During IVF this time around, I’ve been listening to a guided meditation and relaxation program called Circle + Bloom.  The company makes several different programs like it for people trying to conceive or undergoing fertility treatments.   I hope it ultimately makes a difference, but it’s something I’ll never be able to truly measure.  What I can measure, though, is my relaxation and enjoyment of the sessions…and that has been much higher this time around.

The sessions last between 15 and 20 minutes.  I listen to them before I go to bed.  On the nights when I listen to them, I feel more relaxed and whole. (If that makes any sense…)  Sometimes I get distracted and the session isn’t quite as useful.  Other times I feel like I’ve just had a great spa treatment.

One of the common themes I have noticed in these sessions is the focus on forgiving your body.  It seemed rather silly at first.  ”Hello, body…I forgive you.”  In one of the more recent sessions, I was instructed to basically hug it out with my body.  I did it, feeling somewhat foolish, but somewhat comforted.  Until then I had no idea how much resentment I was harboring against this vessel that carries my mind.

Resentment for not being able to get pregnant the old fashioned way.

Resentment for not being able to sustain a pregnancy.

Resentment for having to run to the bathroom too often.

Resentment for chronic illnesses that give me aches, pains and worse.

Chronic Illness Cat speaks the truth.

Resentment for perpetually having the wrong levels of brain chemicals that causes my depression and anxiety.

Resentment for being clumsy as hell and having feet and knees that are constantly getting injured.

Resentment for not being able to easily have blood drawn without being poked in several different places. (Except for the Red Cross nurses….they are master’s of this domain.)

My hand yesterday...one of three places I was punctured to draw blood.

Soon it became very clear:  I’ve been harboring a lot of fucking resentment.  I can’t blame myself.  My body does often feel like it marches to the beat of a different drummer…on a different planet…in a different solar system…in another galaxy that is far, far away.

This did make me realize, though, how much resentment I’ve been holding against my body for making these past two years so difficult when trying to get and stay pregnant.  Part of it is due to the fact that I have little control over much of what it does and I have even less knowledge of why I miscarried the twins.  This resentment mixed with regret and an unwilling ignorance of the truth really has taken a toll on my mind and, likely, my body itself.

I am bad at forgiving certain things.  I know this about myself.  But the one thing I didn’t realize is how much resentment I was harboring for my own body and how much forgiveness would help me move forward.  Yes, it’s silly to give yourself a hug, but dammit it’s also silly to spend two years getting progressively more pissed at a body that is doing its best.  It would be just as futile to get pissed at the wind or the rain, except then the focus of my anger would be less damaged than it is now.

So I hugged it out and I continue to do so.  I’ve still been poked and prodded more in the past week than I can ever recall because my ovaries like to hide and my veins move once I’m poked with the needle.  I haven’t completely found forgiveness, but at least I recognize how ridiculous my resentment truly is…and how damaging it is to my entire being.

Forgiveness is hard.  Self forgiveness is harder.  But moving past resentment and being happy for those amazing traits I do carry with me?  That will likely take the rest of my life to accomplish.

But I’ll keep trying until I get there.

• Britney Spears and Demi Lovato have signed on to be judges on the U.S. version of The X-Factor.  Don’t get me wrong, I like both of them, but I don’t think it’s a good fit.  It’s nothing that’s going to get me to watch the show (it’s too much of a time commitment) and I don’t think it will help Britney’s career any.  It might help Demi’s, though.  So I guess good on her.

• I had a vet appointment with the cats yesterday afternoon.  Spencer, who is usually a great escape artist, was pretty easy to trap and contain.  Lucy, on the other hand, decided to make it her mission to not be found.  And she succeeded.  I ended up leaving her at home and being 15 minutes late to the appointment with only Spencer in tow.  She’ll have to go another time.  Spencer was really the one that I had concerns about anyhow (losing weight, seems to have arthritis or something preventing him from doing things physically).  He had some blood drawn that’ll be back today.  So we’ll see.

Not Lucy....Lucy was much more difficult to find. Like impossible.

• Oddly, Lucy avoided me at all costs last night while Spencer was all in my grill.  You’d think he’d be pissed at me, but he was all in need of attention.

Spencer after getting some attention, still staying in my line of sight.

• IVF is in full swing.  It’s down to the wire, so I’m getting blood draws and ultrasounds every morning now.  This morning it took three tries to find my veins.  Usually it doesn’t bother me too much (other than the waiting), but two of the spots they tried actually hurt pretty bad today.  I guess all of the bruises accumulating on my blood draw sites are finally starting to kick in.

