Monthly Archives: February 2011

talking (politely, for the most part) to the wall.


It’s Monday.  Which means it is almost Tuesday.   Which means that I have writing class tomorrow.  Which means it is time to beat myself up for not doing the homework assignment that I’ve known about since last Tuesday.  Hmmmm, I really hate to break with tradition, but it turns out that I don’t have time to beat myself up about the silly homework assignment due tomorrow because I am way too busy beating myself up about not writing the freakin’ manuscript I’m supposed to turn in tomorrow for critique by the group.  I’ve known about that little deadline since, ummm, late January.

In January, when the sign-up sheet was going around, it seemed like a good idea to give myself some time before volunteering to submit my writing for critique.  You know, time to get myself in the habit of writing, to get a good idea of something to write about, to practice some of the skills we have been learning about….March seemed very comfortably far away.  Now “March” is tomorrow and that means I’m fucked.

Apparently January-Kim grossly underestimated February-Kim’s procrastination skills.  Big mistake.

February-Kim raised procrastination from it’s lowly position as a bad habit to “Procrastination!” – a form of Art.  Mere avoidance of the unpleasant task of doing the thing I feel I should be doing is, apparently, not enough.  The new strategy, as we discussed last week, is to acknowledge what needs to be done, specifically, and then to let my inner fuck you take over.  This is an important distinction!  A turning point, if you will.  It is no longer enough to let my fear control me passively (“I’m scared so I’m going to pretend like I don’t know I’m avoiding doing the thing I need to do…”) now my fear gets to take affirmative action… (“Look, I KNOW I should be doing that thing and, listen up world, I’m deliberately choosing NOT to do it….”)  So, my technique (with respect to this particular thing, i.e., writing) has changed, but the fear is still the motivator. 

Heavy sigh…. I guess that means I have to figure out what the fear is about….explore the fear….reason with it….FUCK.

Me:  “Hey, Wall-o-Fear, WTF?”

Wall-o-Fear:  “Excuse me?”

Me:  “You know exactly what I mean.  I’m finally taking steps in the direction of my DREAM to be some kind of writer, like, for example, taking a class on writing. Well, it turns out I need to WRITE to participate in the class.  Actually, I need to write no matter what, because that is how I’m going to figure out whether this is really something I want to do AND to explore all kinds of writing.  But there is a problem, namely you, preventing me from actually writing.  Why have you put your big ass down in the middle of the path to my DREAM?”

Wall-o-Fear:  “Oh, sweet, silly Kim…. You don’t really want to write, you just want to not-practice-law and writing seems like a good alternative at the moment.  I’m afraid that you’re going to find out that you SUCK at writing and/or that it is totally impractical to think you can write and support yourself and then where would you be?  You simply should not be wasting your time writing, you should be looking for a new job and, I know you don’t want to hear this, the new job should probably be a legal one.”

Me:  “Is that you, Kimberly?”*

Wall-o-Fear:  “No, I’m not Kimberly….I’m even bigger and more powerful than Kimberly….Kimberly is really just the first line of risk management.  She is supposed to prevent you from taking horrifying risks like not-studying-business-in-college, or not-practicing law.  While Kimberly has, historically, been very effective, it appears she is now becoming a little soft, succombing to logic and reason, rather than staying focused on fear, so I had to step in.  Oh, and my ass isn’t big.  You, my dear, are projecting.”

Me:  “Lovely.  I now officially have Multiple Personality Disorder with paranoid characteristics and a skinny ass, can’t wait to tell my friends.”

Wall-o-Fear:  “It’s called Dissociative Identity Disorder these days, and you don’t fit the clinical definition…yet.  Anyway, here’s the deal:  I’m practically a super-hero… I am made up of the fear of doing the Wrong Thing, which, by definition, includes the fear of being judged, the fear of missing out on another opportunity and, my favorite, the fear of ending up destitute and alone and living under a bridge.  On top of those fears, we have the fear of going ahead (against everyone’s advice) and failing spectacularly, thereby negating everything you feel you know about yourself and leaving you to wonder who the hell you really are if you’re not a Lawyer and not a Writer

Me:  “Shit.”

