It's Not Just in Your Head

Last Friday, hearts broke across America and around the world at the news of a young man killing dozens of people at Sandy Hook Elementary School. Along with the sadness comes the natural anger at such an occurrence, and the rush to find solutions to prevent a similar tragedy from erupting in the future. The incident immediately sparked discussion about gun control, but that's not what I'm addressing in this post. I'd like to focus on a far more prevalent, yet less talked about issue -- mental illness.

According to the National Institute of Mental Health, more than 25% of Americans suffer from some type of mental disorder in any given year. That means at least one out of every four people you know is struggling with a mental disorder. Think you don't know anyone affected? Consider that while the term "mental disorder" covers well-known illnesses such as schizophrenia and depression, it also includes post traumatic stress disorder, eating disorders, ADHD, and anxiety or panic disorders. Mental illness isn't black and white, it's more of a sliding scale with varying degrees of severity. Just within each individual category, such as depression, there are nearly infinite degrees and variations. If you still think you don't know anybody with any of these issues, I would respectfully contend that you're probably not paying close enough attention.

Why are we so afraid to address mental disorders with our loved ones? Physical ailments don't carry the same stigma, but both are maladies that occur due to a problem with some part of the body. The only difference is that many "physical" injuries are easily visible, whereas "mental" issues are brought on by invisible chemical reactions in the brain. Even if you have a minor cut on your face or a burn on your arm, someone undoubtedly seems ready to point it out. Yet we skirt around speaking about major mental afflictions when we recognize them in our loved ones. We will talk about other personal matters, such as erectile dysfunction, but not depression. Can you believe that? People are often more willing to talk about penises than brains. Something about that strikes me as rather warped.

Avoiding the topic may be more comfortable in the short term, but it benefits nobody in the long term. If we don't address mental disorders when we notice them, they can be left to fester and escalate to irreparable levels, such as in the Newtown incident.

I feel that we're not only negligent in speaking to those close to us about their potential disorders, but we're fearful to talk about mental illness at all. When we do, it's often only in extreme scenarios such such as what happened in Connecticut, and demonizing language is employed. With anger and disgust, we spout words like "sick" or "twisted" rather than sadly talking about the "desperation" or "helplessness" that many with mental disorders feel. It doesn't have to be this way. We don't need to be fearful of these illnesses and make them taboo topics. There are already enough barriers to receiving proper help, including the lack of insurance coverage for many mental disorders. The last thing an afflicted person needs is to feel odd or to be confronted by harsh, accusatory statements.

I grew excited while watching one of the major network news programs this week when they advertised a comprehensive discussion about mental illness, but upon viewing the segment, I grew increasingly dismayed. It began by touting the prevalence of mental disorders (this report cited 47% as the number of Americans suffering from some type of mental affliction), but then immediately turned to focus on the rare, extreme cases and repeatedly used the word "sick" in a derogatory manner. Such language does nothing to further the cause; it merely perpetuates the unfortunate stereotype of mental illness being freakish and uncommon.

I urge you to talk to your loved ones about mental illness, regardless of whether it's currently a pressing issue.  You never know when it will become an issue in the future, and often already having the lines of communication open can make the discussion less uncomfortable. Make it known that you don't believe mental illness carries a stigma, that it's just like any physical ailment in need of treatment. Most of all, let your loved one know he or she is not alone. The feelings of guilt, embarrassment and despair that come with mental disorders can often seem insurmountable; sometimes just a hug and an "I'm always here for you and support you" can make all the difference.

Applaud those who seek out help for their disorders. It's painfully difficult to get to that point, considering all the negative connotations our society places on receiving assistance from a psychologist. It's also painfully difficult for those with mental illness to continue seeing a professional once improvement is evident. Continued support goes a long way in keeping a patient on the right track.

Finally, choose your words wisely. Perpetuating the use of harsh language doesn't benefit anyone. Making people with mental illness feel more "normal" could mean the difference between recovery and being pushed over the edge into a severe situation. Whatever happens, just don't sit by idly and watch someone self destruct. That, in my opinion, would be the real tragedy.

Apocalypse Now

For the past several years, zombies have been all the rage (so have vampires, but we're not going there today). Films and TV shows have been raking in mucho moolah depicting the aftermath of the zombie apocalypse. There's one movie in particular I find particularly amusing for its list of tips to avoid becoming zombie grub: Zombieland.

The Zombieland tips are fantastic, including such gems as "double tap" (always shoot zombies twice to ensure they're dead) and "cardio" (stay in shape so you can outrun the baddies. "The first ones to go... are the fatties" according to the movie). Before reading further, go watch this movie. It's hilarious.

In honor of Halloween, I have compiled some zombie apocalypse survival tips of my own. However, there are already far too many aimed at humans, so in a bit of a twist, these are aimed at the zombies. Here are my pearls of wisdom for zombies to stay alive, er, dead, um, undead, or whatever "night walker" state they want to sustain:

-Fire resistant clothing -- OK, so you don't like fire. In fact, it's one of your top two worst enemies. So do something about it. How about scouring the Halloween aisle at Target, considering all those kiddie costumes say "flame retardant." Put on a few of those bad boys and at least you'll have a light, flexible option to prevent burning up.

-Wear a helmet -- Also available at Target. It's no secret that attacks to the head are the only other way to kill zombies besides fire. Bike helmets will suffice, but opt for a full face-covering motorcycle helmet if it's available. In a pinch, a metal bucket or large soup pot with cut outs for your eyes should do the trick.

-Use stupidity to your advantage -- Not your stupidity, the humans' stupidity. If you've seen ANY horror movies, you know that poor judgment will eventually take over and the humans will make ridiculous, amateurish mistakes... such as thinking they're the exception to the zombie rules and you won't actually nab them. Zombie attacks only happen to other people. Stay alert to find ways to trip up the humans... both literally and figuratively.

-Makeup -- Face it, you're disgusting. And the more you decay, the creepier you look. The creepier you look, the more humans will flee from you. Sephora has free makeup testers, so head over there and cover up that gaping flesh wound if you want humans to relate to you. Which brings me to...

-Play the stereotypical sympathy/love card (if you're a dude zombie) -- This works primarily on women and goes along with the previous point of relating to humans. If the vampire love in "Twilight" has taught us anything, it's that inter-species lovin' is not only possible, it's encouraged (at least that's what I've heard. I can't read that teen-lit "sparkle" vampire stuff). Work that zombie lovin', then take a bite.

-Play the stereotypical skank (if you're a lady zombie) --  This goes along with the previous two points and works primarily on men. If mankind has taught us anything, it's that it doesn't take much for men to turn to putty when presented with a skanky female specimen. Even if that specimen is a zombie. Work that slutty zombie lovin', then take a bite.

-Tools --  I understand that with all the herky jerky movements and rotting appendages, holding and operating tools is a difficult task. However, due to said jerky and slow movements, mastering easy tools to capture your prey at a distance is imperative because they can usually out-run you. While still at Target, consider costume props such as ninja stars or lassos. Or check out someplace like Fleet Farm for bear traps. Such traps are effective at immobilizing your prey, while still keeping them alive so the flesh is fresh.

-Pace yourself/element of surprise -- Don't go storming into a crowd of humans like the bros rushing a hot girl at a bar. That's never appreciated and will only result in your prey escaping with a snort and an eye roll (while during the zombie apocalypse AND at the bar). Growling and trying to quickly attack humans simply alerts them to your presence, so you need to be stealthy. Fight the driving urge to EAT BRAINS NOW and lie amongst other dead bodies without stirring. You'll blend in well. Or cover yourself with some of the debris you find littering the streets (because the streets in zombie movies are consistently filled with crap) and pounce when unsuspecting prey nears.