An out-of-focus picture of my war bandages.

• Brooklyn the Dog had a big weekend/beginning of the week.  First, The Beast next door decided to be her friend now, so she’s even more in love than before.  Her BFF Amy the Dog (my parents’ dog) came over on Sunday (and tried to steal her man, but Brooklyn wasn’t having any of that).  And then last night she got to go meet Max, one of the dogs that I helped rehome after Ms. MM’s mother died in 2010.  Max and Brooklyn have the perfect temperaments to be together–a little bit of play every once in awhile mixed in with a lot of bone chewing and relaxing.  I hope she’s not expecting too much out of today, because she’s going to be sorely disappointed.

If you look closely, you'll see a black dog waiting for her crush to appear on the other side of the fence. (Note: She never laid here before in her life.)

• It turns out that Orlando, Florida–home of Disney World–is the city with the most porn sales and rentals of all major cities.  It’s not surprising.  After all of that ewwy gewy kids crap for days on end, some people just need to kick back and watch a threeway to balance out the sugary-sweet level of their psyche.

It's not gay if it's a three way. (Yes, it kind of is, but who the hell cares?)

What’s on your mind today?

It’s a Monday, my ovaries are the size of baseballs and my allergies are out of control.  Let’s take it easy this morning and listen to some tunes.

This song is so stupid.  That’s probably why I love it.  I can listen to it over and over on repeat, and I’m sure you know it by now, but I feel the need to include it since it’s pretty much always in my head.  I’d be lying if I didn’t list it here.  It’s “Call Me Maybe” by Carly Rae Jepsen.  I’d like to get the business card that Mr. RMB shared with me the other day that uses lyrics from this song.

I hate to say it, but I’m also obsessed with the new(ish) John Mayer song.  As much as I want to hate him for all the idiotic things he’s said, I end up liking his music every single time.   The video is kind of boring, but whatever.  It’s a good song.  Just minimize the screen and hit play.  I think this is the first time I haven’t been that attracted to him.  That long Johnny Depp hair doesn’t work for him.  (I think I’d totally still do him, though…racist penis and all.)

I haven’t been a huge country music fan for a long time, but every once in awhile a really good song hits me and I can’t help but love it.  Jason Aldean’s “Fly Over States” is one of those songs.  I’m not a big Aldean fan, save his song with Kelly Clarkson, but this song has that certain twinge to it that makes it extra beautiful to me…that twist of escapism and country stability that drives my inner cowgirl wild.  It probably has a lot to do with the steel guitar.

Jason Mraz is one of those artists that puts out a song every few years that hits me right in the heart.  His new song, “I Won’t Give Up,” is his 2012 attempt at stopping me dead in my tracks.  And so far, it has worked.  It’s a beautiful song and especially poignant for those of us who have been with someone for a long time, through a lot of ups and downs and who keep putting in the work despite the easy way being a viable option.   I’ve used the lyric video here as I find the lyrics to be the best part of this song.

 

 What songs are in your head lately?

Open Letters Friday is a segment here at PCL for your reading and writing enjoyment. I’ll share with you some of my open letters for the week and you’ll get the opportunity in comments to share yours. Now, tell me, who do you need to write to this week?

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Dear President Obama:

When you first appeared on the national scene at the Democratic National Convention in 2004, I couldn’t stop telling people that you’d be president one day.  I wasn’t thinking that day would occur so soon, but I’m glad it did.  I supported you the whole way.  Hell, I even went to your innauguration and stood in the freezing cold to be part of the history you were making.  It wasn’t just that you were the first Black president, it’s that you were the first president in a long time that made people have hope.  In times like these, that’s a big deal.

Mr. CVD and I, half frozen, on January 20, 2009.

But politics got you down like it usually does.  Governing is much different than running a country.  I found myself getting upset with your capitualtion on various items.  I think health care reform should have gone farther.  (If they’re going to label it as socialism, at least it should look like socialism.)  I think the banks should have been punished more than they were for their part in the Great Recession and that banking monopolies should have been broken up.  I thought you should have put an end to the Bush Era tax cuts, not barter with them for unemployment.

Alas, you can’t always get what you want.

And then this week, perhaps, we got some of what we need.  In an interview with ABC News, you finally came out in favor of gay marriage.  You said your daughters changed your mind.  You said your stance on the issue has evolved.  You said that you finally see it as an equal rights issue.  And in that moment, and all of the moments that have followed, your words have inspired the hope of a generation again.

