Sugar Blues

I have been addicted to sugar my whole life.

Because sugar is absolute crap for the body, it wasn't often allowed in my mother's house so I developed an early, violent, craving for the stuff. It became another in a long line of forbidden fruits dangled in front of me that I was to avoid at all costs. Except - unlike coffee, alcohol, tobacco, masturbation, Diet Coke, R-rated movies, Judy Blume novels and all other naughty pleasures - it wasn't forbidden by God, just my mother. She was much easier to disobey. So, I would save my allowance and sneak up the street to 7-11, buy as many candy bars as I could afford and sit on the curb - cramming them into my mouth in a near orgasmic frenzy. Whenever I was at a friends house whose mother's purchased cookies, candy, or - God bless them - Hostess delights, it was over for me. I ate until I could eat no more. I didn't have the "Sugar Limit" most of my friends had. I never got sugared out. I filled to overflowing and immediately began planning how to get my hands on more. I was skinny as a rail so it never affected my weight. I never thought about it being a problem. Not once.

As an adult, when I was on my own, I still scarfed sugary goodies with the same desperation of a thousand starving orphans. Simply because I could. I totally understand why sugar is the Mormon drug of choice. It's all that is allowed. I ate it because no one could tell me not to. I had learned to be obedient not disciplined.

Once my testimony bit the dust and I made different behavioral choices for myself, that didn't change. Fortunately I had been through enough therapy and was already committed to my personal well being so I didn't try drugs, start smoking (as much as I wanted to) and my alcohol consumption stayed well under control. But I never learned to say NO to sugar.

I still had no limit to the amounts I could eat but as I got older I noticed that I had sugar hangovers worse than anything brought on by the best night of Tequila shooting. Ice cream was the worst. Took me days to recover.

I remembered family friends reading the book "Sugar Blues" when I was a child and I have always known that it was not good for me. But I didn't care. I was totally in denial as to how much it was affecting me. I remembered the sugar fasts I went on in high school and how amazing it felt not to have it coursing through my veins. For several months before I got married I cut out sugar, dairy, soda and red meat and felt remarkable. I've tried several times, post babies, to replicate those fasts. Totally unable to. I tried to limit. Didn't work. Tried to only have it on the weekends. Worked occasionally but not enough to make any kind of a difference.

But then [cue: Hallelujah Chorus] the stars aligned the beginning of this October and I just stopped eating the stuff. A combination of finally being ready to let it go, a desire to feel and look better than I have, being reminded by a good friend how amazing it felt to cook and eat healthily, dread at the oncoming winter and it's accompanying depression, a role in an independent film that required I get in getter shape than I was and being introduced to the Miracle Love Coffee... It was as easy as my mother's sugarless apple pie. I stopped eating sugar, dairy, gluten, limited red meat intake and only drank occasional red wine without giving any of it a second thought.

First thing I noticed was the increase in energy. My strength doubled instantly and I was able to run faster and longer and lift far more weight at the gym than I had before. Within a few weeks I had lost a solid 10 pounds - even with all the muscle weight I was gaining. My thinking cleared exponentially. Anxiety vanished. All the stress I am under from juggling a million projects was totally handle-able. I started dreaming again. I was happy, like, 98% of the time. Winter came and I was fine. I looked at the snow and it was pretty. Pulling off Christmas alone while working full time usually trips me up. Nope. Sailed through it - loving nearly every moment. I felt better, healthier, happier, more grateful, more energetic and ridiculously more capable and productive than I have in as long as I can remember. I became a vastly different person. Just ask my kids.

Then came Christmas. Certainly having all the delicious goodies that filled my kitchen for one day couldn't hurt anything...

OH MY GOD.