-Hit the beach -- We've seen the played-out scenarios of zombies invading cities. But how about visiting less obvious places like the beach, where sun bathers are relatively lethargic and ripe for the biting? Plus, they're freshly cooked from the UV rays, so they should have a nice, meaty taste.

-Snack -- Look, we all snack. You can't be expected to put in a full day of work (in this case hunting humans) on a completely empty stomach. While munching on animal flesh may not be nearly as gratifying as noshing on human flesh, have a little nibble. Remember when you were alive and your stomach was growling? Remember how it wasn't really that satisfying but sometimes you'd reach for the readily available, yet crappy, rice cake just so you could hold out for the steak dinner you had planned for later that night? Employ those tactics now and have a snack of a small rodent or chicken while awaiting the glorious feast of stupid humans once it grows dark.

-Dance to "Thriller" -- You hate to admit it, but it's your guilty pleasure. Get down with your zombie self and take a few minutes to indulge in the joy of performing as one of the creatures accompanying MJ in the classic video. After all, it's Halloween. Treat yourself.

Don't fight it. You know you crave a dance with MJ.

Whether you're alive, dead or undead, Happy Halloween and best of luck to you during the apocalypse.

Forever Young

As any parent can tell you, the sea of children's items continues to expand on a daily basis. Many of these products are kid versions of similar adults items. Recently I've noticed a counter-trend: some products for grown-ups that appear to actually be modeled after products children use. Here are the items I've noticed so far and believe were inspired by kiddie items:

-Disposable coffee lids -- Remember back when asking for a lid on your coffee meant snapping on one of those old school pull tab style lids that looked like this?

Not so anymore. Apparently adult lips were too inconvenienced by the inferior opening. Now, everywhere you look adults are suckling upon lids with a little spout resembling toddlers' sippy cups. All we need is to add handles to the coffee cups and the comparison is complete. I blame Starbucks.

  

-Hygienic wipes -- A few years ago a "new" product hit the market claiming to make you feel fresh and clean after doing your duty in the restroom. This product is a hygienic wipe. Perhaps you remember the Charmin bears advertising said product. There's no way you can convince me this isn't just a glorified baby wipe.

-Footed pajamas -- I really have no knowledge of where the first footed pajamas originated. They could have been common for adults back in the days before central heating systems, when people wore those all-in-one long johns with buttoned butt flaps. But any photos I've seen of those are always footless. So I contend that the footed pajamas we've bundled kids in for ages have spurred the recent surge in examples for adults. I'm not judging because I love snuggling up in those things, just like I did when I was a kid.

-Recumbent bikes -- Personally, I don't care for these but some people love them. Kids do too. Except when kids ride them, they're called Big Wheels. Carry on, recumbent bikers, you look really cool, like a big boy.

 

-White Noise Machines -- It seems like white noise machines really took off as sleep aids for average household use around the mid-1990s. Talk about an invention to solve a first world problem! Anyway, I think they're just expensive versions of the light and sound machines parents have been using for decades to ease baby into a blissful slumber.

-Magnetic Poetry -- This is another product I believe really took off around the mid-1990s. The giggle inducing word kits started off innocently enough, but usually devolved into immature antics. These kits were surely inspired by someone watching kids arranging their magnetic letters on the fridge.

-Individual wine boxes -- I applaud whoever invented the concept of shrinking the cumbersome boxes of wine down to servings that can be taken on the go. Now there's no reason to go to work, the store or church and remain sober. Except that the idea of the mini-box isn't that original and began with kids' juice boxes. Now mommy can enjoy her happy juice while junior slurps away on Juicy Juice.

I have no concrete evidence supporting my theory that the preceding adult products were created after children's products, but I stand by my observations. Sure, it's really a futile chicken-and-egg type of argument. But I'd like to think that in some small way, the product inventors unconsciously attempted to bring all of us closer to our inner children. You know, while sipping wine and arranging dirty phrases on refrigerators.

The Price is Right

My mom often used to joke that she hears the sounds of little chicks when I'm buying something. "They're saying, "Cheap, cheap, cheap!" my mom would quip.

I fully admit that I am cheap frugal. It used to bother me when being called out for it, but I've grown comfortable with this quality. Now, I even relish it. What's even better is that I've found a husband who is my equal in frugality.

The thrill of the hunt for deals is thoroughly enjoyable to me. I don't mind spending an extra hour researching an item if it means saving a load of money. While some people gloat about how much they spend on their designer clothing or handbags, I get pleasure out of buying similar items from TJ Maxx for about 80% less.

An area that seems to embarrass many people is using coupons, although I believe Groupon has made the practice a bit more acceptable in recent years. I'm all for spending part of Sunday sifting through the papers for coupons and using them on triple value coupon day at the grocery store. One of my proudest moments while grocery shopping was having a $210 bill, of which I only had to pay about $70. The cashier actually had to page the manager to approve the transaction, because the cash register thought the huge discounts were incorrect. The cashier started telling people in line what had happened and everyone was amazed, one person clapped, and another asked if I'd do her shopping from now on. When the manager approved the sale, she said she'd never seen so much saved in one sale before.

There have been countless times when I've been ready to purchase something I'd like (not need), but called it off when I discovered the price. Sometimes I find the cost of items so abhorrent that I want to school the offender by morphing into Adam Sandler when he and Bob Barker fight in "Happy Gilmore," yelling, "The price is wrong, bitch!"

I think living in the DC area makes frugal living stand out even more. The area is rife with people interested in spending frivolously on luxury items, and not taking the time to examine the value of purchases. I can't tell you how appalled I have been at hearing how much credit card debt people here hold, yet continue to spend on luxury items, thus accruing more debt. Plus, while living here, I have encountered more blank stares and eye rolls in response to my penny pinching than any of the other cities I've lived in. It's a good thing I don't care.

My frugality is what pushes me to use items until they are so past their lifespan it's sometimes laughable. Re-using plastic take-out containers? Yep. Keeping my antiquated computer tower until it was too slow to function and the monitor actually blew out? You bet. And might I remind many of you who have visited my home about the hand-me-down table and chairs that I finally had to get rid of. You know, the decades-old chairs that literally fell apart underneath some guests (Again, sorry about that. Please come over and enjoy the new dining set). It simply pains me to purchase new items before the old ones are used to their fullest potential and absolutely ready to throw out. Granted, I'm not as bad as my father-in-law, but close. He wore a threadbare robe for 40 years, until my mother-in-law's frequent "pressuring" finally won, and a new robe magically appeared in the closet.

As I've alluded to in previous posts, different people have different priorities and values in life. My priorities focus more on travel and enjoying life experiences than having a huge house, expensive car and the most up to date electronics. I believe that scrimping in some areas that matter less allows for more funding for things I actually care about, like being able to jet away to warmer weather when the winter is getting the better of me.

But even when it comes to important experiences, like travel, I'm not a big spender. I'll spend weeks researching the best deals and will choose to stay in a small room in a 2-star hotel, if it means I have more money later for scuba diving, visiting an ostrich farm or going parasailing. (I'm not saying I'll tolerate dirty hotels, but I don't need tons of perks.) Those who ask about the prices of my trips tend to be utterly surprised at the low costs.