Wall-o-Fear:  “I know, right?  I’m not even done yet — don’t forget that if you actually start writing, you will be putting more of yourself out into the world than ever before and 9 out of 10 experts agree that that is a super bad idea.  Vulnerability is never ok, never.  I think I even have some of that “fear of success” mixed in as well!  Frankly, I am shocked and dismayed that little-old-you has even dared to confront me.”

Me:  “Me too…I had no idea all of that was in you…!  Listen, I feel sad that you have so much fear.  I know you just want to protect me, and I’m grateful, I really am.  It just seems like some of your fears are unrealistic and overblown.  On top of that, you haven’t even considered that the “me” you’re trying to protect is a “me” who really, really, wants to write.  Your fear doesn’t protect that “me” – if you get your way I am sentenced to a life of wondering what could have been and feeling like I’ve wasted the only talent I have.  Is it worse to have “everyone else” judge me for taking a risk or to spend my life judging myself for not taking a risk?  I don’t have to live with “everyone else”, I have to live with me.  Besides, we are just talking about doing homework… not trying to write a book.”

Wall-o-Fear:  “Interesting.  It appears you have forgotten that, as a general rule, “everybody else” knows more about what you should be doing than, well, you.  The consensus is that you don’t dare do your writing assignments or turn in anything for critique because, as we have discussed ad nauseum, that is a slippery slope that could lead to you deciding that you want a full-blown writing career and that could be a catastrophe.  It is too risky.”

Me:  “Fuck you and your “general rule” ….  I understand there are risks, but I am just doing a homework assignment for a voluntary writing class, I’m not saying ‘yo, from now on I’m a writer and I’m never going to do anything else but write, even if my writing sucks and noone wants to read it and I find myself looking for a nice bridge to call home….’  Thus your “slippery slope” argument is nothing more than a red herring.  I just want to try….”

Wall-o-Fear:  “Do you think I don’t know that you, essentially, quit your job and have no immediate plans for preventing homelessness?”

Me:  “Will you stop with the homeless thing already? You’re so dramatic.  I’m not going to be homeless — the worst-case scenario is that I run completely out of  money and live temporarily in someone else’s home, not under a bridge.  You know that I could not keep doing child welfare law and you know that I’m just done practicing law altogether.  This does not mean that I can’t have any job…  Would you feel better if I had a good-enough-job that didn’t suck the life out of me while I’m trying to figure out this writing thing?”

Wall-o-Fear:  “A little, but I still think the writing thing is frivolous.”

Me:  “Yes, I’m totally clear on how you feel about the writing thing.  Jesus.  Bottom line is that I need you to be less scared so that you can ease the fuck up and let me get myself a little less “stuck” around this writing issue.  So, I guess I’ll get a good-enough-job”.

Wall-o-Fear:  “Fine.”

Me:  “Does this mean I can do my assignment and manuscript for writing class tomorrow?”

Wall-o-Fear:  “Probably not.”

Me:  “Of course it doesn’t.”



*  if you are wondering who “Kimberly” is, you’re new here….welcome!  Kimberly is the least-nice person in my head, learn more about her here and here, oh, and here.  yes, i know there is probably a better way to identify things… give me a break.



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the sad truth: site stats vs. sex


Remember, back in the day (i.e., last Monday) when I foolishly decided to enact a one-year-moratorium on using my ill-fated* search for love and/or a date to avoid my “real” life”?  Oh, and remember how I said that I wasn’t going to look outside myself for love…?


I’m only kind-of-complying with my own moratorium re: men.  No, I didn’t put my profile back up on any online dating sites, but my monkey brain has oh so many ways to get around my own rules…..I sometimes feel I should wear a warning sign: 


 My inner-minx (a/k/a kimmy) is super unhappy about that imaginary sign that I just put up for the whole wide world, and/or the limited number of people who read this blog, to see.  Truth be told, she is pissed about the whole “moratorium” idea and especially the sex part.