Now, I know it’s an election year.  And I know you should have come out on this issue a long time ago.  But you’re a politician–and those shoes don’t change direction easily.  Some are labeling this a campaign stunt.  Some are saying it’s meaningless.  Some are saying you’re declaring war on marriage.  Some are saying that so much more is needed.

I say it’s a step in the right direction–a step that I’m damn proud you took.

Yes, it is too little to truly change the lives of Americans, but at the same time it has sparked a fire of conversation and I’m finding out that more than enough people in my life are fine with gay marriage.  Sure, there’s still people against it (like the lovely state of North Carolina–at least the uneducated parts), but this is the first time a sitting president has come out in favor of LGBT rights.  You put your money where your mouth is with Don’t Ask Don’t Tell.  That was something you could do with your presidential power.  Unfortunately marriage equality isn’t one of those things.  That’s what makes your words simultaneously convenient and powerful beyond measure.

People can think what they want.  They can rejoice.  They can hate you.  They can take your words with a grain of political salt.  I’ll tell you what I’ll do: I’ll be proud of my vote for you and my confidence in your ability to change the conversation of a nation.

Oh, Fox News, always making life more interesting.

Politics is a nutty job.  That’s why I study it instead of participate in it.  There’s too much hedging your bet…too much compromise.  But to me, the brilliance of your words this week is the irreverance they had for the political norm.  Yes, it’s convenient because it plays to your base, but it’s also extremely risky because it will drive bigots to the polls to vote against you come November.  So, to me, it speaks volumes that you’d come out so clearly in favor of a civil right that some don’t see as a right at all.

We have so many other things to do, President Obama.  The War Against Women rages on.  There are thousands of veterans returning home that will need more than a parade and a thank you card.  There are millions of students that are unable to pay for college.  But this week, even if just for a moment, you stepped out for a group that has been trampled on for eons in a move that could cost you more than you’d think.

And that, my friend, is what I call chutzpah.  I’m glad to see you haven’t lost it.

Let's get keep this train rolling down the tracks of good decisions.

With much admiration,

A Proud Obama Supporter

——————-

Now it’s your turn!  Get things off your chest. And you can check out other Open Letters Fridays here.

And if you are interested in having your Open Letter featured on the next Open Letters Friday here at PCL, e-mail me atkim@perfectlycursedlife.com.

When I was ten years old (almost eleven), I got my first Seventeen magazine.  It was a purchased copy of the back to school edition.  I treasured that thing for years.  At ten years old, everything seemed simultaneously glamorous, exciting and incredibly scary.  I felt like I was somehow preparing myself for my teenage years with this magazine.  I also felt excited to start growing up.  Soon thereafter, my mom paid for a subscription to the magazine–a subscription I had for many years following.

Story of every young girl’s life, right?

This wasn't my first issue, but I distinctly remember reading this one.

Well, at the time I was also fat.  At least fatter than my classmates.  Flipping through the pages of Seventeen, I was hard pressed to find any clothing that would fit me or people that looked like me.  I was lucky to find someone with glasses in every third issue.  At first, I didn’t notice this as much.  But as my waistline continued to expand, I felt suddenly betrayed by the magazine that I felt was my gateway to my teens.  No one even remotely looked like me.

In addition to being ridiculed by peers, pressured by family and dismissed by the opposite sex, I was now being shunned by the very magazine I used to help me feel normal.  I tried to look at the accessories and beauty tips.  I focused on the essays and short stories.  I read the interviews.  I skipped the fashion sections.  What was I supposed to look at?  A bunch of outfits that would never fit me?  Try again.

Once I moved away from my teenage years, I began to realize my love-hate relationship with that magazine.  I still found a great deal of information in it.  In fact, Seventeen‘s dedication to mental health issues helped me recognize and name my own depression and quite possibly saved my life.  But at the same time, I’d flip the page and be insulted by the very core of who I was and who I was becoming…I was and always will be a curvy lady and their representations of girls were always skinny.

Betrayal puts it lightly.

Recently, a brave young woman named Julia Bluhm decided to start a crusade to get Seventeen to feature more realistic girls and young women.

This is Julia.

There’s been an ongoing campaign online with a petition on Change.org that has over 60,000 signatures.  Most recently, Julia took her petition and her talking points to the editor of Seventeen magazine and requested one–just one–unaltered pictorial a month.  All she wanted was one set of pictures that hadn’t been ravished and transformed by Photoshop.