I knew I would feel something. I had factored in a day to recover - grateful that the day after Christmas was Sunday. I took it easy, read and watched Christmas movies. That night I felt it. Just kind of... off. The next morning I felt like I had been hit by a truck. I had a headache, swollen eyes and could hardly move for the aching in my joints. My hips felt like those of an 87 year old. I couldn't remember certain words. I was sad. Not depressed (yet) but just kind of gloomy. I felt anxious and annoyed. As the day wore on it got worse. I hated my life and the pain I was in. Didn't want anyone to call or come over. Looked outside at that goddamn winter and cursed living in Utah. My creativity, sex drive, joy for living... blurred. Drugged. Gone.

I stepped outside myself and knew exactly what it was. Didn't panic. Just reminded myself that it was sugar screwing with my brain chemistry as it has for years. I have been drinking a lot of water, miracle coffee, lemon/cayenne drink and eating brown rice, Quinoa, lentils and lots of fruits and veggies. 4 days later I can still feel it. I went for a long run on Monday - pushing through the aching still in my hips. I feel happiness again but still slow in my brain. Still confused and swollen for quite a while after I wake up. Anxiety is easing. Ability to happily cope returning.

HOW DID I EVER LIVE LIKE THAT???

All I can say is I am done. Sugar is poison for my body and brain. I have no more desire to do sugar than I have to do cocaine. At the moment they feel one and the same. [Note: I have never actually done cocaine - but have always been deathly afraid of it and what it would do to me. For good reason.]

Anyway, purging is almost done. My search for all recipes yummy, healthy and sugar free has commenced.

Grateful for the lesson.

May I never have to learn it again.

Fa La La La La - La La La La!

Merry Christmas Internetland!!!

Now, go out and don your gay apparel...

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On Second Thought...

A Steaming followed by a good old fashioned Christmas Vajazzling...

I am SO there!!!

This Is Soooo What I Am Asking Santa For

Ladies, tell your guy to stop his search for the perfect gift. Here it is - the treat that every woman dreams of. A Vaginal Steam Bath!!!

Totally serious thing. I love that there's an "identical treatment for men." Wa-hoo! You and your man can have your carpets cleaned together. Fer cute! But, I'm thinking that I don't really want anything with wormwood or mugwort tea anywhere my coochie. It sounds like I'd get an infection that only a magical romp in the swamp with Harry Potter would cure.

No thanks.

Friday Video: Firework

Happy Friday, Internetland. Go out and show 'em what you're worth.

Free Love

I recently read a blog post that made me stop. And think. And then want to go skydiving. The topic was "Sexual Liberation," something the author of said blog said they "experimented" with the idea of but ultimately rejected because sexual liberation "disconnects sexuality and sexual expression from any affective, relational or spiritual context. It ultimately denies the reality of the non-physical, and denies the validity of any meaning connected to sex apart from simple physical gratification... [and] can feel liberating -- at first. But ultimately it's not any sort of liberation at all. It eventually becomes a form of slavery, condemning us to an impoverished existence, and stripping our lives of humanity and meaning."

I wanted to cry. True sexual liberation doesn't imprison, condemn and strip life of meaning - it does exactly the opposite. To liberate, by definition, means to "to set free, as from imprisonment or bondage." If one is sexually liberated that means that one was previously sexually imprisoned, held captive or bound in a restrictive way. It means that one was shackled by sexual guilt, shame, ignorance and fear brought on by the effects of religious dogma, sexual abuse or crippling family and social beliefs and expectations.

To be liberated means to be set free. How can that ever be a bad thing? When we are truly free, in any and all areas of life, we are bigger, better, healthier, happier, more generous, more courageous, more loving. And, yes, we are more responsible. I know that there are those out their wielding sex like a weapon to inflict pain on themselves and others. Just because one has lots of sex doesn't mean that one is liberated. Clearly those individuals are not free from their own ties that bind. I know that there are those that have joyless sex disconnected from all feeling. But, again, those people are not liberated from anything. They are just as held hostage by their sexual wounds and fractures as the person who denies themselves sexual experience and expression.

In my opinion, sexual liberation (and every other form of freedom) is something we should all seek after like the Holy Grail. We should all desire freedom from the prisons we build for ourselves and one another. And we should fight hard to remove every shackle we wear because then, and only then, are we able to be truly present, truly healthy, truly responsible and truly charitable and kind.