In the end, people can tease me as much as they want for being a cheapskate. But I'm going to continue to look for freebies, collect coupons, buy generic and avoid expensive, flashy purchases. I contend I'll be the one laughing all the way to the bank... and on my next adventure vacation.

A Fine Line

"Oh no, do we have to move again?"

It's the comment my husband utters with a sigh every time I declare I'm having "trouble with the library." And when I say "trouble with the library" what I really mean is "I have a big old fine."

I positively adore the library. I move around frequently and every time I re-locate, the library is one of the first places I look for on my new neighborhood's map. Libraries, although typically not as widely used as they should be, are a fantastic community resource to prevent me from spending thousands upon thousands of dollars each year on books.

Don't get me wrong, occasionally I do purchase books, but the library is just too convenient. I don't feel the need to read books the instant they are released and I'm currently not in a book club, so borrowing is perfectly acceptable in my mind. Plus, I read an awful lot of classics, which are plentiful at the library. So why not take advantage of a nearby resource for which I'm already paying taxes?

I've had contentious relationships with my local libraries over the years, sometimes due to my negligence and other times for reasons beyond my control. I admit, a number of years ago, I accrued fines fairly regularly. During that dark period, my now-husband began a joke (or is it??) about having to move every time my fines grow overwhelming, in order to avoid a bill so large that we need to re-mortgage our home. Thus, out of his suggestion of skipping town when I have fines, the phrase "Oh no, do we have to move again?" was born. 

But back to my problem. My current library and I had a bit of a falling out last autumn, when I had traveled out of the country and forgot to return my materials, racking up a multi-book fine totaling around $20. For the record, that's about the point where they start threatening to contact a collection agency. I ignored the threats until, suddenly, my fine jumped to about $38 and I felt it was time to take action. I chatted with a librarian and asked for an itemized bill so I could figure out why my fine had nearly doubled. Upon looking at the library printout, we discovered fines for books that had been returned on time, as well as random fines listed twice. Although the librarian didn't seem fully convinced of my innocence in a couple of cases, we agreed that I would pay about $17 for fines that genuinely were my fault.

Alas, after a truce lasting approximately nine months (a proud time for me, indeed), the library has decided to throw down the gauntlet once again. This time, while seemingly silly, the battle is over $1.20.

I often renew my books online and did so again at the end of last week. Upon renewal I received the message "The following items have been renewed" and it listed my two books. Piece of cake. Three days later, I received a notice that one of the books was overdue and I now owed 90 cents. Baffled, I called up my account online and sure enough, one book had renewed and the other hadn't. I figured there was some glitch in the system and tried renewing the rogue book one more time. Again, I receive the message "The following items have been renewed" with my book listed immediately after.

This morning I discovered that the book again was not renewed, so I called the library. Apparently, there's a hold on that book so it will not renew, and my fine is now up to $1.20. I decided to try renewing to see what message I would receive this time, and sure enough, a different message, "Not all renewals were successful," flashed on the screen. Curious.

The librarian very nicely informed me of what to look for online to identify a hold, and that "Not all renewals were successful" should appear onscreen to alert me to a hold. However, I actually didn't need the lesson considering my extensive experience with hold messages due to my repeated use of the online system over the years. I know what they look like and promptly return books on hold to avoid a fine. I promise, there was no such message when I tried renewing twice over the past five days. I have no problem with returning a book when there's a hold, however, when there's some type of odd error with the system, the gloves come off and the battle begins.

Currently, I'm considering myself fully engaged in a library standoff. I will return the book tonight, but that fine is not getting paid. It's not the $1.20, it's the principle. I'm not pleased about having a fine tarnish my clean-for-nearly-a-year record, but that is how it must remain for now. Let's just say the library has crossed a "fine" line, and I'm not budging.

Should a bill collector appear at my door in the coming months for a money gathering attempt, I think I'll kindly refuse and record a video of the entire ordeal to create a YouTube sensation. I'm fairly certain "Bill Collector Goes Postal Over $1.20 Library Fine" would be a significant money maker.

Dirty Birds

People, you are dirty. Dirty, nasty little pervs. Just when you thought you were hiding it, here I am calling you out. I know where you are, and I know what you're looking at online.

Let me include a little back story to explain. Last year, I wrote a blog post on being married to an identical triplet. It was supposed to be purely informative, but somehow has morphed into a veritable pornucopia. All because I was trying to tell you nasty people to stop asking silly questions because my husband has not been, and will not be, starring in any triplet porn. I included a photo of the Dahm triplets, who represent an extreme, ludicrous example of triplets, which some people choose to elevate as a prime example of reality. Now, because of that one photo (which, by the way, showed no nudity) my blog site overflows with internet porn surfers from all over the world trying to see triple the boobies.

If you think your internet searches are completely anonymous, here's a harsh reality check for you: they're not. Blog sites allow users to view stats such as where people are visiting from, what operating system they use, whether they're reading from a mobile device and what words they may have searched to arrive on the site. Let me assure you, I've encountered some wild search words over the past eight months or so. The predominant search term for my site is "triplet porn," closely followed by "hot triplets." I shan't shock you with some of the juicier searches that have led people to this site, as I think your imagination will suffice.

I also know where you're reading from, even if you think you've blocked such stats from being visible to me. Granted, it's not as specific as some blogs sites which actually show IP addresses, but I know which cities you're visiting from. It's been exhilarating seeing that people from all parts of the world -- including South Africa, the Philippines, Australia and Brazil -- find my site and sometimes become repeat viewers. The demoralizing part comes when I see they've arrived by searching for triplet porn. And here, I thought I was winning the world over with my glorious writing skills and wit. *sigh*

Let me give you an idea of just how many people arrive on this site hoping for porn. When looking at the hit counts on each of my posts, they tend to cluster together within a few views of each other, maybe varying by tens of views. However, the triplet post has received nearly nine times as many hits as its closest contender. Think about it: if the second-most-read post had 100 views, closely followed by a third place post with 98 views, that means the triplet post racked up 900 hits. It boggles the mind and proves that internet porn is alive and well, regardless of measures to curb it.

Don't get me wrong, I happily accept readers no matter how they discover this site. I just hope that maybe some of those who visit to triple their pervy pleasure will find other posts they like, and perhaps become regular readers. If not, that's OK. Just keep the web traffic coming, you dirty birds.

This isn't intended to change behaviors or to preach that people shouldn't look at internet porn. It's simply to inform you, dear readers, that if I can figure out what nasty stuff you're looking at, other more adept computer wizards undoubtedly see it as well. Remember that the next time you believe you're pulling a fast one on your company by surreptitiously sneaking a peek at porn on your work computer. That brief boobie break could very well come back to haunt you. Or at least make you a topic for somebody's next blog post.

Stone Cold Trippin'

Most people don't pay much attention to the surfaces they walk on. In places where walking is more the norm instead of driving, perhaps the rate of surface investigation is a bit higher. Let me assure you, in areas like the Washington, D.C. area where cobblestone covers large swaths of sidewalk, daily surface evaluation is not uncommon. Quite frankly, daily evaluation is recommended to avoid face-planting in public.

Some of these gaps can be half an inch deep.

Let me just put this out there -- I hate cobblestone. I didn't always. Like most people, I think it looks lovely and conjures memories of more quaint, simple times. But after regularly stumbling across decades old cobblestone, the cute street surface has raised my ire.

