Who’s looking after your inner-child?

While Angel may be held on high for her pretty lil pout and peppering her babble with baby talk, I’m not sure she’s in touch with her inner child.

It’s about the power she has and how she uses it to manipulate the situation to her advantage.

Not that you had a thread of advantage to begin with, but you like it that way.

They say we all have one, but it seems that most people won’t admit to theirs.

I keep my inner child close at hand at all times.

She is cheeky, loud, demanding and prone to complete breakdowns at the most inopportune times.

Back in the days when I was a cubicle inhabiting worker-bee she proved most helpful in my survival.

As an example - I was in a meeting once where everyone was going around the table introducing themselves and passing out their cards.

You know how it goes:

“I’m Mister So & So, VP of Sales and Marketing with Big Important Company”—hands out card with a string of assorted alphabetical codes that show how important they are…………and so it goes round the table with everyone nodding and acknowledging solemnly each other’s importance.

My turn comes and out of nowhere that cheeky little monkey pops up and with a completely straight face:

“My name is Princess Angel Frou-Frou Face, Queen of Everything and I require no cards and don’t normally indulge an introduction when holding court you silly mere mortals.”

2-3 eternal and agonizing seconds of blank stares. Then the entire table erupts in laughter.

Including my department head.

Phew.

My inner child also comes in handy when things between my 16 year-old and I become strained and he is exercising his voice in that democratic way I raised him, (what was I thinking?). Twisting the logic quicker than I can think.

And I think pretty fast.

Inner child to the rescue, she takes over and I am instantly on the floor in the middle of an eye-scrunching and red-faced screaming fit of:

“YOUR NOT LISTENING TO MY WORDS!!!!!”

Immediately reducing him to fits of hysterical laughter and giving me time to regroup.

Way more effective than the:

“Because I make the rules!”- place I was headed with my adult self.

She may be extremely hard to control and unpredictable in all her immature wisdom, but I love her immensely.

I think I’ll take her out for ice-cream tonight.

Perhaps you should pay more attention to yours?

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***Your Inner Child Is Naughty***

Like a child, you tend to discount social rules.It's just too much fun to break the rules!You love trouble - and it seems that trouble loves you.And no matter what, you refuse to grow up!

***Your Inner Child Is Naughty***

Like a child, you tend to discount social rules.It's just too much fun to break the rules!You love trouble - and it seems that trouble loves you.And no matter what, you refuse to grow up!

How Is Your Inner Child?

Husbands, Frogs, Sex, Cold Beers and Darwin

I want to be helpless like the Angel’s of this world.

People fall over themselves to meet her needs and remove the little flurry of angst that threatens to wrinkle her perfectly arched brow.

Now that the gas cap has been successfully turned in the correct direction it can indeed be removed.

Phew.

I am a multi tasking wonder. If I am not doing at least three things simultaneously I must be lapsing into a coma.

Or PMS-ing.

Premenstrual in it’s long form.

Understandable, though it is, why they shortened it to the abrupt, PMS form.

Premenstrual sounds too much like fun.

Minstrels were those wandering, random musicians of the Middle Ages and I can verify with conviction, (just the one and I swear I don’t remember picking up the knife) as can my husband and son, that there is nothing fun or musical about being Premenstrual.

However, during those other 2 days a month I am a Multi Tasking phenom.

Stand back I can handle all.

Everything.

Et el.

Men have lost the capability as well as the need, to multi task, due to our due diligence as women.

We swoop and jump in, negating any need or forethought on their part what so ever, with our bowls of tortilla chips, scooped up laundry, cold beers, immaculate housekeeping and goddess like sex offerings.

Which works really well except on those days when we are lapsing into a coma or PMS-ing.

On those days we would like very much for them to be able to pick up the slack.

Or at the very least, their underwear and socks.

Hello Darwin?

I want to turn back the hands of evolution.

Please.

Naked Surfing, Drag Queens and the Body/Mind Connection

What really bothers me about the Angels of this world?

I actually contemplate this on a daily basis. Which must thrill the Angels to no end.

*** Good goddess! They are morphing into an entire flock! ***

What I abhor about the Angels is the same thing I adore about Drag Queens.

They are so damn comfortable with their femininity. With their bodies and the way in which they use it, dress it----- be in it.

In their estrogen hyped up state, it has become a tangible force that rubs up against you from fifty feet out. Pulsing out from their very core you are unable to resist being drawn into it like a moth to a flame.

Let the battle begin.

As a woman I am reluctant to embrace my femininity with such verve. It seems to be in direct conflict with the feminist side of me.

Ironic isn’t it?

That totally embracing everything that is feminine in myself is somehow in complete violation of being a woman.

That’s a little window into the madness of my psyche. You look at the ying yang symbol and see balance------ I see two fish caught up in an eternal race to eat the other whole.

So I’ve decided to beat them at their own game. The Angels that is, not the fish.

In an effort to become more comfortable in my own feminine skin I do one thing a day in it.

Naked.

Baby steps, I began with showering naked on Monday. There’ll be more laundry this way but I have to admit to enjoying it.

Tuesday- naked loading and unloading of the dishwasher.

My cat is amused. The dog is confused.

Wednesday- naked plant watering.

My neighbors seem to be starting a petition of some sort?

Today- Thursday- naked internet surfing.

That’s right, I’m writing this blog naked.

Perfect time for a little self-psychological assessment on your part; do you feel queasy, dirty, excited or intrigued? Hmmmmm…..what does it mean?

They say it takes 30 days to effect any change so I’ll get back to you on this naked thing.

Meanwhile, let’s not tell my husband.

I don’t want him to start getting any crazy ideas--- I’m nowhere near ready for naked sex.