Is this really so much to ask?

Apparently it is, according to Seventeen magazine.  They felt insulted by the charge:

The people at Seventeen were, it should be said, feeling slightly aggrieved that they had been singled out for picture-doctoring practices that are common in virtually all glossy fashion magazines, and, for that matter, on the Facebook accounts of millions of people who retouch photographs before posting them. At some magazines, the practices are far more extreme than at Seventeen, which, Ms. Shoket says, does not alter the body shapes of the girls in its pages, contrary to a charge in the petition.

An article in the May issue includes pictures of girls with melanoma scars; a regular feature, “Body Peace,” has a picture of a girl who has drawn a peace symbol on a body part that she had been troubled by.

“I think we do a phenomenal job of celebrating the authenticity of real girls, of celebrating them for all of their real authentic beauty, of skin tones, of ethnicity, of body shape and size,” Ms. Shoket said. “These are young girls. They look great.”

Poor Julia went home with nothing to show for it and Seventeen magazine continues to airbrush the heck out of its pictured subjects.  As Julia herself put it:

“I look at the girls, and a lot of them, like, they don’t have freckles, or moles, anywhere on their bodies,” she said. “You can’t, like, see the pores in their face, they’re perfectly smooth. Their skin is shiny. They don’t have any tan lines or cuts and bruises or anything like that.”

These ordinary features of human flesh, she said, can be disguised with makeup and lights. “At the same time, they can’t cover up everything,” Julia said. That leaves only digital retouching.

First, I must take this moment to applaud Julia’s efforts.  Not many women can say that they ever challenged the way in which women’s bodies are portrayed in the media.  Even fewer can say they did it at the age of 14.  If she ever needs a letter of recommendation, feel free to e-mail me…I’d happily provide whatever I could.

But more importantly, I feel the need to step into the fray and help Julia call out Seventeen magazine.  I didn’t do it when I was an actual reader and I need to remedy that.  That magazine should be singled out because it caters to girls and young women who are at the age when these issues are so very important. The harsh lessons I learned about body image in my teens haunted me the rest of my life.  I can reason them away, but I can never forget the hurt that accompanied them.

Therein lies the simple truth that Seventeen refuses to acknowledge:  While it isn’t the magazine’s responsibility to solve every girl’s body image problems, it is their responsibility to stop contributing to them.  

Seventeen magazine helped me recognize my own depression, but it didn’t go so far as to help to stop the culture that perpetuated stereotypes about people with mental illnesses if they happened to look like me.  To this day, people seem to connect my body size and my mental illness without me having said a word.  It’s as if my body is shameful and that’s why it’s okay to be depressed about it.  The magazine might as well have said this to me when I first started to recognize my depression eighteen years ago…

Here are some hotlines you can call when you feel ready to commit suicide, but don’t bother us with attempts to change the culture that perpetuates these myths and horrid ideals.  

That’s just not right.

Yes, it’s true that there are many other magazines that do this and worse.  But Julia approached Seventeen because she’s a teen.  She didn’t approach Vogue or People or Vanity Fair because she’s not their target audience.  And Seventeen should stop hiding behind this “we’re better than some” mantra.  Being better than some only means you’re worse than a great many.

I, for one, hold Julia in high esteem.  I hope that one day Seventeen learns to appreciate the tenacity and truth of this young woman and learns to change their ways.  One story every year about loving your body is not enough when the rest of your pages are filled with ways in which to hate it.  Julia wasn’t asking for much…just a chance at being accepted in the pages of a magazine that claims to represent her.

I only wish a young Kim would have stood up the way Julia is doing today.

A preteen Kim before she learned to love herself. (My eye isn't really wonky, but the scanning did that...of course, if it was, that would be FINE.)

Yesterday was a cluster-Garfield.  There is no other way of describing it.  Nothing overly dramatic happened.  I wasn’t imprisoned or injured.  I just had a stupid fucking day.  A really dumb Jem of a day…truly outrageous.  It didn’t help that it was gray and rainy out.  Instead, the weather compounded the problem and by the time I got home, I was so exhausted from being frustrated, that I simply gave the Stewie up.