I would like to clarify that my gripe not only pertains to traditional cobblestone, but also to bricks or other non-smooth walking surfaces. These types of ground cover pitch and warp as they settle, creating a dangerous environment. Aged cobblestone ranks even higher on my list of annoyances, because the binding material in the cracks often erodes over time, leaving significant gaps. I can't tell you how often I've seen people trip on these gaps, or how often I've had heels become trapped in the crevices.

I've spoken before of my mild obsession with shoes. As you can imagine, the rough, jagged edges and uneven surfaces of cobblestone aren't kind to high heels. I've had to have countless pairs re-heeled from my wobbly cobbly treks. Quite a few women prefer to wear flip flops or sneakers to work, then change into heels at work. But I have enough crap to carry with me (purse, lunch bag, books) and can't deal with the bulk that heels will add. I don't like carrying a large bag, and don't want to have to start in order to accommodate my shoes.

Although the shoe issue greatly annoys me, my largest concern about cobblestone is actually a safety issue. I consistently see people (including myself) trip on these uneven surfaces. Let me assure you, falling on cobblestone can create significant cuts and scrapes due to the protrusion of all those pointy edges.

Even more disturbing than watching an able bodied person become tripped up on cobblestone is watching a person with a disability trying to figure out how to work around it. Several times, I have watched people in wheelchairs maneuver in the street to avoid the perils of cobblestone. I've also witnessed a scene that broke my heart when a brave soul tried wheeling himself over the stones near my work. His wheels hit some of those jagged edges, and the poor man tumbled out of his chair into the street. Luckily, there were many bystanders who helped him up and he wasn't horribly injured.

See how the bricks warp on the left? This is why people fall.

A few years ago, a battle erupted over a new development that was to be constructed here in the D.C. area. Part of the design included historic looking cobblestone or brickwork. Disability rights groups called for changes to the plan, asking that uneven surfaces instead be smooth pavement to increase safety. The uproar from certain sectors of the community baffled me. These people wouldn't stand for their new, modern-looking development being marred by the surrounding pedestrian walks not looking historic. Makes sense, right? I believe a safe compromise eventually transpired, amidst much grumbling from the cobble-lovers.

I'd like to see new developments cease the use of cobblestone and bricks. While I know it may be a wildly unpopular view, I'd also like to see ages-old uneven surfaces paved or somehow re-worked to increase safety. There's no reason people should have to constantly trip while performing daily activities. Even more importantly, there's no reason for people with disabilities to be forced to run the gauntlet in the street rather than benefiting from the safety of a sidewalk. I'm sure parents of kids in strollers would like to get in on this gripe as well. An outright ban on such street materials sounds a bit extreme, but in my dreams, I envision a cobble-free world. However, being that I live in a "historic" area and people want their brand spanking new developments to look "historic," along with the old and decrepit cobblestone which some believe is "quaint," I guess I'll just have to be content to break heels, stub toes, twist ankles and pretend nothing happened when I plummet face first to the ground. Just do me a favor and help me up, if you're not too busy tripping yourself.

On the Straight and Narrow(minded)

"We are confronted primarily with a moral issue… whether all Americans are to be afforded equal rights and equal opportunities, whether we are going to treat our fellow Americans as we want to be treated." 
-John F. Kennedy, June 11, 1963

History really does repeat itself. Nearly 50 years after JFK uttered the preceding statement on the radio, we're again talking about allowing certain sectors of Americans to share equal rights. This time though, it's not a matter of black and white, but of gay or straight.

On Wednesday, President Obama made waves when he said in an ABC News exclusive that he supports gay marriage. This, after years of stating he didn't support gay marriage because civil unions were enough.

He's taken some heat for the about-face, however, I believe we're all entitled to change our minds. Learning about people and issues and re-evaluating our beliefs based on new information or viewpoints is part of being an adult. If I were rigid and didn't revisit my views, I would still hate cheese, never would have discovered my love for running, and quite frankly probably wouldn't currently hold friendships with some wonderful people who failed to win me over with a first impression.

To those who have been saying the president only made his statement because Vice President Joe Biden made a comment approving of gay marriage the other day, I'd like to remind you of something. Biden had also previously expressed disapproval of gay marriage, saying civil unions were enough. Clearly, the two have talked about the issue, but Biden likely exhibited one of his infamous "oops" moments and let it slip before Obama did. Who cares who said it first, let's focus on what's really important--making progress. Moving on...

Getting back to the original quote in this post about the moral dilemma... "Morality" repeatedly proves to be a tricky issue. So often, what's morally acceptable to one person is deemed despicable by another. When it comes to restricting a person's rights, it's particularly troublesome. If we ban gay marriage on moral grounds, then why not divorce? Divorce is an offense so grave in many cultures and religions it can get a person excommunicated or shunned from society. In my opinion, divorce harms the "sanctity of marriage" far more than two people of the same sex who deeply love each other and want to make a permanent commitment. Yet, there's no widely recognized movement to outlaw divorce.

Being raised a Christian, I find it quite difficult to agree with people who use Christianity, or any other religion for that matter, as an impetus for opposing gay marriage. Don't even get me started on the separation of church and state, a constitutional concept often thrown to the wayside. Does anybody remember the "Golden Rule?" It's the one in Matthew 7:12 which, in modern language, states: "Do unto others as you'd have others do unto you." It appears again in Matthew 22:37-40:  "Jesus said unto him, 'Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind. This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like unto it, Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself.'" Variations of this moral tenet appear in sacred writings from scores of the world's religions. It is supposed to be the backbone for many religions. Never have I encountered a variation including the caveat "...except if the others are gay." However, many people ignore the Golden Rule and instead take up a practice expressly denounced in the Bible--judging others instead of letting God judge.

I respect people's right to disagree with gay marriage. That's their choice. Just like it's my choice to disagree with people like the Octomom becoming pregnant time and time again, even though it's legal. But there's a world of difference between merely disagreeing with a viewpoint or action, and being hurtful or restricting the rights of a person.

I know this post likely won't convince opponents to support gay marriage. If that happens, or at least makes you think about it a little, then that's an added bonus. I'm writing this to say if you don't approve of it, just don't hurt others. I urge anyone who feels compelled to make nasty comments or to restrict another human being's rights to watch the anguish a gay loved one experiences over trying to come out. I don't care how media or the movies may have influenced your perceptions, these are real people with real emotions. Another demoralizing moment is watching a gay loved one struggle with the reality of not being able to marry the person they love, the person who has stood by in thick and thin, shared good times and bad. I assure you, the pain is genuine, it is heart wrenching, and it is grossly unfair.

President Obama's declaration was a good start, but there's still much to be accomplished on this issue. Like Rosa Parks refusing to surrender her bus seat, or the four black men who refused to leave their stools in a North Carolina Woolworth's, small actions create a necessary spark. But we all have to work to fan the flame. No measure will be considered going "far enough" until every person is allowed the same rights to marry across the United States.

Whether or not you like her comedy, I feel this statement by Wanda Sykes sums up my sentiment on those opposed to gay marriage: "If you don't believe in same sex marriage, then don't marry someone of the same sex. I don't understand people all up in arms over sh*t that don't affect them."

Are You Talking to Me?

There's a popular belief that talking to oneself is a sign of genius. If that holds true, please consider me the world's foremost genius. Because I definitely talk to myself. A lot.

