific sneakers that promise to “tone and sculpt.” Are you kidding me? I know we all do it, but entertain me for a few minutes and lets get real: True physical beauty lies beyond what society teaches…we must begin taking personal responsibility for our own beauty, and just like our parents tell us after our first horrendous hair cut when you’ve locked yourself in the bathroom, crying, begging not to go to school that day…. True beauty comes from the inside.

It starts with answering the question: what does a physically beautiful person look like? Maybe they have a full head of hair. Perhaps they have broad shoulders. There is a potential chance that they do not have any muscle definition, because you find this feature to be too masculine. It could be taller, shorter, leaner, or have “more to love”…blond, brunette, a ginger for goodness sake….you get it, the options are exhausting. If you were Mr. Potato Head and got to pick your body parts like accessories, what would you pick? Mr. Potato head doesn’t have a body (hence his last name…“Head”) but if he did, what would he look like? I think all of us would say, that personality and character adds to our view of beauty, so don’t leave those out!

The scary part, where are you now? Get real with yourself…consider throwing out your Skecher shape ups and maybe even, stop going to pilates just to say you did. Once you bring your complete awareness to where you currently are…write down what you would choose to be, given a blank slate. Obviously, some of these things you can change (ie…muscle defenition) and some things you cannot (ie, your height). Look at that unchangeable list, give it a glance, then rip it up and throw it out. Seriously, spend not ONE MORE MINUTE looking at it, because 1) you’re the only one who thinks it’s a bad thing and have labeled it “wrong”, and 2) you can’t do a thing about it, so stop dwelling on it. If you accept you for who and what you are, then that is ALL the permission those around you need to do the same.

Second, recognize that everything on your changeable list is all yours. Achieving it comes when you put in the work; and putting in the work is the easy part, but only when you prioritize the time. START THERE. Get out your schedule, and right in all of your commitments, as is. You have 24 hours in your day like Bill Gates did when he decided he was going to conquer the business world; like Mother Theresa did when she decided she was not going to back down to the most influential leaders and speak against their political stance, only to get applauded by well respected presidents whose entire campaign ate same previous ideas (and people who believed them) alive. Mr. Gates and Mother Theresa never lost sight of their end goal, and while both were far from perfect, they trudged ahead full steam. We all have 24 hours….lets start DOING something with it!

We must begin believing in the process. If fulfilling a mental need requires reading a good book, then you must prioritize time to read like you would eating a meal, and then follow through; only then will that need be met. If you have a spiritual need to go to church or have fellowship with other believers (whatever it is they worship), then you must organize a gathering or go to church, just simple as that. And so it is with physical fitness. I had a client whom, after our initial interview, insisted on starting the plan I created for her “next week”. She wanted to “start fresh.” This is a very common misconception. Friends, “next week” never comes. That is something fancy we tell ourselves to get us off the hook of stepping outside of our own comfortable and non-sweaty world. If it were easy, we’d all be models, elite athletes, or experts.

I would argue that true beauty is hidden beneath the balanced lives we strive for. It’s in between 8 hours of sleep and 16 hours of equal servings of a hard-day’s-work and communion with family and friends. It’s between a short spurt of endurance training, and a long and slow yoga class. It’s between Caesar Salads and cupcakes. Our aesthetic beauty lies somewhere between our muffin-tops and our inherited and unaltered, perfectly straight set of teeth. It lies right alongside your giving, compassionate heart and a deep and profound awareness and acceptance of the things that you cannot change. You might not be there yet, but with a commitment and belief in the process, you will be. Since the only moments we ever really possess are the present, don’t wait until “next week”, be real with yourself right now, and for all the “nows” for the rest of your life.

30 Days of Gratitude...DAY 1

My "Dating DC" project, while fun and hilarious, was a bit of an epic fail. (But fun...and I made some friends, and that, afterall, was the point...)

For the next 30 days, I'm going to write everyday about the first thing or things that come to mind when I think of what I'm thankful for. What better way to make hard work worth all the time when I can recenter myself at least once a day....

Today, I can't stop thinking about my good friend, Cinnamon.