You see, IVF 2.0 has gotten pushed back twice now.  It was supposed to start in earnest at the beginning of April.  Well, as many of you know, my body did not cooperate and it was eventually turned into a prolonged down regulation for the May cycle.  Fine.  You win that round, Universe.  I was busy in April anyhow.  Well, then May rolls around and my body does the SAME GODDAMNED THING.  It was fine last week–just where it needed to be.  And then this week it went haywire and May was looking like a no-go.  So I had to get blood drawn yesterday morning.  And a fun transvaginal ultrasound as a bonus.

It took three attempts (two that were painful) to get blood from me.  I am convinced this particular tech is not trained in phlebotomy.  And to make things extra fun, my right ovary (which is usually the dependable one), was not showing up on the ultrasound, causing me to have extra jabs in the lady parts with a plastic wand.

Super Smurfy.

Meanwhile…back at the Perfectly Cursed Life…

I leave early on Monday afternoons to go get my allergy shots.  Long story short, my allergist’s office is 30 miles away from work.  Yesterday, frustrated as all hell because my nurse at the infertility clinic hadn’t called as of 3 pm me yet to tell me if we were moving forward with IVF 2.0 or what.  So I left and started on my trek to go get my shots.  After that it was a quick stop at school to administer my final exam in the class I’m teaching and then a quick trip home to decompress.

Fine. This should be easy as Scooby Doo.

I drove the 30 miles to my doctor’s office.  And for some reason, it hit me (and thank Jeebus it did) that I left the student evaluations that I had to have my students do on the floor of my office at work…30 miles in the opposite direction.

The test started promptly at 5:30.

It was now 3:45.

My shots take about 25 minutes.

It would take at least 35 minutes to get back to my office and another 20-25 to get from my office to school.

I’m not good at math, but I made an educated guess that I was royally Duck Tailed.

The kind of royal "Duck Tailing" this guy likes to do...which for you non-Game of Thrones watchers, is violent and painful.

So even though I was within spitting distance from my allergist’s office, I turned around at the next exit (in what was probably an epic fail in driving) and head back to the office.

As I’m driving and bitching to Ms. MM about the day I’m having, my nurse calls.  Finally.  My goddamned hormones did the same thing they did last month.  Mother fucker.  The “good” news is that the doctor is willing to move forward despite this (if I agree) to see if I react to the stimulation meds appropriately.  This cycle is technically still on, but if my body doesn’t react properly, it could be off just as quickly.

Nothing is ever Fred Flinstone easy.

Yabba Dabba Shut The Fred Up.

I whip into the circle drive near my office building and jump out of the car.  By this point, I was nearly ready to wet my pants, so I made a stop at the bathroom and then went up to my office to grab the evaluations and leave.  As I come back out to my car, I notice a traffic jam in the circle drive.  Apparently, in my haste, I neglected to park properly, and I was blocking several shuttle buses that were taking some big wigs (not small wigs) on some sort of adventure.  I had to hide my head and get in my car in a bit of shame and drive off.

I get to school and I had time to kill in the car, so I continue my conversation with Ms. MM.  At some point I realized that the evaluations require number 2 pencils…number 2 pencils that were not provided to me, mind you, but were listed as required on the Fraggle Rock envelope.

I went to the bookstore and ended up paying $4.08 (don’t ask me why it was that price) for ten stupid Thundercat mechanical pencils for the students to use in case they didn’t have one of their own.  I could have made them all share the one that the smart kid brought, but I didn’t.  I was Snorking nice.

And three of those Pink Panthers got stolen.  At $4.08 for 10, someone owes me $1.22.

Moral of the story: Call in to work on the next rainy Monday and go to the movies instead.

• It’s raining again here.  I can tell it’s going to be that kind of rain that lasts all day long.  It’s one thing to have a rainy day.  It’s quite another to have a rainy Monday.  I seriously considered calling in.  One can only hope this type of rain brings a double rainbow.

• A new TV channel has started that caters to dogs.  You read that right.  Dogs.  I hate to tell them, but the last I heard, dogs can’t actually see the pictures on the television because of the vast difference in their vision.  The company claims they can see this due to new technology.  I beg to differ. The only thing being seen here is money flying out of the pockets of wealthy dog owners who fall for this mess.

And so is your television station.

• For the record, let me inform you on how many coats of paint it takes to paint in between some windows in a bow window.  About eleventy billion.  This is exacerbated by the fact that I had shitty paint to work with on this project.  I stayed home from the baseball game Saturday (Dad went with The Mister) to get this and some other stuff done, and I worked pretty much exclusively on this.  When The Mister made a comment about me not getting much done on Saturday, I almost turned into a spider monkey and attacked him.