This is a rather embarrassing admission; I've never known anybody to willingly proffer this information without at least some reluctance. But with age comes a distinct lack of caring what others think. Don't get me wrong, it still embarrasses me to no end when somebody walks in on me muttering to myself, but at least now I know this is a fairly common practice among people, based on a number of articles I've read and conversations I've had recently (with other people, not myself).

Yes, I talk to myself. Don't lie, you do too.

What do I talk to myself about? Nearly everything. From trying out a difficult speech I'm going to later barrage someone with, to repeating movie lines, it all comes out. I even go over previous conversations, coming up with things I wish I would have said at the time. Why does this have to happen out loud? I truly have no idea. But I do notice that certain things trigger more self-talking for me, such as lack of sleep, stress or too much caffeine. Along with many other physical issues I experience when I ingest significant amounts of caffeine, talking out loud at odd times is one side effect. I've actually startled myself while hopped up on caffeine when I "come to" out of a deep conversation with myself, previously not having realized my thoughts were audible. This is one of the many reasons I try to avoid caffeine.

In addition to talking with myself, I have a tendency to take up conversations with inanimate objects. There can be absolutely nobody around, yet I feel the need to speak out loud to an object. For example, if I'm trying to cook and my spatula breaks, is it really necessary to direct disparaging utterances at my utensil? Isn't it weird to say something to the effect of, "Really? NOW you break? When I'm in a rush and just want a tasty pancake? C'mon, spatula, what the hell?!" Or how about aiming comments at my own body parts like, "Well hey there, hair. You're not looking too bad today." It's pretty odd, I'm not gonna lie. But I do it. All. The. Time.

For a while, I actively hoped nobody had set up any sort of recording devices in my home for fear of revealing my penchant for talking to myself and everything around me. But now I figure if there is some sort of recording device, I just hope my stalker is amused by my outbursts. (Note: this is not an invitation to bug my home or to set up secret recording devices. However, if there is already one in my home, I just ask to split any profit you bring in from internet sales of the audio/video.)

So is this really a sign of genius, as the old adage suggests? Or perhaps an overly active, overly creative brain? I'm not sure, but I doubt it. As long as it's not a sign of the alternative--schizophrenia--then it's alright with me.

Have a Seat

Up and down. Down and up. All. Day. Long. Such is the life of a toilet seat in a mixed gender household.

But then the trouble starts. You know how it goes: Woman walks into the bathroom and doesn't check seat, woman falls into toilet, woman screams, woman lectures man endlessly for leaving the seat up, man rolls eyes and tunes out. OK, ladies. I've got something to say that you probably won't like. You're in the wrong.

The seat flips both ways. Guys, put it up. Ladies, put it down.

Having been the victim of a wet bum myself on more than one occasion, I can completely understand the dismay at falling in. I can identify with the blaze of anger that makes some women scream obscenities and curse whoever left the toilet seat up. But please realize that this is not somebody else's fault. YOU should have looked before leaping. Remember in a previous post, how I said women should stop hovering and instead check the seat before sitting down? The pre-sit checking still holds true in this case.

Think about it -- the guy did what he has been trained to do since becoming potty trained as a toddler. He courteously lifted the seat so as to not spatter upon it (sadly, many women don't have the same courtesy and spatter all over seats. Again, see original post). He went through the trouble of reaching down to lift up the seat, when all he really wanted to do was relieve himself.

Ladies... You, however, opt for instant relief instead of taking the half a second needed to check the seat. You couldn't take the half a second to flip the toilet seat down and spare your bottom the drenching that followed. Yet you will yell at the man mercilessly as if he actually did something wrong.

If we are to abide by woman logic, men are supposed to put the seat up AND down when doing their duty, while women bear no burden whatsoever. That seems illogical to me. There's no reason he should have to put the seat down when he leaves, but ladies shouldn't have to put it up when they leave. There's equal chance of each person using the restroom next.

To those women who claim they will likely be the next toilet user, so the man should therefore put the seat up and down... my response is that you have to pick your battles. Personally, I don't see the ridiculous toilet seat battle as something worth fighting for.

I contend that the toilet seat wars are just the product of women's embarrassment at falling in. It's a rather common occurrence for people to fly into a fit of rage when they clearly know they're in the wrong, but are too embarrassed to admit it. Ladies, let's just remember that nobody else is there with you so it's not anyone else's fault. On the upside, due to there not being anyone with you, others will also never know of your unfortunate topple into the bowl unless you tell them.

So how about we all count to ten, pretend the plunge never happened, and remember to take a brief look before plunking down on the seat next time. Plus, let's not forget how lucky we are to have toilet seats. Think of all the people in prison who would kill (figuratively, and possibly literally) to have a toilet seat at all.

Guys, if you consistently put the seat up when you do your business, you're off the hook on this one. But please start remembering to refill empty toilet paper rolls.

Update 4/27/12 I would like to thank a number of you for letting me know that there's another option  practiced in some households -- everyone puts the top lid up and down every time. I have to say, I like this. My previous rant was about just one sex having to bear the whole burden of toilet seat management, while the other did nothing. If everyone shares the burden, I'm OK with that. Thanks again for the suggestion!

On the Road Again

Warming sun. Tropical drinks. Exotic foods. Hiking. SCUBA diving. Chatting with locals. Exploring locations teeming with history and culture. In my opinion, these are just a few of the elements that meld to forge a glorious vacation experience. You know what doesn't make for a pleasantly memorable vacation? Travel jealousy.

Over the years I've been told by countless people, "Gee, you go on so many vacations. I'm totally jealous." I've also heard the more blatant, "Vacationing again? I hate you." Although such statements are usually uttered with jest, they often contain a certain amount of biting truth. Sometimes, sadly, the words are even spat with thinly veiled bitterness.

I will admit, I embark on more trips than the average person. But if you will excuse my hubris for a moment, I also deem myself one of the more adept adventurers I know. I'm not talking about an adventure vacation here and there, with the rest revolving around sitting on beaches. Sitting around is for other people. I want to milk every new locations for all it's willing to give up. I do my best not to take any trip for granted.

We all hold certain passions near and dear to our hearts. For me, traveling is that passion. Exploring new places produces a kind of euphoria in me that is not easily replicated. The funny thing about passion is that it manifests itself in different ways. While one person may be passionate about reading, another may be passionate about collecting art, and yet another may be passionate about music. All are valid if they enrich people's lives, as I believe my travel does for my life.

I understand that all of us like to escape from the daily grind when possible, and for some it's a difficult endeavor. Please believe me when I say my trips do not simply occur on a whim. They are thoroughly researched, budgeted and contemplated. Those of you who know me well know how much of a cheapskate I am. Do you really think I would be spending copious amounts of money on anything, much less something that's not a necessity? I read travel advice websites daily, sift through countless emails from travel companies, hunt for deals on the internet and twitter, enroll in every point/discount accrual program, haggle with hotel managers, study weather patterns, research a destination's low seasons and bite my nails down to nubs while waiting for last minute deals. I promise you, with my weekly and daily attention, I put in more effort than 90% of travelers. Plus, many people tend to forget that I'm not taking full two-week vacations several times a year; many of these excursions are simply for a weekend.