Anyway – so, since I’m not supposed to be looking for love and defining my self-worth based upon other people, I’ve done the uber-mature thing and started defining my self-worth based on the number of “views” my blog posts get.  Makes total sense, right?  Yeah, so, my Valentine’s Day post got, like, (exactly) 117 views on the day it was posted….”I’m the fucking QUEEN of the world-wide interweb!”… so now, of course, anything under 117 views = FAILURE…  “I SUCK” and “I will never realize my dreams of being a writer because I suck a LOT.”  (those of you who are avid readers of this blog will surely recognize the voice of KIMBERLY making those last two mean and hateful statements).  Needless to say, I check my site stats frequently.  Or obsessively.  Then I do research to see how to get more “traffic” to my blog.  Then I harass people close to me (oh, hey Mom and Awesome Son) to see if they have read my latest post yet.  Then I send out e-mails to groups of people who might not have heard the NEWS that Kim is blogging!!  Oh, and WordPress sends a notice to all my facebook peeps everytime I post.  Then I start a twitter account.  I don’t even understand twitter… 

I started blogging for me.  I wanted to trick myself into, well, actually writing.  And I use it (as you can see) like a journal, so it’s like public therapy.  Free public therapy!  So why do I need other people to read shit I write and get all “Oh, Kim, you’ve GOT to keep writing, you are fabulous.”  Oh, but it’s worse than that.  I don’t even need the feedback, I just need to see my site stats go up — which, I guess, means that I don’t care if people like/enjoy what I write, I don’t even care if they actually read it.  How fucked up is that?

I think it is at least as fucked up as the “using the search for love to avoid real life” schtick.

Even worse, when I think about imposing a moratorium on checking my site stats every 5 minutes, it doesn’t feel good….. noooooo, it feels very, very bad — almost like panicky-bad.  Tightness in my chest bad. “That is a horrible idea, I can’t even believe you suggested it.” bad.  I don’t like it, not one bit.  And, let’s figure out how to get around it.

The sad truth is that it feels worse than the whole no-more-men/sex-for-a-year moratorium.  Yep.  Given a choice, it seems that I would choose giving up men/relationship/sex over giving up checking my site stats.  That is surprising and unsettling.  I realize this is grossly over-simplified, especially around the search for men/relationship/sex stuff because it is never just that.  And I know that there are many levels of healthy behavior in checking site stats between “obsession” and “ignore”, plus the whole “you could just reframe it, so that it isn’t about your self-worth and then check away!”

Where am I with all this?  Right now I’m kind-of complying with my afore-mentioned moratorium, while believing it is the right thing to do AND I think I’m going to have to mull over the site stats issue some more.  I know site stats don’t measure self-worth, but why is it so hard for me to even think about ignoring them?



*  “ill-fated” is not really a fair characterization of my experience — i’ve been madly in love with, and have been loved by, wonderful men…. just not lately.

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the resurrection of Kimberly…

Did you read my last blog post, “killing Kimberly (2.0)“?  You might want to do that before diving into this mess with me.  Suffice it to say that Kimberly is the voice of all things judgmental and sucky and negative and fucked-up in my head.  The part of me that wants to base all major decisions (and most minor ones) on FEAR.  The part of me that disapproves of everything that is authentically true about me.  In short, she is a bitch.  I got all spiritual the other day, realized that she sucks and does nothing good and, well, killed her/banned her/resolved to ignore her… It was amazing!  There was much rejoicing in the land.  For about fifteen (15) minutes.  Then she came back from the dead with a vengeance

 How does one express, in writing, a visceral, primal, open mouth, eyes closed, fists clenched, groaning-type scream of frustration?  “aaaaaaaaaarrrrrrrrrrrrrrrgggggggggggggggggghhhhhhhhhhhhhh”…?  No, that sounds like a fucking pirate-utterance.  Anyway, [insert scream described above]. That is how I felt about Kimberly’s resurrection.

Enter Marie.

Marie is my amazing, brilliant, where-have-you-been-all-my-life, new-ish friend AND Jin Shin energy worker person.  (and no, I’m not a total “woo-woo” chick now…)  I’m not going to pretend that I even know what Jin Shin” is — it seems a lot like the cranial-sacral stuff my best-friend-in-the-whole-wide-world/seester Sarah used to do, but not exactly.  Anyway, here’s the deal — sometimes we humans get S-T-U-C-K, in a ridiculously huge way and a million tiny ways.  Being STUCK sucks — it’s no good for the stuck-ee and it’s no good for anyone around the stuck-ee.  Moreover, it’s no good for the Universe because when a person is stuck, their sparkly, brilliant stuff is stuck and not contributing to all the crazy, wonderful things going on out there. (ok, I will admit that sounds fairly “woo-woo” BUT think about it — isn’t our life better because some amazing, creative people — Edison, The Wright Bros., Madonna — didn’t stay stuck?) [cuz you know they got stuck at some point…]  So the goal of Jin Shin, as I understand it, is to figure out where a person is stuck, energetically, and to assist in getting that energy “flowing” again.  All I really know is that Jin Shin works.  I’m not sure if it “works” in the abstract, or if it “works” for me (and my Mom)(and other people I know ) because it is Marie who is doing it and, as I mentioned, she is brilliant

