Scribbling Dame

Preposterous Pondering.

Embracing Woo-Woo December 9, 2013

I do not know where this term came from, but it is the perfect term for what I used to envision as hippie granola-kinda-crazy-but-always-sweet healing type stuff. I have always loved people who love woo-woo, because let’s face it, they are downright nice people who generally like helping others or at least listening to them. Still, for years, I have strongly identified as non-woo-woo. In fact, I would say I strongly identified as the opposite of woo-woo, which I perceived to be bitchy, kick-ass, step on anyone’s throat with a stiletto if I want, get-shit-done kind of lady.

I am stubborn and kick-ass and I do like a challenge. I’m not easily intimidated and I am confident, but I am not as anti-woo-woo as I once thought. Or maybe I’ve evolved.


The truth about me is I’m really quite gushy inside. I cry at the thought of others’ pain and I can also tear up at the wonder that is the beauty in people and life. I like yoga and puppies and shit and I don’t even own a pair of stilettos. I have no desire to prove anything to anyone anymore. What a fucking relief.

Some of this softening is definitely due to hormones and childbearing and science, but the rest is most certainly due to a respectable quest for more fulfillment and my own definition of happiness in my life, and embracing more woo and woo-bringers. This quest has resulted in shedding a toxic work environment (for me), downsizing a house, making decisions without considering money, and trying all sorts of healing practices like acupuncture (no likey), meditation (still working on it), yoga (love, and still working on it), Body Talk (can’t even explain what that is) and only spending time with folks who not only say they care, but actively show they care (no fakes).

I have replaced so much of what didn’t fulfill me with better people, less stress, more gratitude, feeling free and generally being a nicer, happier person. All via woo-ness and woo-dom and woo-dwellers.

So, as long as it works and you’re not out there killing babies or something, go for it. Embrace the weird and the woo-woo. If you want more official word on this Deepak Chopra totally backs me up in this article.  

Also, as a fun aside, when I googled “woo-woo” this really awesome drink recipe came up, which you should also embrace.



Sweaty Bridesmaid and Fucking Up August 28, 2012

Filed under: SuperWoman Syndrome — Scribbling Dame @ 12:02 pm
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I was in a wedding this weekend. The couple are some dear friends who are awesome. The wedding was awesome, but I realized I was a complete wreck about it leading up to it.

Dear God please don’t let me fuck up this wedding…

With your own wedding you are nervous about what will go wrong and all the last minute details you still need to handle in only 24 hour days. However, you aren’t worried about messing up–it’s your own wedding. Any little mistake you might make will be the cute tidbit of personality that, along with the gazillion details you’ve planned for months, will make your ceremony stand out. Plus, almost everyone at the wedding loves you and /or was hired by you, so they will let it go.

When you are in someone else’s wedding, if you fuck up, you are FUCKING UP SOMEONE ELSE’S WEDDING! Which means, depending on the magnitude of said fuck up, you could ruin the day and married life of your beloved friends and your fuck up will be FOREVER BURNED IN THEIR BRAINS not to mention captured on YouTube, fifty iPhones and a professional photographer’s portfolio.

So here is me, realizing this about a week prior and knowing my history of fucking up. I don’t fuck up often, but I tend to fuck up in really dramatic, intense moments or in really awe-inspiring ways.

Here are some examples, both involving deaths and pets.

1. I accidentally let my best friend’s dead grandma’s bird out of the house. We tried to get the fucker back inside but were too late and ended up watching it be devoured by a small dog in their neighbor’s yard. This was the equivalent of watching their grandma die again. Funny now. Major tragic fuck up then. I still hate fucking birds.

2. My friend’s dad passes unexpectedly. I rush over to take care of her kiddo while she packs and neglect to close their gate. Dog gets out and we spend hours trying to find him. We see him once, but he takes off (fucker). It’s 100 degrees. We eventually have to tell my friend that in addition to losing her dad, she may have lost her first-born hair baby too. She has to push back her flight to her hometown. We find dog sitting under a tree hours later. This is just now hitting inside joke status, but still makes my stomach turn to think about it. This is why I basically only like my dog.

So, when I fuck up, it is rare, yet epic. And this is why, besides heat, I was sweating like a Republican at a Women’s Convention at my friend’s wedding. Alas, all went well and I only made one teeny weird mistake that was totally fixable and only a few of us noticed. <Relief sigh>.