Only when we are free can we truly connect with our deepest selves and with one another.

Only when we are free can we truly enjoy the incredible power and life giving joy of healthy sexual expression.

And only when we are free are we truly alive.

In the name of Aphrodite (and Dr. Ruth)... Amen.

* * *
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Absolutely Stunning Piece written by a woman named Glennon-Gorgeous-Mother-And-Human-Being.

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18, Clueless And Baby Hungry

Okay, so part of me thinks this is funny. Generally speaking, the mocking of anything BYU brightens my day right up. And this targets BYU co-eds. Even better. There are some great lines - "We'd marry a tree as long as it served a mission" being my personal favorite.

The other part of me, however, started watching and immediately felt the familiar burning and itching sensation I get when I come in contact with anything Provo related.

This video is funny because it is true. And it is sad for that very same reason.

When I got married, at the ripe old age of 25 (nearly an Old Maid by LDS standards) I audited a dance class at The "Y." The class was, of course, filled with girls ages 18 - 21 years old. One day I was sitting around with a couple of the girl's in my class and somehow my age came up. Both of their heads shot up and they looked at me with wide eyes.

Girl #1: "Wow, I hope I look as good as you do when I'm your age."

Girl #2: "Oh my gosh, you just gave me so much hope. I am graduating in a few months and have been so upset that I'm not married yet. If you just got married and you're 25, that means that I still have a chance."

She was 21 years old. Barf.

Even then, being the Super Mormon that I was, I was stunned. I didn't even know what to say to them. But, I sure as hell do now. Those girls are responsible for the speech I gave my cousins when they were in high school and have given BOTH of my kids ad nauseum. It goes something like this:

Don't you DARE get married until you are at least (1) 25 years old (though I would prefer 35), have (2) Gotten an education (3) Have a viable way of supporting yourself, and have (4) Have traveled the world. You cannot possibly give yourself to someone until you know who that someone is you are giving. And the same goes for the person you are considering marrying. DO NOT permanently bind yourself to another person until you BOTH have a solid idea of who you are and what you really want out of life.

Argh. When we're young we just don't get it. We don't listen. We think we know it all. And then one day, BAM! We get it. And we wish we would have listened.

The following poem, written by my mother, is one of my absolute favorites. I wish that having this memorized and recited 5 times a day was a pre-requisite for graduation from The "Y." It would make for much happier marriages and families.

On Nest Building

Mud is not bad for nest building.
Mud and sticks
And a fallen feather or two will do
And require no reaching.
I could rest there, with my tiny ones,
Sound for a season, at least.

But –
If I may fly awhile –
If I may cut through a sunset going out
And rainbow coming back,
Color upon color sealed in my eyes –
If I may have the unboundaried skies
For my study,
Clouds, cities, rivers for my rooms –
If I may search the centuries
For melody and meaning –
If I may try for the sun –

I shall come back
Bearing such beauties
Gleaned from God’s and man’s very best
I shall come filled.

And then –
Oh, the nest I can build!

Friday Video: Cosmo Jarvis - Gay Pirates

Check out this incredibly talented, 21 year old, believe it or not - straight kid Cosmo Jarvis. Thinking he's definitely one to watch.
I cannot get this song out of my head. Yo-Ho!

The Dog Who Loved To Suck On Toads

I LOVE this dog!

Now she only sucks on weekends. No comment.

Stolen Post: Drugs, Addiction And Brutally Murdered Fairies

While I will not expound on the few ways in which I disagree with this Post I Stole From Cafe Mom I will say that it is an AWESOME way for parents to make their kids laugh while helping them to understand that drugs can seriously hurt their bodies.

Parents, it's quite funny. Don't think I didn't just post it on the Facebook Profiles of my Loin Fruit.

My Colbert Lover: AND THIS IS HOW YOU DO ME!!!!!