The funny part is....I haven't seen her in a while, and our next date in fact is next weekend. It's not like she's sitting next to me or on the phone or looking at her picture or...nope. Actually, I don't even think I have a picture of her. (fakebook doesn't count..) And if you ask me to describe why I'm thankful for her...which I'm about to try...it's nearly impossible. She somehow eeked her witty and compassionate self into my big heart and when I need a dose of anything...honesty, face-time, inspiration, an ear, someone to point out my biggest flaws or give me the credit that I rarely get but probably deserve...she is becoming the light bulb that goes off in my brain....probably because:

--She's so smart. She's my cuter, person version of wikipedia. :-) She ALWAYS knows the answer and if she doesn't, then give her 3 minutes and she'll have one. She knows what book to hand me when I need a good read; what joke will make me piss my pants, and when to show up in the ER when no one else did (even though my visits are too frequent to really be urgent anymore.)

--She's so pretty. On my birthday, she wore the prettiest cashmere sweater than genuinely made me contemplate cashmere like I was high....why is cashmere so soft? How is she pulling off a sweater?! (I decided I was too young for sweaters, but after seeing hers..) And my final question about this sweater....where the hell can I get a said-cashmere sweater?! She always has the widest, most genuine smile on her face, and it always brings one out of me. After 2 weeks of not seeing her, I never, EVER know what color her hair might be, which has become a complete build-up, almost like I'm meeting her all over again. She always has cute shoes...she can go from business-cinnamon to workout-cinnamon in 6 seconds. Mostly, she's the best sharer I know. I grew up in a big family....I shared everything with everyone! Socks with my brother, shoes with my mom, I shared my bed with my sisters on many occasions...but outside of the Norse clan, I hadn't met someone so outrightly giving. Cinnamon could have been a Norse. All of these things make her stupidly pretty to me!

--MOST important to me: she calls me on my shit. She points out when I'm being a brat, demanding, too independent and when I push people away. She asks all the right questions, and then follows up when I see her next. I can honestly say that her "coaching" personality not only makes her a great friend, but I am just better at living life because of it. She makes me want to be equally as amazing, not just right back at her, but to the whole damn world. There should be a law regarding how much of her to get in one day, because I'm absolutely certain that if we spent a full day together we'd either rule the world or end up in jail....or both.

I was reading something the other day......all we ever really need in our life to live fully is at least ONE person who loves us for who really are....and while I'd like to think I have tons of people this applies to, I know for sure that while this woman has every reason to judge me or not love me because of my gaping flaws, all of which she knows completely about; she actually loves me in spite of them. That's real love, and I really love her. :-)

Everyone should have a Cinnamon in their life...jus' saying. :-)

Lindsey Mantras

Lindsey-Mantras.

I made this list when I was less-than-pleased with who I was “being.” I needed to make a list to remind myself what I stood for..in sentence form. So…happy reading: (some are mine: original and made up, and some are completely stolen…you can probably figure out which is which...so don't sue me.)

· Will it matter tomorrow?

· Do more yoga

· Drink more water

· Espresso and wine are a treat.

· When you don’t know-smile pretty. When you don’t get what you want, smile harder and say thank you.

· I am radiant.

· I will not settle.

· My time is precious, and so are the people I spend it with.

· Whether I think I can, or think I can’t, I’m right.

· Be a dreamer.

· Love fully and all the time. Don’t be a cheapskate when it comes to love.

· My mom and my dad are finally best friends.

· Sisters and brother are forever, and may not necessarily share your name or your DNA.

· Life is short, but my days are long.

· I am proud to be happy.

· I choose this life.

· I don’t change…I grow.

· Stop everyday to smell the roses, because I have so many things to be thankful for.

· I deserve to be happy.

· In order to make others happy, I must make myself happy first.

· One person CAN make a difference.

· I choose to take things personal.

· Considering a God is always worth the time and mental energy.

· Experiences, while not degrees, are deserving of my respect.

· Remain positive.

· Always exhibit integrity with my world.

· Do not tell a lie. Honesty will always be my best policy.

· Sing in the shower. Dance in the rain. Watch “How I met your mother.”

· Someone else’s laughter is the most beautiful sound.

· Matching is overrated. So is brushing your hair.

· If you don’t love your life, then change it.

· I attract people like me. Who am I?

· I can do anything if I want it bad enough.

· I am money-driven and not driven by money.

· I will choose brains before beauty...but I choose both.

· I will forgive myself when I eff it all up. I’ll surely do it again…

· Offer all of yourself to those you love. Those you love are all you’ll ever really have.

· People are irreplaceable.

· Real men do cry.

· Sweat once a day. Or all day. It’s fine.

· Someday NEVER comes.

· I don’t do shallow. I swim in deep waters,my friends.

· Get big or go home.