So, I told Marie about writing the “killing Kimberly” post and how good I felt about figuring out that Kimberly totally sucks and being able to silence her and she was, like, “Great Work!”  Then I told her about how frustrated and ashamed and STUCK I was feeling because Kimberly had come back so quickly after I announced to the whole world (a/k/a  the people who read this blog) that she had been defeated and she was, like, “Great Work!”…..  Huh?  Noting my confusion, Marie said something wise like “Silly girl, you didn’t really think you were done yet, did you?” and laughed…. a lot.  We both laughed.  I explained that I know I’m not done (whatever that means….) but I thought I was further along than I, apparently, am — at least with respect to Kimberly AND I explained that, thanks to Kimberly’s resurrection, I was now convinced that I had not only lost all credibility with my peeps because I said she was gone and she clearly wasn’t but that I had lost all ability to write anything interesting and/or coherent and I was afraid that I wouldn’t ever be able to write anything that anyone would want to read again…  Marie said, in a nutshell, “it’s great that you noticed Kimberly is back — now go write about that….because your gift is writing about the journey.”

And just like that, everything inside me shifted around and opened up and became unstuck and Kimberly became uncharacteristically quiet.

I know I’m not “unstuck” for good, but I got unstuck enough to realize that Kimberly is never going to disappear, nor should I want her to.  All her responsibility and perfectionism does come in handy at times.  I need to embrace Kimberly, make peace with her and help her learn how to bring all her gifts to the table without being so mean and afraid of everything. 

It’s not going to happen overnight — Kimberly is pretty entrenched in her all-negative, all-the-time, bitchy-ness.  But it will happen.

So, there.  I’m writing about my journey.  Thanks Marie!


p.s.  i am fully aware of the fact that Kimberly is not, ummm, a separate person inside my head.  just in case you were beginning to wonder…


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killing Kimberly (2.0)


This is going to sound crazy, but it seriously just occurred to me  that the beauty of being the Writer of a Story is that you get to control the action.  It’s true.  I blame the legal profession.  Let me ‘splain….contrary to popular belief, in my world at least, lawyers don’t get to just make up the facts in order to convince the reader/audience to come to the conclusion we are advocating.  Believe me, it would be a much cooler job if you could do that…  No, we’re stuck with what actually happened.  The trick is to twist present the facts in a way that suggests your version of the story is correct.  Turns out I’m pretty good at that.  So good that I totally forgot that I have an IMAGINATION!   

 I used to think stuff like: “Wow.  Maybe I could write a book using some of the stuff that really happened during my ridiculously long legal career….”**  And then I would think:  “Hmmmm, it’s only kind of interesting though, I mean nothing super-dramatic really happened…”  And now I’m like “Oh My God! [no, I’m not Usher] it doesn’t matter what really happened…screw the FACTS! I get to make shit up!!”  [lawyer brain alarm: “What?  You will get sued!, Me:  Relax already.]  I’m the Writer, I’m like all-powerful .  It doesn’t matter if, in real life, that Evil Senior Partner took all the credit for that brilliant brief I wrote — in my story he goes out for a long lunch, gets drunk and, sadly, has a horrific pedestrian vs. light rail accident, then the brief is filed with my name (rightfully!) on it and it’s so persuasive that the Supreme Court frames it and hangs it on the wall as an example for what they would like to see from other attorneys….  Voila!  Imagination is awesome!  If I don’t like someone in my story, I can take them out…

Can you see where this is going?  Bear with me…  epiphany ahead… It occurs to me,”Dude, I can totally do that in real life, too.”