• We saw The Avengers last night.  I do believe that this is, hands down, the best superhero movie ever.  I don’t use that term lightly, either.  I’ve had to see a great many superhero movies in my day.  But this one was fantastic from start to finish.  It doesn’t hurt that Thor pretty much is the perfect man or that Robert Downey Jr.’s sarcastic wit makes me hotter than July.

I'm sorry...you were saying?

•  Everything about this gif below is perfect…

•  If one more person talks to me about Fifty Shades of Grey, I’m going to fifty shades of lose it.  I get it…someone made a successful piece of erotic fan fiction.  I just don’t care.  The only good thing about this whole fad is the SNL skit this weekend.

• I slept on my hand funny and when I woke up I seriously wondered if my wrist was fractured or something.  I felt entirely decrepit in my right wrist.  It took about half an hour for it to go away.  I started to wonder if I was some sort of reverse Benjamin Button.  You know…getting old.

•  People are going nuts about the fact that Vice President Biden said he’s “absolutely comfortable” with gay marriage.  Honestly, people…this isn’t that big of news.  I’m glad he said it, but let’s not get crazy here.

He's cool, but he's no Harvey Milk.

That’s all folks.  I have to go grade papers.  What’s on your mind today?

Open Letters Friday is a segment here at PCL for your reading and writing enjoyment. I’ll share with you some of my open letters for the week and you’ll get the opportunity in comments to share yours. Now, tell me, who do you need to write to this week?

————————-

Dear Kanye:

You know I love you.  That’s why I let you help me with OLF a couple of weeks ago.  I think you say what many people are thinking and that takes a lot of guts.  We all kind of suspected that George W. Bush did not care about Black people.  I, for one, thought that Beyonce had the best video of the year when Taylor Swift inexplicably won the VMA.   So, you can see…I usually come down on the side of agreeing with you.

But this Kim Kardashian shit has got to stop.

None of us believe you were pulling your pants up because you just had sex.

It’s clear that you two are doing this for publicity and nothing more.  There is absolutely no chemistry between you two.  I have more chemistry with my office chair than you do with that woman.  So please…stop trying to make us think you’re in some sort of relationship with her and that you’re “hiding” it from the paparazzi.  We all know you’re getting paid off by Kris Jenner.

Sincerely,

Someone Who Does Care About Black People

——————-

Dear New Neighbors:

You were already starting to get on my shit list because you leave your awesome dog out a lot–in the extremely hot and humid weather.  (He’s adorable by the way.  Is he some sort of Mastiff mix?)  But then I saw something this morning that solidified that we’re not going to have a good time…

A Ron Paul bumper sticker on one of your cars.

And by "planet" I mean "street."

Now, in all fairness, you’ve been having a lot of people over.  I don’t know if the Ron Paul sticker belongs to a resident or a visitor.  Either way, it put me in a sour mood.  Now I’m going to have to ramp up my electoral yard signs and bumper stickers early.  I have to balance out your stupidity.  I don’t want people to think this street has gone to the Tea Partiers.

Seriously…cut the games.  All around.

Your neighbor,

Someone Who Will Take Your Dog if You Don’t Cut the Games

—————-

Dear Patricia Krentcil:

No one knows your name, so I’ll refer to you as Tanning Mom from here on out.  Honestly, given the horrid state of your leathery skin, I thought that you were going to be Tanning Grandma, but I stand corrected.

Looking at your face makes my face feel dry. That's how dry your skin is...it just sucked the moisture out of mine via the Internet.

Anyhow, you thought taking your five year old granddaughter to a tanning salon was a good idea.  You were later charged with felony child endangerment when the child’s teacher found sunburns on the child.  After your arrest, you claimed that the child was never in the tanning booth, but got sunburned by playing in the yard.

It’s pretty bad when even Snooki says your parenting/tanning skills are wrong.

Here’s a hint: tanning beds are almost always bad for you.  I’ll admit, I used them prior to my wedding to get rid of some stubborn tan lines, but even then I was an adult and only exposed myself for four minutes three or four times.  (The very darkly tanned girls that worked the counter kept trying to get me to stay in there longer.)  But why would you even consider bringing your child to the tanning salon?  Here’s a hint: if you can’t get a babysitter, maybe it’s not a good time to go tanning.

And honestly, no one believes that you didn’t put that little girl in there.  She’s a ginger on top of things, so she probobly could burn from just looking at the tanning booth.