Pregnant From Behind February 21, 2012

I can’t get over the fascination people have with how pregnant women look. People will say things to a pregnant chick’s face that they would never dream of saying to any other woman. I am noticing this even more with my second pregnancy than with my first. With my first, everything about my body was novel and mysterious. When would I get the “bump?” How much bigger could my boobs actually get? Would I experience the cankle? So, I didn’t particularly notice other people’s comments on my appearance.

Be it "bump" or watermelon ka-pow--we should all want to strut it...

I gained a good 50 pounds with my first born and by the end, at least 30 of those pounds were in my face. But, I was content and healthy and successfully delivered a healthy baby girl, so there was no wrong in the world as I knew it, even when I didn’t really lose much of that baby weight after-the-fact.

This pregnancy I am tiny by comparison. I weigh less now at 8 months than I did before my pregnancy. My midwife keeps asking me questions to make sure I don’t have an eating disorder and/or I am not starving. But, I am eating at least 6 times a day, have totally upped my protein intake and still can’t seem to pack it on.      With being put on disability early and dealing with “gestational diabetes” (it’s a real thing it’s just that since my “diagnosis” I haven’t had one damn abnormal blood sugar reading) this pregnancy has actually been fairly unhealthy comapred to the last one; and I am getting the most compliments on how I look. Apparently I don’t even look pregnant from behind, whatever the fuck that means.

I am not sure what to do with this. On the one hand, I am hoping I can maintain this magical metabolism post-pregnancy so I can get back to a healthier size, and it is nice being constantly told how lovely I look, even though I have absolutely nothing to do with this outcome. I also don’t mind that I can still wear some of my non-maternity shirts.

On the other hand, I figure, shouldn’t I look pregnant from behind? It seems a shame not to look pregnant when I am in fact so pregnant I have to roll my legs out of bed first so I can build the momentum to move my torso. I am also pretty sure that my husband will have to paint my toenails for me from now on.

The one time a person should look pregnant, from any direction, is when they are, in fact, pregnant. And, the last thing a pregnant woman should be made to feel insecure about is her appearance.  Don’t worry–she has plenty of competing guilt about other topics like her diet, her birth plan, the choices around immunizations and circumcision. If you must, if you are absolutely compelled to comment, tell her she looks magnificent–if only for the reason that she is bringing new life and hope into our world.



Pregnancy Goals October 11, 2011

Two unexpected things happen to my brain when I am pregnant;

1)I genuinely become ditzy and forgetful–I like the term “Pregmentia.” This is very challenging for those of us who pride ourselves on our quickness and wit, but highly amusing for our colleagues and partners who are usually the victims of said wit. I have literally asked my husband for the date 20 times in 5 minutes before. (At least I put out.)

2) The other thing that happens, and maybe this is just me, but my filter of politeness and tolerance for idiocy dramatically decreases (and for those of you who know me in real life, you are aware that this is not my strength on a good regular day). I have literally spent years  learning how to not immediately express the thoughts that come into my head, and sometimes to keep them to myself altogether. This is a very difficult symptom to deal with if you are not self-employed, if you are married, or if you have to talk to other human beings. This is also one of the reasons I am working from home more.

The worst part is, I am not one of those that likes to excuse all naughty behaviors because I am pregnant. I should probably change my position on that, but generally I don’t want to be treated differently because I am pregnant, unless I like the difference in treatment (i.e. not having to cook as much, carry things, or do dishes at home). Still I don’t want to send the message that pregnant chicks are stupid, unreliable or overly emotional, even if I did cry at the trailer for that Dolphin Tale movie.  Sadly, the reality is I haven’t pooped for a week, I haven’t felt cute in ages, and the last thing I have the energy for is waiting behind you in the checkout line while you organize your coupons and write a check for your groceries with your left hand because your right one is arthritic due to the rain. This is also because I am starving every 30 minutes.

My goals for this pregnancy are the usual: don’t fuck up noticeably at work and don’t bust a cap in someone’s ass. I will have to focus.


Working Mom Conversations September 20, 2011

Filed under: Mommy Issues,SuperWoman Syndrome — Scribbling Dame @ 8:27 pm
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There are a lot of things you become comfortable freely discussing once you enter into parenthood. Talking about poop with your friends (size, shape, color, consistency, smell, frequency) is about as shocking among parents as discussing a cardboard box. Today I found myself in one of those conversations that only parents would care about, or even notice–I have no idea how in the hell this even came up, and in retrospect, I am totally shocked that we were engrossed in it for so long. Alas, this is part of what makes a community among the parent set:

[Context: Betty and I (Wilma) are both pregnant and discussing how useless we are when we get home from work at the moment.]