I’m not saying that I can, literally, take someone out in the “oops! you’re dead” way, of course.  But I am in charge of my story, right?  I get to choose who to let in, who to listen to, who to engage with, who to play with, right?  Some things are unavoidable, but, for the most part, I’m the Queen of my country.  (now I’m totally on an epiphany roll…) Further, even though some things are unavoidable, I am, in fact, in charge of how I let it affect my story! Sooooo, if it’s true (and it is…) that I am in charge of my story, why the fuck have I been choosing negative, unempowering, unprotective responses to things that happen?  That is crazy. These epiphanies are awesome.  I’m in charge!  I can even wear a BADGE (I’ve always had a thing about badges…) if I want.  I’m the frickin’ law around here… If someone or something is making me miserable, I can change the story.  I can lose the misery or lose the person/thing and choose to be happy (or at least not-miserable).  This is huge.  Life-changing.


Not surprisingly, all these epiphanies have led to some personnel changes in my, ummmm, head. Good thing I’m still practicing writing dialogue for my writing class!  Let’s listen in:

Kimberly: (knocking impatiently on door to the writing studio while going ahead and opening it…)

Kim:  “The door was shut for a reason.  Do you seriously need to be here right now?”

Kimberly:  (looking around for a place to sit….) “How can you even work like this?  This place is a mess.  How can you expect to get anything done in here?”  (decides to remain standing)

Kim:  (sighs)  “We are FORTY-SIX (46) years old and this is how I work.  It’s how I’ve always worked.  We go through this all the time — we try it your way and before any really good work gets done everything is messy and back to my way.  I’m not doing it your way this time, Kimberly, I’m sick of your shit.”

Kimberly:  “Well, Mom agrees with me.”

Kim:  “I don’t care if the fucking Pope agrees with you!  Why are you even here?  All you ever do is complain and say horrible things that aren’t even true.  Look, I made a list (searching through papers piled precariously high on her “desk” [bed])… here it is — “Shit Kimberly Says That Isn’t Helpful At All and Mostly Sucks”

Kimberly:  (rolling eyes and examining fingernails)  “Nice filing system.”

Kim:  (pointing)  “Fuck you.  (turns attention to the list)  Listen to how you contribute to the environment around here… here we go —  Here’s an oldie but goodie:  ‘You’re fat and ugly, why would anyone love you?’…. How is that helpful, Kimberly?  Oh, here’s a good combo punch: ‘You need to get a new job right away or we will be living under a bridge soon’ BUT WAIT ‘Who would hire you? You’re old, your “niche” is child welfare which is totally unmarketable and you have no clients because you just had to help the children…’ ….Great, Kimberly…. There’s a real confidence builder.

kimmy:  (wrapping her red silk dressing gown around her while the 35+ year old servant boy brushes her long, luscious, curly hair with a silver brush)  “Don’t forget she always calls me a slut.”

Kimberly:  (barely glancing at kimmy)  “You are a slut.”

Kim:  (admiring the 35+ year old servant boy’s technique)  “You can’t really argue with that.”

kimmy:  (alarmed) “But she says it like it’s a BAD thing!”

Kim:  (amused) “Well, she’s frigid.” (peering more closely at kimmy) “Can you even walk in those heels?”

kimmy:  (delighted) “Aren’t they fabulous?  They aren’t really for walking…” (winks)

Kimberly:  “Jesus…”

Kim:  (smiling) “Good point!”

Kimberly:  (annoyed) “You’re both ridiculous.  I know I’m negative, but that is the only way to get anything done around here.  You two are certainly too lazy to accomplish anything.  Without me you wouldn’t have even made it through law school, much less your career.”

kimmy:  (looking at Kim) “She is a fucking bully.  Why do we even listen to her?  She isn’t our friend.  Plus she dresses like a frump.”

Kim:  (smiling at kimmy)  “You’re totally right.  From now on we ignore her.  She is dead to us. (pulls out her BADGE and holds it so Kimberly can’t miss it…) You are out of here.  Poof.  You’re gone, Kimberly.”

Kimberly:  (hands on hips)  “You can’t kill me!  I’m in charge!” (gets in Kim’s face, hasn’t noticed she is melting yet) “You are a horrible, horrible person…but more than that, you’re a horrible mother.” (fades away as she turns into a puddle of whatever)

Kim:  (looking at kimmy) “Do you hear something?”

kimmy:  (closes her eyes and smiles)  “Nope. Not a thing.”