The Colbert Report	Mon - Thurs 11:30pm / 10:30c
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www.colbertnation.com
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Friday Video: Take The Climb (For Tyler Clementi)

Song by Peter and Mary Danzig
Video by Connell O'Donovan

In September I had just started to teach a violin lesson when my student's mother picked up her New York Times and gasped. She told me she had to show me something after the lesson. After I finished teaching, she showed me an article about a young violinist, Tyler Clementi who committed suicide after his roommate live streamed Tyler's relationship with another guy over the internet. As I read the article and looked at the picture of a young man holding his violin with such beautiful technique I was filled with sadness.

The week before I had heard Hilary Hahn perform the Tchaikovsky violin concerto. During her incredible performance I had thought about the speculation that Tchaikovsky committed suicide because his "friends" told him that it would be better for him to kill himself than to be gay. I had thought about the magnificent gift that Tchaikovsky gift has been to the world and what a loss his untimely death was for all of us. As I gazed at the picture of Tyler, I grieved the loss of a young man who had already brought so much joy and would have given a lifetime of beauty to so many.

As Peter and I talked later that evening we wished there was something we could do. We decided to write a song and hope that maybe it does some good for someone. Some talented musician friends helped us make a live recording at Holladay United Church of Christ. Attached is the song. They lyrics are below. We hope you enjoy the song. If you do, please feel free to send it on with our hope that one day we will learn to treat all people with love and respect.

Love,
Mary

Bluntcard Dot Com

Thank You Allie Beau Ballie for my New Favorite Website. Use caution when entering this site, you may get lost in it for hours...

At The Fur Post With A What Down His What???

The madcap adventures of LaFawnda got me thinking about Flint and his novel o' romance that I was given two years ago and still have not had the time to read as I am not 70 years old - thus not yet in my season of gardening and porn. But I did take 7 minutes yesterday to flip through and see what nuggets I could mine.

Oh, Sweet Mama. Are you ready for this..?

"Then teeth began to tease her nipple, and a tongue laved the swollen tip a moment before drawing it into the mouth again to slowly suckle it..."

I had to look up the word "Laved." It either means "to wash; bathe" or "to ladle; pour or dip with a ladle." I'm thinking he didn't dip her nip with a ladle. Rather he washed the tip of her nip with his lip. Much better.

"When he had her so worked up that she was thrashing her head about, he slid his palm inside the bottom of her underwear and cupped the soft mound between her legs. With his middle finger, he probed the tender..."

Seriously, that one is kinda hot.

"Cupping her small rear in his hands, he rocked slowly against her, each thrust of his body going in a little deeper. It took about five minutes before blond hair and black were meshed together."

Okay, I'm thinking that five minutes is a freaking long time for the entering stage - no matter how virginal the virgin. I would have gone to the kitchen and made some soup by the time blond and black hair finally meshed. And then I would have thrown it up because, Eeeeewwwwww.

"When she made no move to take his member into her hand, he curled her fingers around his largeness. She had a right to know how big he was..."

I gotta say that every time I read the word "member," yes even when referring to a penis, all I can picture is a Mormon man in a suit. Mormonism made it's mark on my brain long before "Where Did I Come From?" even had a chance. Therefore a Penis is a Member in a Suit and a Vagina is a Jeans Wearing, Tequila Swilling Non-Member. I guess that sounds about right.

"...hadn't she had proof of that when she saw him at the fur post with a whore's hand down his pants."

BEST LINE EVER.

You want to know the very best part about these saucy passages? They were written by This Woman...


Bah-hahahahahahaha!!!

How Totally Awesome Is That??? Makes me think I might be doing more than just reading porn when I'm seventy.

* * *
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Flint Plus LaFawnda Equals True Love Always

Okay, so remember the post about Flint, my hard as steel surprise birthday lover? (Yes, photo to the right is actually him, at the height of his blessed existence, hosting a yard sale for me.) And you know how they say that man should not be alone and that there is someone for everyone? Well, it gives me more pleasure than I can express to introduce you to Flint's Lady Love...









