Insight into the XY Mind or How to Have Terrific Self-Esteem Despite the Acknowledged "Problem"

Here's an insight into the male mind, and it just sneaked up on me yesterday, and almost got by me without my even noticing. Hopefully, my husband will excuse me for sharing, but ladies, you have to know! Because it's a trick we need to partake in.

So, I can't remember exactly what I said. Maybe I complimented Jim's outfit or something. To which he responded, "I know, I don't look bad for xxx pounds." There you go. Just like that - DEFINE AWAY THE PROBLEM!

Let's give it a whirl.

"I really rock this bikini for 200 pounds or so."

"My face looks pretty young for having all these wrinkles."

"I made a delicious dinner, given that I burnt it like an incinerator."

"My kids are just the best, considering how rude and obnoxious they are."

"I had a great day at work for having been fired. The morning was terrific."

There you go. Everything's great. YOU'RE GREAT! Believe it. You would if you were guy, you know, for having that Y chromosome and all.

Tiger's Return

So, I'm not one to beat a dead horse. Well, maybe I am. I've been called relentless before. But this latest Tiger thing merits a short comment.

Tiger is playing the Masters, a decision announced 140-odd days after not getting pummeled with a nine-iron by his lovely wife. I'm okay with that. The least the guy can do is keep raking in the millions. And lucky for him, people can only castigate him in sotto voce on the fairway. I wonder if they can carry signs. Probably not. Too distracting. I digress.

But I saw absolutely the best interview on Sports Center this morning. Some Masters cohort, wish I'd caught the name or title, actually said, "We're glad our stud, uh, star, is back. We are his family, and we have forgiven him." Too good.

Nomar, Idol and a Contest

I was so touched by Nomar's becoming a Red Sock/x for a day to retire. It's just sad to think his heart was always with this team, even as it went on to win the series without him, and as some fickle fans decided the trade, in light of the championship, was all worth it. We just have no long term gratitude in our natures - no memory for what people contributed their youth to, spilled blood for (and now I'm not thinking baseball), lost their girlish figures for . . . Speaking of which, how about Big Mike on Idol last night! Wow! To make Kara cry! It's just so sentimental when people recognize one another. Good for Big Mike - you know he was singing to his wife, a new first-time Mom. Good for Nomar, to be so humble and admit what he really wanted. Hopefully, we all take pause.

One last thing - I am entering a contest pertaining to my book. I called a radio psychic, who said he didn't want to paint too rosy a picture, but he "felt good" about the couple of contests I was looking into! Yay! Except then he gave some really bad advice to another caller, so how good can he be? Oh well. Keep your fingers crossed for me! And for those who read this and write - I know there are at least a couple of you, read the Guide to Literary Agents blog that I've linked to - it's so informative and entertaining!

Talking God

Without revealing myself as a psycho, I'll just throw it out there. . .

Does God talk to you, too? And if so, more importantly, how? Less important - what does He say? (Less important because, regardless of what He says, I'm quite convinced we'll hear it, interpret it, apply it wrong, so what does it really matter, except to make us even more psycho, and worse, possibly dogmatic, which is just no fun at a cocktail party or a school committee meeting, you know?)

So in the last few days, as soon as I've turned on the car radio, that Coldplay song, Clocks, has been on. Not just that though. The same line of the song - the one in which Chris Martin asks whether he's part of the cure or of the disease. Just coincidence? I think not.

Does God talk through song? Does He inspire through song? And how exactly does He get into the heads of the artists, many of whom don't seem particularly "religious" for lack of a better word. And why that artist? Or is the artist unimportant, and only the audience that matters? And what the heck am I supposed to think about being part of the disease anyway?

As friends, who might eventually find this little ditty, know, I've been writing a book. Actually, I might say the book is written. At present, I am rewriting the book, which is taking three times as long as writing it, and is a whole lot more painful and less fun. Anyway, this "talking god" concept features heavily. It rolls around a lot in my head, I guess. Anyone else?

Do I Even Want to Be Found?

The worldwide web is an enormous place, but the world itself is getting smaller fast. Day 1, first post, will anyone even find me? I, the compulsive seeker of anonymity, throwing myself into the fray, with my not-subconscious-enough-subconscious screaming, reminding me that whenever I've been dragged or bludgeoned myself into the spotlight or up to the mike before, always because there's some universal injustice being perpetrated that I just can't stand (Libra), it's been painful. For me. So don't look while I blog away. Or just take polite peeks that won't embarrass either of us.

So why did I do it? My husband insists my ongoing commentary is wasted on him. Share it with the world, he says, which does not mean he is not interested in what I have to say. He says. But more compelling, I'm entering a contest that requires I link my blog to its. Years of ignoring my husband come to this. And now I'm off the pot. And in the blog-o-sphere.

Are you out here? Wait - don't look me straight in the eye! Indirect glances and polite peeks. The way you look at all sentient curiosities.