Kim:  (relaxing on the purple velvet chaise lounge) “Good.  Let me try on those shoes…”


So, yes, we killed Kimberly.*** She was negative all the time and totally interfered with my story.  Do you have anyone you need to silence?  I highly recommend it.




** 19 years isn’t a ridiculously long legal career, per se, but when you hate almost every minute of it and you are SURE you’re doing the “wrong” thing with your life, it is wayyyyyyyyyy too long.
*** I’m sure she isn’t gone, like, forever.  But just knowing that she can be controlled is, like I said, HUGE.

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someone has to do it…(NSFW, probably)

Ever since I started this whole “blogging” thing (last Friday) I’ve spent (brace yourself) even more time than usual roaming around the Internet.   I know.  Except now it’s ALL “research”!  I’m super good at research.  The best thing about research is that you absolutely have to do it before you can even think about writing…. and I know that you know that my research can take forever, if I need it to.  But I digress….

Look, I really have been doing gobs of research on writing and blogging — building a blog, getting people to read your blog, figuring out how the fuck WordPress works, seeing what other blogs look like and, of course, trying to determine what the RULES are.  You know how I am about RULES.  🙂   While I was doing all that, I found some stuff that I simply must share.  You might thank me later.

(Admission:  I still haven’t figured out how to put the fancy links in my blog so bear with me today, por favor)(Note:  If you know how to do it and want to feel superior, write me!)

Check out!  This woman is hilarious…almost as funny as my sister, but not quite.  She writes a column called good mom/bad mom, “it’s like a mommy blog, but more violent”….

For the next event requiring someone (namely my son, who still hasn’t given me a birthday present this year….or last year) to give me a present, I want this t-shirt:

Which you can buy at and while you are there you MUST read, or at least look at, the advice column, DEAR SUGAR.  (note:  i hope posting the pic of this t-shirt doesn’t violate any, like, laws or anything…it totally belongs to those people)

AND NOW I’m gonna show off and insert an awful video…. Why?  You’ll see.

Oh, Gary, Gary, Gary….  I know this is going to come as a huge surprise to you, BUT women don’t usually fantasize about men playing (or, as in your case, attempting to play) air guitar.  If we’re into the rock star thing, we fantasize about men with, ummm, real guitars.  Real guitars that they play like they are making love to/with it.  I have no idea what you are trying to do with your air guitar here, but it is not sexy.   Roz is clearly faking any interest at all in you, and not just because she is a bad actress.  Actually, I thought she was a terrible actress until you started humping her leg at the end and she somehow refrained from kneeing you in the balls when she had the chance — that takes some serious skill. Go Roz!   Heavy sigh.  I really don’t know what else to say….

Have a super-duper weekend!


p.s.  I never say “super-duper” in real life.  Unless I’m being sarcastic, like now.

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inner dialogue

I’m taking a writing class.  This might lead some people to believe that this means I’m now “writing!”……ummmm, no.  My people, the people who know me and live in awe of my superhuman ability to procrastinate and evade all that isn’t, for lack of a better word, “easy”, know better.  I’m soooooooooo not writing.  It’s not even passive not-writing at this point.  Now I’m intentionally not-writing.  Why?  Well for one thing, and this will be covered in its very own blog post, I suffer from “demand resistance”.  Or, as I like to call it, my inner “fuck you”.  Illustration:  Oh, YOU think I SHOULD do [insert the thing I’m supposed to be doing] and you’re a little bit JUDGY (is that a word?) about it……well, even though I am fully aware that I should be doing [the thing I’m supposed to be doing] and, not only that, I know I would be happier/healthier/etc. if I would just DO THE THING already, I’m NOT going to do it.  In other words, fuck you. [insert fake smile].  The other thing keeping me from writing is good old f-e-a-r, but I don’t even have to get to that issue as long as my inner “fuck you” is alive and well.