Additionally, my daily expenditures are ridiculously low compared to most people. I make nearly all meals and don't eat out, have antiquated electronics, don't have cable, avoid large purchases unless absolutely necessary due to a previous item's failure (e.g. car, tv), purchase many things second hand, clip coupons, and a rudimentary perusal of my home will prove the glaringly obvious -- that my furniture is quite literally all gifted or hand-me-downs (barring the couch purchased 4 years ago because the other couch fell apart). I prefer to save my money for memorable journeys that will be burned into my memory forever. To me, things like owning the newest electronic item, purchasing designer clothing, wearing expensive jewelry not purchased for $10 at Target, spending more than $20 on a haircut or getting manicures is not important. Travel? That is what is important to me. Please don't judge me for that, because I would bet you also harbor priorities that others might deem odd.

Let's also not forget that for nearly three years, my significant other has traveled endlessly for work, and continues to do so. His being gone day in and day out equates to a rapid accrual of free flights and free or discounted hotel stays. This in itself sometimes causes jealousy to fester in some people. Rest assured, I would scrimp and save and give up every free drink/flight/hotel stay if it meant having my husband here instead of absent practically every day of the work week. I'm convinced the little "perks" are just enticements to keep me from going completely insane. They're something we can enjoy together. Heck, sometimes it seems like the only way we can enjoy each other is to get away.

Don't think I'm saying most people I know or associate with fall into the category of being judgmental about my travel. We've all been jealous or envious of people at some point, especially those close to us. I would hope that my true friends could share my travel joys, just as I try my best to share their joys in life.

Really, I blame American society for the vacation jealousy. We live in a place where workers accumulate weeks of vacation year after year that slip by unused. Americans feel guilty about taking time for themselves, and consequently work themselves to the bone. It doesn't have to be this way. Examine, for instance, all the countries where workers take three weeks of vacation with no questions asked. Whole sections of Europe shut down in August as the locals journey elsewhere. These people shouldn't be looked down upon, but instead applauded for realizing what's really important in life. It's certainly not work. Rather, it's making memories with loved ones. Enjoying time off with friends and family while taking a much needed and well deserved breather. Work is simply a way of funding such pleasures.

I consider myself lucky for having realized at an early age that work is not the purpose of my existence. I live for adventures with family and friends, and for squeezing the most out of my short years here on earth. I loathe the thought of being in my nineties and regretting my time sitting at the office in a bored stupor for a week, rather than witnessing the ear-to-ear grin on my husband's face while he spots a turtle during a snorkeling excursion.

You may continue to judge me for my travels if you so desire, but I assure you, that is a losing battle. Instead of feeling envious, perhaps try joining me in forgoing silly, costly things that mean so little in the long run. Instead, let's take the time to get away, and relish those adventures we'll never forget.

Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-- 
I took the one less traveled by, 
And that has made all the difference. 

-Robert Frost

Infomercial Insanity

Ahhh, infomercials. The silly guilty pleasure we love to hate. We all love to mock them, whether for the absurd portrayal of a product, or for the actual odd product itself. But the laughter left ringing in the air is typically not from us observers, but from those who devised the product and are hauling in loads of money.

Because it's Friday and we could all use a laugh, I bring to you a list of my top worst/best infomercials. Worst/best lies in the eye of the beholder. There may be more ludicrous examples out there, but I haven't yet seen them. Thanks, YouTube, for having these available for countless hours of laughter and eye rolling.

THE BEST/WORST INFOMERCIALS OF ALL TIME 
(ranked from least to most insane)

10.  Forever Lazy--The Snuggie made fleece the laughingstock of America, but this took it one step further. Fast forward to 1:15 where it demonstrates the ease of going to the bathroom. America, you are truly lazy and disgusting.

9. Aspray--I'm not even sure what to think about the plumbers in the beginning of this commercial. Do you really want me to believe that some guy is going to put his nose up to another guy's butt like that? Remember, "you can even Aspray your privates."

8. PooTrap--This made me laugh and laugh and laugh trying to think of how my pup would have handled this back in the day. I understand that cleaning up dog poop is not a treat, but don't make poor Fido wear this. If you don't care about your dog's likely discomfort while wearing the device, then think about his/her humiliation.

7. Tiddy Bear--I love how so few of the people in this video put the device where most people complain about seatbelt pain--on their shoulders. Instead, the women seem to want to put the bear on their... um... well... er... "tiddy."

6. Hawaii Chair--I dare anyone to take up the guy on his idea of using this gyrating chair at the office. Says one woman in the clip, "I can really feel this working!" Yeah, I bet you can.

5. Potty Putter--If you feel the need to buy this, you may already be spending too much time on the toilet. My favorite part is the announcer's awkward pausing around :25. "Just aim and shoot... the ball... into the cup." No wait, it might be the point at :47 when he says, "You'll take the time to play with your putter." Imagine how proud you'll be to tell work colleagues who compliment your improved game that the skills came from hours with the Potty Putter.

4. UroClub--Seems like all the best ones aimed at men are golf related. Don't think you're fooling anyone with that stupid little green towel. Your hands are behind it, so we know you're either peeing or playing with yourself. Although I previously wrote a post about trying to be less judgmental, if I see you using one of these, you better believe I'm going to judge you for being gross.

3. Shake Weight--Few items are as blatantly dirty as this product. If you don't believe me, go ahead and look up the South Park episode about it. I had trouble deciding which video to include, because the company made separate ones for men and women. I'm including the one for women because it seemed just slightly more silly.

2. Facial Flex--Cut to the chase and fast forward to 1:05. There are no words.

1. Kush Support--The name sounds innocent enough. But the product is a breast implant supporter.

There you have it. I hope these videos caused you to laugh as much as I did. Maybe this post will even inspire you to come up with your own wacky product. If you do, just remember who inspired you, and be sure to send me a royalties check.

Flock of Snowbirds

Luckily, spring is nearly here. I can't complain too much about winter because this year has been ridiculously wonderfully mild. But we still had enough cold days for me to curl up and threaten hibernation. That forced my ever-growing snowbird tendency to rear its ugly head.

I first encountered snowbirds en masse when living in Miami. Previously, I had never lived anywhere that prompted such an influx of seasonal visitors. In fact, I hail from the upper Midwest, where residents usually flock away from the winter madness. So watching the Miami winter visitors was truly unique. And sometimes frustrating.

I've posted before about welcoming tourists with open arms as long as they behave when they're visiting. The problem with snowbirds is that many consider their warm winter destinations "home" despite only living there for about two or three months out of the year, causing a sense of entitlement. They sometimes treat the area they're in like a free-spirited spring break destination, instead of considering the fact that it really is home year-round for some people. This can cause even the most patient year-rounder to lose it. I know I lost it on multiple occasions when living in Florida.

So here's my confession: I'm officially, gradually turning into a snowbird. This is evidenced by my desire to take a major trip during the cold weather months every year. My husband knows the winter will be a lot more pleasant for him if he dangles a warm weather trip in front of me. Granted, it's not for two or three months at a time, but hey, it's a start.

Last weekend I went to visit the in-laws at their new condo just outside of Phoenix. I can't blame them for wanting to escape Wisconsin winters. Check out the awesome scenery from our boat excursion on a nearby lake. Yes, I said lake. In the Arizona desert. Very cool.

Perhaps I'm biased, but I have to say, my in-laws are not going to make anybody's list of annoying snowbirds. They're respectful and considerate of locals. They treat the area like it's their permanent home, not some spring break destination. They don't act like the "mature" women we encountered in the bar last weekend who got wasted and proceeded to hit on every man in sight (including my husband). If more people decided to abide by my in-laws' model when visiting seasonal destinations, I don't think the term "snowbird" would carry the negative connotation it sometimes does.

