Nakedness and Onlyness

A friend of mine who is a prolific blogger invited women in her social media circle to submit guest posts for her blog, Whole Mama. I felt like Random House had accepted my manuscript when  she agreed to publish it! And then I immediately felt like I was completely naked.

Please check out Only the Lonely: When You Have an Only Child. This is a top of mind issue for me right now, at this juncture of life, and it was actually very helpful to write this submission.

Except, now, more than three human beings know the URL to my blog. Completely. Naked. Interestingly, nearly 1,000 people have vistited this blog and its whopping 3 posts since 2009. Many from Alaska, oddly enough. But I don't know any of them, so that's OK.

Now, after years of wanting to blog on my own secret blog, I've actually blogged on a KNOWN blog with like a bajillion subscribers. Ok maybe not a bajillion. But - Completely. Naked.

Next up: My annual, original blog for 2013. I won't count this one.

Cheers!

Cups and Such

“Personal musings.” What a load of hooey. That’s what I said in my first blog, below. Just a little below, as I’ve only blogged one other time since. I started Screaming Lobsters 8 months ago, with the intention of letting all that sarcasm and introspection I seem to be finding at 40 out on to paper.

Hooey.

Excuse #1: My usual. I’m often paralyzed by the idea of doing something perfectly. I can’t have a half-assed blog entry! No errors, for God’s sake.

My second excuse is life got a bit zaney and out of control the first 7 months or so of 2010. Not our best year. It’s been a ride: 128 showings on our house in MD; a major butt whooping by the real estate market; 7 months as a single mom; an exploding brain tumor named Wheldon; yet another depressing birthday; a profound loss; a heart-wrenching goodbye in Maryland; and, the doozey: Living 6 weeks with my parents in Denver.

OK ok, the doozey was Wheldon. But I digress.

“Charm” City: Going Baltimore

Lord Baltimore must have been a cranky man, because his namesake city is, at best, a cranky city. Whoever bestowed the nickname "Charm City" on Baltimore had one hell of a sense of humor—or a PR objective so outrageous (make Baltimore feel charming) that they opted to just make shit up.

Don't get me wrong—Baltimore in many ways was a pleasant surprise when we were relocated here to hell Maryland in 2007. Well, downtown Baltimore. And really the Inner Harbor and a few surrounding communities. Camden Yards, the National Aquarium, Little Italy, Harbor East—all fantastic for tourists and temporary locals alike. And in fact we have just scratched the surface of the personality of the many great neighborhoods in Baltimore.

But Baltimore has some PR challenges, and TV's "Homicide: Life on the Street" and "The Wire" have both done a good job of highlighting the seamier side of Charm City. "Charm City Cakes," one of Food TV's flagship productions, highlights yet another personality of Lord Baltimore's stomping grounds. Not sure if you've noticed, but those folks aren't exactly a bunch of bubbly people, either. (And do you really want to eat a cake that's been repeatedly frozen and covered with that frosting? I digress.)

But take away the out-of-control homicide rate, the race wars, the poverty, the seediness—and you're left with one hell of a PR challenge that no developer—in fact no PR Flack—can eradicate. You simply can't regentrify yourself out of snotty.

THAT'S RIGHT, I SAID IT: I don't particularly care for the temperament of people you find here in the Baltimore metropolitan area.

You're kind of snotty, Baltimore.

Those Lobsters

They don't, by the way. Scream. The lobsters. But for months, I thought they did. I myself am not a shell fish kind of girl—if something looks on my plate like the creature it just was a moment ago in the kitchen, I'm not eating it. That would include lobster in all its forms. But after hearing this tale of horrific lobster treatment--how they scream when dropped into boiling water--I was shocked.

I spent many a night thinking of all the lobsters all over the world who were dropped into a pot of boiling water for what was likely some extravagant, overindulgent dinner for a bunch of overweight and over-rich compulsive know-it-alls. I could hear their little screams in my mind, pictured Clarice crying for the lambs as I'd tear up for the oh-so-cuddly lobsters. I condemned our society for the cruelty (can ya plunk 'em in the cool water and just politely warm them up?!). I envisioned an anti cruelty campaign for lobsters across the globe. "Stop the screaming, warm them up!" I wondered about all the people who aren't even bothered by the screaming and grieved for our loss of compassion as a people. A race. A species. After all, aren't we supposed to have compassion as the superior species?!

I thought. I wondered. I perseverated. A lot. Which of course by definition is perseveration. Or obsession, though semantically I would say this was not obsessive. I save obsession for the important things, like my Top Five Celebrities I'd Do If I Could list. (George Clooney, George Clooney, George Clooney, Angelina, and George Clooney.)