Anyway.  The assignment that I’m not-writing this week is to write some dialogue.  I’m fairly positive that the instructor intended for us to write about two or more actual people having a conversation, but, I thought it would be more interesting to write about the conversation between the chicks in my head – Kim, kimmy, and Kimberly Ann – right after they found out about this assignment.  Enjoy:

Kim:  Shit.  Did she seriously just tell us to write dialogue? 

kimmy: (languishing on the purple velvet chaise smiling up at the scantily clad servant boy feeding her grapes)  How fun! let’s write something naughty…..”kim” he murmured, as he trailed his finger down her….”

Kimberly Ann:  (turning her mind’s eye towards kimmy and, slowly, rolling it) Oh, here we go …… we are absolutely NOT writing anything naughty — are we romance writers now?  Why do you always have to go there?  (turning towards Kim now) I’m very uncomfortable with her (pointing directly at kimmy) boundaries. 

kimmy:  (still smiling up at servant boy) You’re SUCH a bitch.

Kimberly Ann: (continuing to look at Kim with an earnest expression and using a very reasonable voice)  We can’t write dialogue.  We don’t even know what it is!  We need to find some books that will tell us how to write dialogue before we can even begin to think about complying with this crazy instructor’s wishes.  Furthermore, we will NOT hand in anything that is less than perfect.  Which means, as you know, we should probably just not-write it.  Learn about it, YES!  Write about it? Noooooo. (shaking head)

Kim:  (hits forehead with right hand and then assumes the “hands on the hips” stance)  WTF?  Am I tri-polar now?  Just skipped right over the bi-polar thing…”too easy”….and went straight into something resembling multiple personality disorder??  This is fucking ridiculous….. WHO ARE YOU PEOPLE?? (turning to admire the servant boy) and where the fuck did HE come from?  Is he even old enough to be here?  We have a teen-age son people…..!

Kimberly Ann: (looking around to see if anyone noticed the f-bomb and adjusting her pantyhose….)  DON’T CUSS!  It’s not professional and, further, it is beneath us.  If you keep cussing AND writing about cussing or cuss-writing or whatever, people are not going to talk to you or read your blog!  As for him (gesturing dismissively at servant boy) you ladies are on your own, I hereby disclaim any responsibility for his presence here.  That being said, I strongly advise checking his i.d.

kimmy(reluctantly sitting up and eyeing Kim)  I don’t give a shit if you cuss, but honey do NOT act like you don’t know who we are…..that is just rude….

 do you want a grape?  (sly smile)

Kim:  (head in hands)  Totally. 

Kimberly Ann:  (turning to walk away) Don’t EVEN think I don’t know that we just wrote some pseudo-dialogue.  I’m a lot of things, but I am not stupid.




p.s.  turns out the servant boy was at least 35.


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No More Using LOVE to Avoid Other Shit.

Well, my first blog post didn’t go viral, but I guess I’ll keep writing……

It’s Valentine’s Day, which makes me think about LOVE, which makes me notice that I’m not in it, at the moment.  Not for lack of trying, mind you.  I try a lot.  In fact, it has recently been pointed out to me that it seems like when I have a LOT of  Seriously Important Shit (“SIS”) to do — like, ummmm, making major life decisions, finding a job, taking care of myself, writing a brief, paying bills, cleaning my house — I tend to ignore that stuff and focus my energy on finding LOVE, or at least a date.

Note that I have done a staggering amount of “work” on my “self” — counselling, journalling, groups, retreats, psychic consultations, etc.,  so you would think that this pattern would have been revealed through that work, and, to be honest, it probably (for sure) was.  But I “forgot” about it until my mother pointed it out to me.  Again.

Wait! One thing you need to know (cuz I’m sure it will come up again) is that my mom, who is a fabulous, creative, sparkly genius type person with great hair, absolutely hates men.  She denies it, but even she cannot keep a straight face through her denial.  It’s not that she hates men so much (but she does hate them – except my brother, and my son, and, for now, my brother-in-law) but she really hates relationships between men and women.  I’m always amazed that her friends come to her for relationship advice — her response/advice is pretty predictable: “GET OUT”.  Ladies, she said that about your last boyfriend, and she will say it about the next one…trust me….  But I digress……  My point is that, due to her predispositionit is pretty easy for me to brush off anything she says to me about men/relationships.

This time, however, she is right.