Here's what I promise locals in the places I visit during the winter: I will not clog up your major roads at rush hour by driving during that time, considering the activities I am trying to get to could be done at any time during the day. I will not drive below the speed limit at an insanely slow rate and hold up traffic. I will not tell you endless, boring tales of "back home" unless you specifically ask. I will not complain loudly about your lovely area, because I chose to be there and I can choose to leave at any time. I will not get sloppy drunk and become loud, belligerent and annoying. And perhaps most importantly, what I learned from my year of living in a high rise across the street from a nude beach: I will not make your eyeballs melt by walking around nude or in inappropriately tight/small unflattering beach gear.

To Sleep(walk), Perchance to Dream

Vampires and collapsing ceilings and hot lava, oh my! Does this sound like the latest Hollywood attempt at drawing teen girls into a movie theater? Well it's not. Welcome to my dreams, and my life as a sleepwalker.

As promised, I'm doing a post on this topic because people seem to be fascinated with the fact that I sleepwalk. I had always thought it was something everyone did, but I have been proven wrong on many, many occasions. By proven wrong, I mean people squeal with glee and ask for crazy sleepwalking stories because they've "never known anyone who does that!" Yay me.

This started for me at a very young age. One of my first memories of sleepwalking was when I was probably six years old. I awoke to find myself standing in the living room, facing the babysitter who was sitting on the couch. She had this wide-eyed look on her face and didn't know what to say. I had no idea what I was doing there or what I had said to her. I panicked, asked her to have my parents come see me when they got home, and ran into my bedroom. My mother did come to see me when she returned home and heard about my glazed-over expression while talking to the babysitter. I remember being so embarrassed I think I begged my mom not to hire that girl again. Luckily, kids are resilient and we all moved on after my mom explained to the sitter what had happened.

Consider for a moment why I thought sleepwalking was not such an unusual activity. I had heard stories about my dad being a sleepwalker when he was younger. In fact there's quite an amusing tale of him waking up one morning and his dad telling him to clean out the garbage can. When he protested, he was told how he took a stroll through the house the previous night, all the while still asleep, and mistook the garbage can for a urinal. Hearing stories like this made me feel "normal" and like I wasn't alone. Plus, I have encountered a number of sleeptalkers throughout my life, so I figured they were walkers as well. Not so much. It turns out only 1%-15% of the population sleepwalks.

This is NOT what sleepwalkers look like.

Stop picturing those stereotypical sleepwalking scenes of people walking like zombies, arms outstretched and eyes shut. It's nothing like that. A lot of people don't even realize when they've encountered someone who's sleepwalking, because the afflicted sleeper can actually carry on a semi-intelligent conversation. Different people are affected differently, but most have open, glassy eyes and can carry out regular activities.  It's just that the brain isn't fully registering what's going on, and movements might be a little slow or jerky.

Yes, it can be an incredibly dangerous problem. For the most part, I have been lucky not to harm myself. Except once in college. Remember those loft beds in the dorms to make room for a desk underneath? Well I had one of those, but it was built a little too close to the ceiling for my subconscious to be comfortable with it. About a week in, I dreamed that spikes were coming down from the ceiling and falling down on me, so I rolled right off my loft to try to avoid them. By pure luck, that night I had moved the wooden chair that I typically used to climb up into bed; had it been there as it was every other night, I would have cracked my head open on the chair. Instead, I made the 6 foot tumble to the floor, knocked myself out, and bashed the heck out of my hip. I came to at some point in the middle of the night in so much pain I could barely walk. The doctor said I had bruised my hip and stressed some ligaments, which led to a two month limp, but thankfully that was the worst of it. After that incident, I lowered my loft a bit, and was ordered by friends and family to install rails on the side of my bed like a two-year-old. That's definitely the mature look I desired in college.

When I met the man who is now my husband, I made an interesting discovery about 8 months into our relationship. We went to Las Vegas on our first trip together, and the first night we had an episode. I woke up gasping with my arms over my head, trying to hold up the ceiling that was, of course, collapsing onto me. At that same moment, Chris was leaping over the bed because he thought it was hot lava. The simultaneous activity woke us both up, and perhaps that moment when we gazed with embarrassment into each other's eyes was the exact moment I knew we were meant to be.

Not only is Chris a sleepwalker, but he is far worse than I am. All of the triplets exhibit this trait to some degree, but I do think Chris is the worst. I can't tell you how often one of us wakes up in a panic and the other has to offer calming words. Chris tends to sleepwalk most when he's overtired or stressed out with work, and actually brings work into his dreams. He's an electrical engineer who works on nuclear power plants, and I've caught him trying to "rewire" our curtains or ceiling, solve issues with cooling towers and on many, many occasions, he jumps up and runs to the sink to splash water on his eyes because he thinks acid has splattered on him. The trouble comes when both of us sleepwalk at the same time and can't offer calming techniques, such as with the Las Vegas story. Or, you know, earlier this week when Chris sat bolt upright in bed yelling that some person/beast/ghost near our bedroom door was peering at us, and I then sat bolt upright and was convinced I saw it too. We huddled together, trying to figure out what to do, and then we both woke up. Yes, we're unusual.

While reading about sleepwalking, I learned that it's not uncommon in childhood, but most kids grow out of it. Good for them. Although scientists aren't fully certain why sleepwalking occurs, Chris' brother, who is a psychologist, explained to me what is believed to happen in those of us who don't grow out of it. Humans are wired to have paralysis when they're dreaming as a safety measure. Those of us who sleepwalk lack that nervous system mechanism that causes the paralysis. It really is a defect of sorts, and sleepwalkers exhibit this to varying degrees. Plus, sleepwalking has been identified as a genetic trait that runs in families. People who have one parent who does it are 45% more likely to sleepwalk, and those with two parents who do it are 60% more likely. As previously mentioned, my dad did it, my mom did as a child, Chris' brothers do it and Chris' mom has done it. If Chris and I ever had children, they'd be pretty much screwed.

I hope not to do something really dangerous while sleepwalking.

You might not think of certain safety measures if you're not a sleepwalker, but planning for sleep usually ends up being a larger event for us. When we were having air circulation issues in our home, Chris suggested keeping our bedroom door open a bit to let the warm air flow better throughout the house. At that suggestion, I looked at him with fear in my eyes and he simply said, "I know." What did he know? That "they" would come for us with the open door. "They" could be any creature, person or object that comes after us in our sleep and forces us to take action. Naturally, they're going to creep in through the open door. We often have to make adjustments with things left around the bedroom. Closet doors must be shut, or "they" will pop out of there during the night. No clothing strewn around the room, or the lumpy objects will manifest themselves in our sleepwalking episodes as intruders. Typically our incidents don't involve leaving the room except for a few extremely severe examples (often brought on by having a fever while sick), so we haven't had to worry about securing sharp objects.

I mentioned in a previous post that I can't watch horror movies, not because they scare me while awake, but because then "they" will come after me in my sleep. That can, and has, led to night terrors that include blood-curdling screams. When "The Grudge" came out a number of years ago, just seeing the commercial of that child ghoulie crawling across the floor was enough to cause a month's worth of sleepwalking. On more than one occasion, I found myself standing on my bed, wrapped in sheets as protection, because I "saw" the ghoulie coming at me across the floor and he was coming onto my bed next. I've had enough similar incidents throughout the years by accidentally seeing clips, or even trying to force myself to watch a whole movie to "get over it," that I now avoid horror movies altogether.

