Hexan Biest Die(t)

I've been a fan of horror stories and the supernatural since I was a kid, avidly ordering ghost stories and "The Guinness Book of World Records" whenever the classroom's book club catalog came around. It shouldn't be a surprise to you, then, that I follow a similar theme on t.v. My favorite shows to watch, in 2016, are: Grimm, The Walking Dead, Sleepy Hollow, and Once Upon A Time. I also love science fiction, like Stephen King's "Under the Dome" (also a longtime reader) and "Extant"; both aliens-from-outer-space dramas.

But, the fables and fairy tales are my "hands-down" childhood favorites. "Grimm" even has a handsome Indian boy from the reservation doing a cameo as a wendigo*: the forest-haunting alter-ego of our evil and inhuman selves. Characters on the show change under stress into their animal spirits, like the rabbity office worker and the terrified mole-rat who prefers sneaking around underground to any type of contact, be it animal or human. People feel free (or not so free) to reveal their inner demons, like the weaselly back-stabber just waiting for an opportunity to get you alone in the company conference room, so he can turn his twitchy neurosis into a feeding frenzy to your deadly detriment.

Even the generic bitchy blond gets a turn at being a collosal bad-ass, by becoming the hideous decrepit witch she'd really be without all that makeup and surgery. In truth, she has rotting flesh and decaying teeth from typical show-business starvation. Half her hair is gone, too, lost to the stress and competition that goes with maintaining the dramatic lead, covered over by wigs and sew-on human hair that cost her thousands of dollars and years off her life sitting in salons. When we finally see her true soul-sucking form, it actually makes sense; now, there's a look that matches her behavior!

True to my form, I also like cooking shows, and for awhile I was a regular watcher of a timed contest utilizing funky basket ingredients that change with every episode. Sure enough, a "star" allowed the contestants from one episode to make her and her hippie friends a bratty Hollywood luncheon, with a few caveats. Ready? Okay, here it goes: the menu had to be carbohydrate free, fat free, organic, vegan, gluten-free, dairy-free, macrobiotic, and acceptable to the lactose-intolerant. She called it "compassionate eating",  a phrase designed by her much-beleagured publicist, no doubt. Oh, and no alcohol (too many calories). One of the competing chefs practically drained an entire bottle of booze in the pantry, wondering what the fuck this crazy bitch with her amount "food allergies" <cough anorexic> actually eats? Here's a hint, maestro: she doesn't. That's the challenge.

* https://en.m.wikipedia.org/wiki/Wendigo

Skeleteon in the Closet

Pour vous, Isabelle.

Summertime is a big deal for a lot of women, and not just because school is out, and the kids are home ALL DAY LONG. I never really thought adversely about going to the beach or the pool, because I've been a swimmer for as long as I can remember. What's not to like? But, like any other social situation filled with strangers and new people comes the attitude that many women and girls have about their bodies. I don't have any issues about mine, because I do the right things: I eat clean, good food that I enjoy cooking and eating, I walk every day, I do yoga or swim or practice martial arts...something happens in my life to keep me on track, because I am motivated to have the best life ever. 
I want to have fun and enjoy myself.

Don't get me wrong; I smoked and drank my way through the SUNY school system like any other college kid on a strict budget, but I never got it twisted. I actually wanted to show off my bikini body every year, and why wouldn't I? I work hard at it, and I want to stay beautiful for as long as I can for my partner, because I care about how he feels. I know he thinks the same way about himself towards me, too. Not that MMA is the sport for "working out", because it is extremely intense training (like my childhood ballet lessons that could have been a really serious career), but I have had points in my life when I gained unwanted weight from neglect, typically because I was working a job so stressful, most people take some sort of drug (or cocktail) to get through it. 

And so, try as I might, I no longer feel any pressures to conform to any standard other than the one I set for myself, because childhood was my time for insecurities. I survived my time in grade school, with mean bullies and schoolyard taunts. That doesn't mean today's "PSA" is a joke; far from it. Every day in my happy little home here in the Hudson Valley I see my beautiful people out in public, mixing it up in our common community spaces with people far less fortunate than us. They say the Irish are blessed with luck, charm, and good looks, and that's true, though I think it's more than a fair trade off for centuries of brutal oppression, military occupation, and countrywide starvation. 
We earned it proper. 

Yet, many cultures still demonize their women for their looks (or lack thereof), which leaves one to wonder why a woman with a serious brain disorder would dare hope to have a happy, healthy, attractive child. From what?! Thin air? It takes a lot more than running around a track like a lunatic because your mom committed suicide, and 30 years later you still can't talk about it until you are gaunt and winded. The work that I do (physical stuff included) is a lot more demanding than me running away from my problems and the world, just as starvation and hunger will not bring you the peace you seek. You need help, and I'll be here for you, girl, but first ya gotta eat something. I mean it.

http://www.nytimes.com/2010/12/31/world/europe/31caro.html?_r=0