Betty: We’ve been eating a lot of macaroni and cheese lately. I feel bad that there’s no vegetables in that, but Bam Bam doesn’t really eat vegetables anyway.

Wilma: I know. Pebbles likes to dip her pizza in that terrible garlic sauce, so I always make myself feel better about it by shoving some carrots on her plate. You know, to add balance. Whenever I feel guilty about our meal, out come the carrots.

Betty: Thank God for daycare. They always say he eats his vegetables there so at least he’s getting them from somewhere. I don’t know why he won’t eat them at home.

Wilma: Peer pressure. It’s the same reason Pebbles doesn’t nap at home, but always does at school. If you had ten kids at dinner eating veggies with you, I’m sure he’d do it. You could always give him that juice that has sneaky veggies in it.

Betty: Oh we do drink that. And we eat a lot of fruit.

Wilma: Well between daycare, sneaky juice and fruit, we’ve got it covered I think.

A few things to note about this conversation: 1) yes it’s totally benign, but 2) lots of women have made fortunes on their cookbooks that teach you how to sneak veggies into kid food undetected so it’s a moneymaker topic and 3) I find it highly fascinating that I could generally give a shit about what my husband eats (including the pizza in garlic sauce) but if my kid doesn’t eat a carrot with dinner I am ready to accept a worst mom ever award. Sometimes when I step out of my life and observe it I wonder WTF?

I am not the healthiest eater in the world, but CREEPY!




UVS: Ugly Vagina Syndrome August 30, 2011

Apparently I am out of the loop on the latest fashion trends. It could be because I’m pregnant again, and have been trying to keep quiet about it for a few weeks just in case, which is so very hard for me. It could be because I am anxiously awaiting the new T.V. season so I don’t have to watch re-runs of Ellen. Never-the-less, I managed to totally overlook the fact that I should be critically assessing the prettiness of my vagina.

Apparently, if you are unfortunate enough to have an “ugly one” you can opt for vaginal reconstructive surgery, which is seeing a rise in occurrence among women with no apparent abnormalities. If she just needs a touch up or some pampering, you can consider a “vagacial” or “peach smoothie” spa treatment. Apparently your vagina can be too fat, too flabby, in need of exfoliation, a dye job, or for the more ambitious types: rhinestones instead of hair.

So do they put a cucumber on your labia?

Don’t shoot the messenger! It’s not my fault if your vagina is sub-par!

My newfound knowledge of this trend has gotten me pondering a few questions:

1)Where does one find out if they have a pretty vagina? Or an ugly one for that matter? Is there a quiz in Cosmo? I am pretty sure no partner in their right mind is bringing it up!

2)How much time should a lady spend on grooming and examining her lady bits to ensure beauty standards are maintained? Is this a group activity?

3) Do vagina groomers specialize in this kind of spa treatment? Do they get a certification at beauty school, or is it just part of the standard curriculum?

I think given my limited availability in time and money and the fact that my husband still seems to like this pony ride, I will remain ignorant as to the ranking beauty of my vag. For the rest of you, go with God.


The Wrath of the Tiger Lady February 14, 2011

Filed under: SuperWoman Syndrome — Scribbling Dame @ 10:33 pm
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I have no idea how this pic of me got onto the internets.

Before you get all excited, this is not the mandatory mommy blog post about Amy Chua’s new book The Battle Hymn of the Tiger Mother, though I am definitely going to read it as soon as I get my Kindle back which was in the purse that I left at the Koren BBQ joint at lunch today. Fingers crossed.

The Tiger Lady is what happens to those of us who, for whatever reasons, have to do for ourselves from a very young age, resulting in a potentially scaly and rarely vulnerable demeanor. This demeanor is not one that many people warm up to, in particular men.

You can call her a feminist if you want, but they are not interchangeable. You can call her a tough ass bitch, which I can assure you is a smoke screen.

The reality is that not all women know how to accept help because they have rarely been extended a hand. Not all women know how to flatter, because they have not been around enough people who have paid them compliments. Tiger Ladies don’t always know how to be a good friend, because not many people have stuck around them long enough to be good friends to them.

Sometimes I am a Tiger Lady, though having a kiddo has certainly made me more empathetic and compassionate and affectionate. Sometimes I have to remind myself that though I am a fighter, not everything is a battle. Ultimately, empowerment is about making conscious decisions regarding who to be. Sometimes those claws need to be out, but not always.


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