It's often difficult to wake up from sleepwalking episodes, and personally, it takes me quite a while to reach consciousness. I've noticed that both Chris and myself often think we're awake and fully functional when we're actually not. It's really disorienting and often frightening not just because most of the acted out dreams are nightmares, but because I don't know what's going on when I wake up. What's weird is that often I don't remember sleepwalking unless I wake up in the middle of it, or am reminded about it the next day. It really makes me wonder how many embarrassing performances I've put on at sleepovers. I guess it's just one of those quirks that makes me unique and provides great stories for people to laugh at.

Thanks for joining me on my sleepwalking journey. As a courtesy, if you ever see me wandering around when I'm supposed to be asleep, simply soothe me and send me back to bed. I'll try my best not to scream bloody murder because my subconscious morphed you into a vampire.

Houston, We Have a Problem

Although it is a natural part of the life cycle and something we can all expect at some point, death is never easy to deal with. Living through the loss of a loved one conjures a plethora of feelings--most of them negative. Nearly all of us have dealt with a soul-crushing loss that rattled us to our inner beings. I can say with a fair amount of certainty, that for the vast majority of us, that loss was not the passing of Whitney Houston.

A death is always tragic. But we might be going too far with Houston's.

So why are so many people mourning her death as though it were a close personal friend who passed? The same scenario played out when Michael Jackson died, and it leaves me utterly befuddled. The losses, while unfortunate, are not worthy of random fans wailing in the streets, blubbering through tears on TV, and suddenly acting as though Whitney Houston were the most important thing since the invention of the internet.

It's an incredibly unfortunate loss, but I'd like to curb overuse of the word "tragic" to describe Houston's situation. I reserve that term for inexplicable, intensely sad instances like a small child being murdered or a good person dying while trying to help someone else. I have much difficulty using the word for celebrities with odd ego issues who repeatedly fall into drug or alcohol hazes. I'm not insinuating that battling a drug or alcohol addiction is easy, because I recognize it's anything but. Average folks struggle with these demons on a daily basis. However, Hollywood seems to be rife with the types of personalities who revel in the crazy strung-out lifestyle, then express surprise when they're "suddenly" hooked on substances. We hear stories ad nauseum of substance abuse in Hollywood, but few positive stories of seeking help and successful recovery. Sure, maybe artistic types possess more of a natural proclivity to addiction. But with the multitude of avenues for getting help, it seems remiss to allow oneself to venture into such a destructive lifestyle. Not to mention, downright careless to ignore the numerous stories of such lifestyles leading to the demise of countless celebrities.

Isn't it sad, perhaps even pathetic, that the first thing so many of us ask when another celebrity dies is "what drugs was s/he on?" Yet there's no concerted effort to cease the practice. Currently much ire exists for celebrity doctors who assist their "patients" with acquiring drugs, then stand by idly as said drugs are used to excess and used in lethal combinations. But the half-hearted effort to end this abuse is a facade. We, as a society, gobble up the latest celebrity gossip, gorge on it, belch to make room, then beg for more when we find a void in our own lives. We choke on the stories that are just too much--like child abuse--and push them away. But something as juicy as a crazed celebrity going on a drug-induced rampage, possibly even one that ends fatally? More, please! People, we are disgusting.

I must say, for the most part I do not buy into the celebrity culture. I'm not attempting to be holier than thou, I just prefer to partake in my own wild adventures rather than living vicariously through someone I do not know at all, but for forking over my $12 to see their movies or buy their records. I think this sentiment became more cemented in my head once I began working in TV news. Watching the reporters and anchors field repeated harassment when they simply desired a night out with friends often proved too much for me to handle. Having to stand idly by while person after person comes up to share life stories, get a picture, and perhaps even try to touch the "celebrity"... well I find that ludicrous. I adore my anonymity and when I encounter celebrities I prefer to let them have some peace. I enjoy movies, TV shows and music as much as the next person, but I also realize the art of doing these things is a job. I certainly wouldn't want to endure constant questions and comments about my job when I'm away from work. Sure, these people put themselves in the spotlight by choosing an unusual type of business, but the public often draws no line between reality and fiction. Many exhibit no common decency when approaching someone famous and think because the person is a public figure, anything goes--even sometimes verbal abuse. I do believe it's the constant badgering and constantly having to be "on" that drives some celebrities batty.

But I digress. Back to Whitney Houston. Anyone who is truly surprised by the outcome needs a small slap upside the head. I don't mean to judge her or to prematurely characterize the situation as a run of the mill celebrity overdose. Any variety of scenarios could absolutely exist. However, I believe non-overdose scenarios to be unlikely. Unfortunately, Houston will likely be yet another in an ever-growing string of celebrities who live forever in history as someone who succumbed to substance abuse.

Some fans are dismayed that Houston's family chose a private funeral, and that there will not be a large, public ceremony. But never fear. There will be opportunities to watch the whole display on the internet. Look, this is not some sort of concert to be followed online and sung along to, this is a human being's funeral. Normal people dread attending funerals, so why are scores of people enamored with the prospect of watching one on the internet? It's morbid. Let that family grieve privately as they requested. And now there's news that Governor Chris Christie of New Jersey has authorized the flying of American flags at half staff on state buildings in Houston's honor. Are you kidding me??!! This is an honor typically reserved for recognizing fallen heroes who served our country, be it in the military, on a police force or as a firefighter. While Houston may have been influential in her own way, she absolutely does not deserve the honor. It's an insult to all who have received the half staff honor--such as the firefighter here in my area who is being buried today because he fell from I-395 while fighting a car fire. Flags are flying at half staff for him in my neighborhood. But Whitney Houston? Personally, I find the whole thing, from funeral to half staff, disgusting and offensive.

Whitney's demons ultimately claimed her life.

Was her music beautiful and inspirational? Absolutely. But where were all these people proclaiming their love for Houston just two weeks ago? Probably calling her a whacked out crack whore and not listening to the dusty CDs of hers lying in the back of the closet. Who supported her when she was sorting through hard times in the public eye? Certainly not all of these people now weeping at her death. Remember that reality show she did with then-husband Bobbi Brown ("Being Bobbi Brown")? Remember what a train wreck that turned into? The type of train wreck that the public can't stop gawking at, barring a few seconds to scoff and roll eyes at the conductor. How about the National Enquirer story on her crack cocaine use? Most people said, "How sad" and moved on. This horrible period in her life never totally left her, even wrecking her voice such that when she recently attempted a comeback, she was booed off stage more than once. Where were her supporters then? Nobody, and I mean nobody, who mocked Houston during that time or called her a coke head or crack whore has the right to become emotional at her death now. Sentiment should have poured forth years ago and cries should have spouted, non-judgementally, from mouths about getting that poor woman help. I admit, I was a jackass who partook in the mockery. But I am not clutching my heart now and spewing her songs while moaning that she was such a fantastic person, if only someone had helped her.

I feel for Whitney Houston in the same way I feel for anyone who had a tough life and endured seemingly endless struggles. I will allow the few lifelong fans who were particularly touched by her music and stayed true all these years to get a little emotional at the loss of someone who may have influenced their lives. But you won't find me suddenly clogging up my mp3 player with her songs, and you won't find me glued to my TV trying to get tidbits of news, or starting up conversations about her life and trials. I will view this as I do the passing of any person whom I do not know. I will simply hope that her troubled soul has finally found peace, and avoid dwelling on it. Then I will move on. Because that is what life is about--growing strong and moving on in the face of adversity.