LaFawnda

LaFawnda was actually purchased by some friends of mine, K & D. The back story is sublime...

K & D live about 30 minutes north of Salt Lake. Their next door neighbors had nine children - all of whom were home schooled. This family had a chicken coop in their backyard and a beehive directly next to the chain link fence separating their house from K & D - who have a pool, which means there was a swarm of bees living 30 ft. from the large body of water in their backyard. Not cool.

K & D tried to communicate and negotiate with said neighbors. Nuthin'. They took it to the city and went the rounds in court. They would win every time and neighbors-from-hell would only move the beehive one foot from where it had been - and back to court they would go.

So, D decided that the only way to deal with these people was to fight annoying fire with annoying fire. He purchased LaFawnda, a black mannequin with which he planned on harassing them, online. He specifically wanted a black one so when they complained he could accuse them of being racist.

D. posed LaFawnda in various positions every day all over the yard. Climbing the ladder to the pool naked, lounging in a lawn chair, pressed against the fence staring into the neighbor's yard with a creepy Halloween mask on, doing different activities dressed in different colored wigs and outfits.

Here she can be seen waving to the neighbors from the trampoline...


Neighbors were totally freaked out and called the police on more than one occasion. The Sheriff even came over - almost arresting D. for not taking LaFawnda down. But, as long as the bees were still there, LaFawnda was out and up to her old tricks.

And it worked! The neighbors moved! LaFawnda totally kicks ass and leaves me more bereft than ever at the loss of my Flint.

When I am back in a house with money to spend on my own bizarre entertainment I am TOTALLY buying myself another mannequin. And she will swing in a hammock wearing a crown of Cummingtonite and I will call her Fern and she will be Flint's second wife - because we do that sort of thing here in Utah.

And I will be so happy.

Thankful For Progress

Last week I was thinking a lot about the things I am grateful for. There are many. My amazing children, my family and friends, my health, my career, good food, yoga, chocolate, men, spazy dogs, miracle coffee... the list goes on and on.

But, last week while watching Glee I was reminded of something for which I am unbelievably grateful. Progress. For those of you that haven't caught the Glee bug, please bear with me. On last week's episode Kurt, a gay kid, continued to be bullied by one of the school's jocks. The other guys in the Glee club stood up to the bully - which was cool. But, we're used to Karate Kid punches-being-thrown-for-the-underdog movie of the week moments. I'm not talking about the locker room scene. I'm talking about the wedding.

The wedding in which Finn, the very straight popular and handsome high school jock, pledged his allegiance to his new gay step brother - vowing to have his back no matter what it cost him - and then sang "Just The Way You Are" to him while they danced together. Two teenage boys, one gay one straight, both in tuxes, dancing hand in hand to the lyrics "... cause you're amazing just the way you are."

I, of course, burst into tears. My kids are as used to their totally dorky mom tearing up while watching "Glee" as my little brothers were to their lame big sister crying during every freaking episode of "Little House on the Prairie." Oh, well. Welcome to me.

I couldn't help it. I thought of the gay kids at my California high school in the 80's being thrown into trash cans and hand cuffed to the gym doors. I thought of myself, the daughter of a gay man - guilty by association, being shoved into lockers and having empty desks bashed into me by voices chanting, "Dyke, dyke, dyke...!" I thought of the string of gay kids, from those as young as 13 year old Asher Brown to nineteen year old violinist Tyler Clementi, this summer and fall that took their own lives because their personal bullying got so bad.

I look around me and see how far we have to go and I feel sadness. But then I look around me and see how far we've come and I feel hopeful. Happy even. Ignorance is no longer the norm. Homophobia is no longer accepted as cool. Cruelty and violence are no longer being held as the example. More and more people are standing up and saying No More. More and more kids are growing up with visions of love and kindness and equality.

When one of the most popular shows on television today not only takes on the subject of gay bullying but shows straight kids and gay kids embracing, dancing, smiling and singing together as though it were the most normal thing in the world, because it is, I see progress.

And I am grateful.