Get a grip lady.  And get some moisturizer and a good dermatologist.  STAT.

Sincerely,

Perfectly Pale Kim

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Dear Weather:

WHAT THE FUCK?  It was like 50 degrees this weekend.  Yesterday, on the way home from work, my car told me it was 91 degrees out.  NINETY-ONE.  It might have been a bit high, but it wasn’t too far off.  Not to mention that in addition to the temperature it was about 99.99999% humidity all day until it finally stormed last night.

Not me.

Here’s a hint:  it’s May in Michigan, not July in Louisiana.

Yours whether I like it or not,

A Cool Weather Gal

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Now it’s your turn!  Get things off your chest. And you can check out other Open Letters Fridays here.

And if you are interested in having your Open Letter featured on the next Open Letters Friday here at PCL, e-mail me atkim@perfectlycursedlife.com.

Last night, I wrapped up the last official class of my first semester of teaching.  There’s just the final exam on Monday and then this class is in the books.  Then it’s summer and the sweet freedom of no classes–to teach or to attend.

On Monday, I was sitting at this very computer wrapping up a few academic loose ends.  As I was doing that, my advisor sent me an e-mail telling me that my directed study papers were “not surprisingly,” “quite good.”  Then she asked, as if it were merely a matter of course, “what’s next?” It was at that moment that I realized where I stand in relation to all of this…

I am very close to living the life I want instead of just seeing it in the future.

I am researching an academic topic that I absolutely love and feel very strongly about without waiver.  I am teaching students about politics and social theories.  I am working to make a nonprofit that I truly believe in sustainable and organized.  This, my friends, is a day long in the making.

It’s the Great Training Montage from my own personal version of Rocky.

Almost three years ago I made the move from the law firm to my current job.  It was a tumultuous time.  Having my will and self esteem constantly beat down by that job took a big toll on me.  I made the move to my current 9-5 because I had to in order to save my sanity, but it soon became clear that it was not the future I truly wanted.  Within six months I had started a new graduate program and was ready to change my life.

And that I did.

This past December, I finished my master’s degree.  But it didn’t seem quite real. The change hadn’t sunk in.  I was still in the same job, still in the same place.  That is, until I started teaching.  Though there were nights when I felt too tired to possibly go in and lead a class on political theory, almost always I was fine once I got going.  These classes energized me. True, none of these students were going to go on to study politics or the law or sociology, but there were some that were genuinely interested.  And I kept the tone light enough (and the self-deprecating jokes plentiful enough) to make the class fun.

A few weeks ago, one of my students (one of the few students my age or older) came up to me after class and told me that her husband couldn’t wait until my class was over.  I looked at her and asked why.

“Because I come home with all of these ideas and opinions,” she said.  ”I think he’s sick of hearing about all of these writers he’s never heard of before.”

And with that, I finally started to feel like a teacher.  It was one thing that she was doing extremely well in the class.  But it was another to hear that she has taken her learning to a higher level…and it was because of me and my class.  When my advisor asked “what’s next?” this week, I felt the same way about being a scholar.  And that’s when I realized that my hard work is truly paying off…I am in the midst of a life changing year that exists for the better.

It sounds all corny and “hopey changey” as Sarah Palin would say, but it’s so very true.  I am finally starting to see the end of the tunnel that was my unfulfilling legal career and I’m standing with ticket in hand for the academic express.  It’s quite the feeling.

The semester is winding down. I still have a bazillion papers to grade, but I’m fine with that.  I am looking forward to a summer without classes to attend so I can get the rest of my life straightened out. (You don’t want to see my bathroom or my spare bedroom right about now.)  But come the fall, it’ll be me and my new life–full steam ahead.

Change is a real son of a bitch.  It pulls and tugs at the points that are most sensitive.  It reveals insecurities that were long since buried and forgotten.  But with the pain of being reborn comes the joy of a new chance at life.

For once, I’m feeling like basking in a new sun, on a new planet, in a new Universe.  And the view is amazing from here.

This weekend marks a milestone for me.  Ten years ago on Saturday, I boarded a plane and headed to Paris, France.  It was quite possibly the beginning of the most important summer of my life.

After taking a couple of French classes in high school, I decided that it would be easy enough to take French in college and do decently enough in it that I could get a decent grade and learn more about a language I loved.  What I wasn’t aware of at the time was that one semester of college level French was worth my two years of high school level French combined.  Although that might scare off some people, it was exactly the challenge I needed at that point in time.  In fact, I enjoyed it so much that I decided to keep taking French classes and make it my second major.

