Giving up Lent for Lent

Well well, it's that time of year again. Lent. We're really emergency Catholics in our family -- those of us that claim any kind of organized spirituality at all -- and so I can't really say with too much smugger-than-thou-ness that I've done such-and-such for Lent. I've occasionally given up an indulgence here and there, but I always need someone to remind me when Lent is over. I'm going to be all about the Master Cleanse next month, so maybe that will count. I don't really see God as a linear being, she won't mind.

But this year, I just plum forgot. So yes, I will have another glass of wine, thank you.

Frosty is Jesus!

It's taken me 40 years to realize this -- Frosty is Jesus! Here are just a few of the uncanny parallels:

It's all about rebirth. The kids believe! (his disciples and followers), while the Evil Magician (Pontius Pilot/John the Baptist) is trying to squash him. He goes away, into a greenhouse (a cave), where his true friend, a girl (Mary Magadaline) weeps bitter tears over his apparent death. But then! Santa (God) gives the lowdown that he will return. And there's a bunny (Easter) who is cute and fun and puffy.

Think about it. But what a fun way to be indoctrinated ...

Reverse Warrior

Yoga is a metaphor for everything else. You seriously could drive yourself half bats making all the intellectual, spiritual and emotional connections. In yoga there is a counter pose for every pose. When you spend time bending forward, you move into a back bend. When you stretch left, you stretch right. And so on.

There is a series of poses called "Warrior." For Warrior II, one foot faces straight forward. The other swings behind and points to the corner of the room. The front knee bends and the back leg stays straight. Arms are straight, like an arrow through the torso, in front and behind. Head looks forward, gazing over the fingertips.

When you reverse your Warrior, you bring your front arm over your head, and bend backwards.

As I was reversing my Warrior this evening, I wondered how that could translate. What if we all tried to reverse our Warrior? What if every time we felt super pissed off, we automatically provided the opposite of that and sent love to the object of our anger? So yesterday, when this chick at work was condescending and treating me like a moron, maybe after my initial furiousness, I could have gone over and given her some chocolate. And I would have felt a little better. And maybe she'd think harder next time she said something insulting. And we'd both walk away with a little more sweetness in our day.

On a national level, what if instead of bombing the crap out of people, we showered our enemies with money and clinics?

Consider this:

• So far the war in Iraq and Afghanistan has cost us $555 billion. With a "B."
• More than 4,100 US troops have been killed.
• Anywhere from 87,000-95,000 Iraqis have been killed.
• We are paying bazillions of dollars to fix what we have further broken.
  

What if we gave HALF of that $555 billion to Iraq and built schools and hospitals and helped them with infrastructure issues? And then we took the other half of that money, kept our soldiers home, and used it to rebuild New Orleans and Texas and anyplace else that needed a hand up? Or, gee, I don't know, bought health care for everyone here? Or paid teachers like basketball players? Nobody dead! Everyone happy!

There very well may be some kind of life after our stint on earth. Actually, I'm banking on it. But in case there's not, or in case it's not what we think it might be, this may be the only chance we have. Right here, right now. This is the kir royale, the appetizer, the palate-clearing sorbet, the entree, the dessert and the double espresso. All of it. So why not try to make it better for everyone involved?

How will you reverse your Warrior?

So Many Surprises at 40licious

Someone I work with died.

I knew her well enough that we had a mutual admiration for each other as "the other non-corporate wacky redhead."

The first couple months I got there, Charlene McComas was planning a trip to Seattle. I did a brain dump and told her all the things I'd do if I were going home. She brought me back a mug.

But I didn't know her well enough to know that she'd had a recurrence of breast cancer that spread through her body, to her spine, made her nearly blind, made her body simply stop working early last Sunday morning.

Nobody at work talked about her all week. Then tonight, at the "Celebration of Life," we talked about vacations, food, art. I could only really talk about Charlene when I met her siblings and her sweet, Irish ma. We held hands.

I never know where they go when they die. But I'm sure they're somewhere close. They'd fucking better be.

40 no-so-licious

I realize this will come as a shock to the 40licious fan, but there are some things that are NOT so great about turning 40licious.