I’ve been un-married for, like, ten years (which means, if you’ve been paying attention, that I was married and divorced 2.5 times between the ages of 25 and, like, 37-ish….yeah, interesting, huh?) and I’ve been totally single for at least half that time.  Given my history, you can understand that I felt like it might be a good idea to be single for a while, figure stuff out, get to know myself, blah blah blah.  Anyway, all that stuff can get boring.  And co-parenting, practicing law and, well, every day life, can get uber-stressful.  So, historically, when life got boring and/or uber-stressful I found myself thinking, “hmmmmmmm, what can I do to shake things up around here, add a little stress/excitement (note how I have grouped those words together like they are synonomous…not good) to take my mind off the SIS I’m supposed to be doing?”  The answer was: ONLINE DATING.

Oh yes, I’m the Queen of Online Dating.  I’ve been on Yahoo Personals,, eharmony, smartsingles, chemistry, plenty of fish, perfectmatch and I have an honorary lifetime membership at  Not really, but if they offered one, I think I might qualify.   Anyway, don’t get me started about online dating — I could go on and on and on.  My point is that I have used online dating not so much to find love, but as an evasion tactic.  “Hmmmmm, my Supreme Court brief is due tomorrow and I still haven’t figured out why that last relationship failed….yesterday, I think I’ll see if anyone viewed my profile today!” or, more recently, “Ok, so, I can’t keep practicing law, I need to figure out how to support myself (and my son, who starts college next year!), I’m living with my mom, who is battling ovarian cancer,  I’m 46, which is practically 50 and I’m kind of a mess about that, I’m having epiphany after epiphany (seriously!) about me, my life, my brilliant writing career, etc. and I’m freakin’ exhausted by it all — seems like a good time to put up a profile on!”

I would like to think I’m not the only one who does absurd crap like this.

The good news is that I write awesome profiles.  Seriously.  Everyone says so.  And it is exciting to be noticed.  The bad news is that it takes a lot of time and energy obsessively searching for men with interesting profiles, exchanging witty e-mails, engaging in snappy banter over the phone and then going out only to discover he is: [insert one or more] 1.  married, 2.  a rabid right-winger, 3.  5″ shorter than he said he was, or, 4.  completely not interested in me.   I guess I got kind of addicted to the thrill of the “chase”  or maybe I liked the rollercoaster of emotions….”He’s not interested?  What is wrong with me? I’ll never love again.  Mom is right, men suck!” to “OMG!  I got 4 messages today, and most of them are NOT from 70-year-old men who live in Wyoming!!!  I totally rock!  Life is good.”   What’s not to like, right?!   Whatever it was, I definitely sought it out whenever I felt the need to escape my real life, i.e., ME.

The “funny” thing is that I spent so much time over the past decade dating and/or trying to date,  instead of  getting my shit together, that I’m now no fun to actually date.  Well, I’m super-fun in the beginning, when things are clicking and we can’t wait to jump in bed together and everything is sparkly and yummy…but it doesn’t take long for me to become less fun.  Heavy sigh.  Apparently, I went through the motions, did the counselling and all the other stuff, but never actually did the work.  I invested my time and energy into the search for love (and a few short-term relationships) instead of investing in becoming someone who is really ready for love.  Looking for someone with an interesting life instead of building my own.  Scouring the earth (read: the Metro Denver and Front Range Area) to find someone who will fall in love with me, instead of  falling in love with myself.

That sucks.  But one of my recent epiphanies is that, seriously, it’s all good.  In the super huge macro picture, it really is all good.  I didn’t “waste” that decade.  I lived it.  I have some great stories to tell.   Now I’m ready to live differently.  My past doesn’t control my future!  Furthermore, as my mom keeps telling me, “it is never too late to be who you might have been.”  (She’s quoting George Eliot – whoever that is.)  Anyway, I finally understand what that means for me.  So, in order to support myself and my fabulous future, beginning today, February 14, 2011, I’m enacting a one-year (or maybe six months?)(oh, alright, one-year….) moratorium on searching for love from anyone but me.  Wish me luck.

Happy Valentine’s Day!


p.s.  i haven’t worked out all the rules for this moratorium yet — it could mean i’m not having, ummmm, “relations”, for a year.  i don’t know if i’m ready to commit to that…. and what if mr. right shows up in real life?  but could he even be mr. right if i’m not “ready”?  food for thought….


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