One of the opportunities that arose being a French major was to study abroad one summer in France.  This was something I wanted to do in high school but never could.  Money was tight in the household by that point in college.  Real tight.  But I decided that it was something that I had to do or risk never forgiving myself for missing it.  So I took out additional loans and secured money from alternative sources.  I was going to France come hell or high water.

My stubbornness paid off.  Studying abroad that summer was the best decision I ever made.

That summer I did things that I never did before and probably will never have the chance to do again.

I spent afternoons sitting on the bay writing or just thinking.

I read (and bought) more books than I ever have in such a short period of time.

I joined a gym and worked out four times a week…not because I had to, but because I enjoyed it.

I walked EVERYWHERE.  One day I decided to walk home from school instead of taking the bus.  I think the walk ended up being about five miles.

I visited what I consider to be one of the most beautiful places on Earth–l’Isle d’Ouessant.  And when I wanted to see as much of it as I could in one day, I walked a total of 21 kilometers to do it–passing through fields of sheep and encountering the friendliest sheep herding dog (and the only true working sheep herding dog) I’ve ever met.

I went to Paris twice and spent a day in marvel at my favorite museum in the world–Musée D’Orsay.  I ate the best meals one could imagine.  I also saw Lenny Kravitz while sitting at a cafe near Notre Dame and learned only this year that he lives on that very block.

I lived with a French family and spent a ton of time with their eight year old daughter, Anne-Sophie, who would explain everything to me in the kind of detail that only a child can.  On her birthday, I bought her a children’s French-English dictionary as she was preparing to start learning English the following year and was nervous about it.  When she learned to say “the moon” it came out in the most adorable French accent ever–”za moon!”

I ate rabbit (delicious, but riddled with guilt), whole artichokes (never again) and shrimp with the legs and head (never again).

I spent the first day after my arrival in Paris starving because my traveling companion and I  happened to land on a French holiday (there are too many to keep track of, really) and the next day we were still afraid of actually using our limited French skills to order food.

I flirted heavily with a book clerk at the local book store and had him order multiple special orders for me.  He corrected my French and would smile and ask about where I was from.

I ran in the rain with a Brit that I was so enamored with I could scream.

Honestly, I could go on and on.  I could list a thousand things and never come close to explaining the enormity of that journey.  Some days I wish I had never left.

When I went to law school, I picked the school I went to specifically because they had an scholarly exchange program with a school in Paris.  It was my ticket back.  But by time I graduated and was ready for it, I had met The Mister and we were engaged.  Paris took a back seat to an approaching career and marriage.  And to this day, I have never been back.

They say that studying abroad will change your life.  It sounds so trite when they tell you that.  But it’s absolutely accurate.  Living and studying abroad is unlike any trip you can take or class you can enroll in at home.  It’s a journey of self discovery and of broadening your horizons so wide that you become afraid that your old life can’t hold the new things you’ve experienced.  It is, quite simply, amazing.

I’ve told The Mister that when our yet-to-be-conceived kid(s) are old enough I am going to inisist that they study abroad.  I don’t care what they study or where they go…but they are going.  More than all the things  above, I learned to start to be content with only a bag on my shoulders and bread and water in my stomach.  I learned to pass time without having it structured for me.  I learned to relate to people in ways I never imagined.  I learned to be an adult and take care of myself.

It’s hard to imagine that it’s been ten years since I was there.  There are days in my mind wheen it seems like it was just yesterday that I was sitting at the dining room table with my host dad, eating apple sauce and having him test out his English on me. (He finally told me right before I left that he spoke English after having served in the French Navy alongside some British soldiers.

Sometimes my parents don’t get it.  My mom has asked if I am glad that I took out those extra loans and spent that money on one summer.  And every single time I tell her that I’d do it again with a moment’s notice.  I have never had the wanderlust that keeps me from sitting still, but my sort of wanderlust has been the journey to be still within myself…and that’s a journey that is still evolving.  It just happened to start on one May morning when I stepped foot onto a plane and said goodbye to the sweet security of knowing where each next step will take me.

Do something today that challenges you.  Put yourself outside of your comfort zone.  Live a life that is unstructured and so unimaginably new.  And then you tell me whether the cost was worth it.  Undoubtedly you’ll tell me it was.

It always is.