For example:

• You think you're a winner and you blow your $19 in scratch off tickets, reinvest in more tickets, then all you get is one more free ticket. You'd think I'd know that this is why the house stays on top. But apparently, I do not. I hope that my donation provides some free lunch for poor kids or whatever.
• Thursdays used to be called "thirsty Thursdays" and we'd all go out and get hammered because the bars were less crowded and because it was kind of a bonus party night with few classes on Friday. These days, I am really, really lucky if I can muster the gumption to get to Trader Joe's, buy wine, get out of the bath and make it to the couch in time for "The Office" and "30 Rock."
• You realize that the man you once prayed to God for, in front of a candle purchased at a Wicca store, tears streaming down your face, who lives an ocean and an impossibility away, is more consumed by getting rid of the rabbits that plague his garden than having a love affair. And that he loves you, but not in the "we will get married for love and a Green Card and have adorable children with sweet Mid-Atlantic accents" way. And you're OK with that, because his own karma is his own karma. Hey, maybe that's a good thing. Scratch that from this list and add it to the "good things about being 40licious" list.
• Sometimes a big-ass black hair grows out from somewhere on my face. Whut up with THAT???

I think I'll go walk the dog. At least she's not complicated.

Quite Possibly My Best Invention Yet

One of the loveliest people I know is Natalie Carter. Who is a Realtor. She's an excellent confidante, supporter of even the zaniest of notions, and embodies the concept of fabulousness itself. Seriously, if I were ever invited to the Oscars, which I probably will be soon, I will bring Natalie and wear her fat clothes.

One day I offered to come over and feng shui Nat's place. She had some kind of funky dusty stuff in her love corner, and we put some plants and a $50 bill in her prosperity corner. The next day, SWEAR TO GOD, Nat got a call from a man who was interested in buying a place. And had several business partners. She sold eight properties on that call.

For myself, a couple years ago I shifted around my prosperity corner, which is the lefthand corner of my bedroom, and the next day I got a call from the lovely and delightful Anthony Yeo, who ended up hiring me for the job I hold now.

So. Anyway.

I also do quite a bit of yoga.

When you put two, two, two great tastes in one, you get FENG SHUI YOGA.

Now, if that sounds a little too Grape Nuts and Yogurt for you, consider this: Yoga is a more ancient healing practice than penicillin. Yoga keeps people young and healthy and beautiful. Feng Shui, really, is another word for prayer and visualization and "putting it out the the universe."

When you combine the two, you have the physical manifestation of the prayer. So whatever corner you practice in, you're working toward that end. For example, tonight I was in the prosperity corner. With the intention of making obscene amounts of money so I can make life better for everyone around me. (Funnily enough, I had a very good audition for Deal or No Deal's new syndicated show on Monday).

So. We'll just see. I'll keep you posted. Even though it's crass to talk about money.

Angel Cakes

Today I had one of my favorite conversations ever. It went exactly like this:
Him: I'm writing a song about you. It's about how you're my angel.
Me: I don't think I can be your angel. I swear way too much.
Him: It's called "My Fucking Angel."

English Cream

Ice creams or condoms? You decide!

Sure, She's a Shicksa ...

Shu Shu the camel makes my Prius Look Like a Hummer

But it seems there just isn't enough hummous in Israel for me.

Last night we beat it out of gritty, hot, complicated Tel Aviv and arrived at the Dead Sea. We stayed with a friend in a nearby kibbutz. Then this morning we awoke, early, 4-wheeled it to the "shore" (think rocky desert lunar scape) and soaked in hot springs, slapped mud all over ourselves, and floated in the water. As I lay on the beach, my torso in the stream of supersalty hot water rushing from the pool, with my legs out toward the cooler sea water, it felt that there has to be some kind of sin cleansing through all this. How could there not be? I mean, like, if I had any sins to eradicate in the first place.

This is truly an amazing trip on so many levels. Seriously, if anyone wants to come to Israel, I know a couple great tour guides.

Sound. Tree. Falling. Woods.

I'm pretty sure I'm supposed to pray at this point.

My Uncle Mike, the guy who stepped in for my dad when he was alive and after, the guy who led the charge in the biggest battle our family ever waged, the guy who taught me it's good and important to be funny, might be slipping away from us. He is one of the finest men there is.

He had a stroke and then complications this week. He's the kind of guy that chooses dignity over a lesser life. Every time the phone rings I get a cold shock through my body. I need to go home and see him. Even though I know he doesn't want ANYONE to see him this way.

So it is at this point I am supposed to pray, but I am not sure for what. I feel like I've got an open line to Ben AND Jerry, but I don't know what flavor to ask for. I don't know if I should ask for something impossible -- fat-free, sugar-free, no splenda organic Cherry Garcia -- or something simple, that goes down easy.

Do I ask for what Mike wants, or what we want? Or omakase?

I think I need to clarify that I am not an overtly religious person. Spiritual, OK. I think it's all the same, really: prayer, visualization, meditation, wishing. There are 108 beads on a rosary and on a mala -- a Buddhist prayer necklace. Also, I put my dad's rosary in my purse in Vegas and won a shitload of money. So there's that.

Any recommendations happily considered.

Love,

Vanessa

PS -- Mike hates religion, so please, nothing too Jesusy.