Opting Out

One of my challenges is saying no to people. At my core, I'm a people pleaser. So I end up saying yes to invitations to which I really want to say no.

This past weekend was a Dance for Peace. It was a hippie Burning Man style festival where people presumably dance. There are DJs and I assume lots of people on high on life (wink, wink.) I was invited by a new friend so I immediately said yes. I thought, "I've never been to one of these things. I only live once."

The night before the Dance, I felt dread. Considering I no longer drink and don't smoke weed, it would probably be pretty boring for someone who is 1) sober; 2) enjoys solo dancing to Katy Perry, Jay-Z and Pink; 3) shuns dance clubs; 4) doesn't like being touched by dirty hippies; 5) thinks bongos are an atrocity; and 6) is 36 years old. But the people pleaser in me thought, "I should just go. I can suffer through for an hour."  

Prior to The Dance, I went to brunch with two ex-New Yorkers whose company reminded me who I am. I am Manhattan, not Brooklyn. I'm Hollywood Hills, not Venice. I'm Carrie Bradshaw, not Tori Amos.

With much anxiety, I opted-out at the last minute. I felt bad for letting my friend down but I felt good about my decision as I headed home. Sometimes doing something for someone else or for a blog post isn't worth it.

Besides, I have many irons in the fire: 1) eBay sales are heating up; 2) I have a few great job leads; 3) I'm submitted a proposal for a freelance project that could be lucrative; and 4) I'm in the final stretch of editing the book. I don't have time for peace dancing; I need to be an ambitious warrior.

Devil, Thy Name is Dairy

"Got Milk?" Totally. "Some cheese with your wine?" Absolutely. "We all scream for ice cream!" Count me in.

Antibiotics, Claritin-D, Kleenex. As a long time sufferer of sinus infections and congestion, these have been the items of prominence in most of my adult life. In 2009, I had a sinuplasty to open up my sinuses so they were large enough through which mucous could pass. A success for almost a year, I could finally breathe. Only recently have I been suffering from congestion again despite irrigating my sinuses twice a day. Understand this: sinus congestion is maddening, uncomfortable and results in exhaustion.

On a whim, I began reading Skinny Bitch, a book about eating healthfully and getting thin effortlessly. Newsflash: eat vegetables, grains and fruits (non-fun foods) and shun alcohol, coffee, sugar, meat and dairy (the fun stuff). We all know this, but we don't really know why. We should avoid the "fun foods" because they're not meant to be consumed by humans.

Our bodies are well oiled machines. If you give it the right gas, it will run well. If you give your car Diesel, then don't expect it to get you anywhere and it will take a long time to process/repair. The "fun foods" are our bodies' Diesel. (The book goes into more detail and it's fascinating.)

For sinus purposes, dairy is especially bad because our body attacks it like an infection and the result is mucous. (For the record, my ENT had told me this, too.) We're not supposed to have milk past infancy and we'd be fine without it. Cheese even has morphine in it (breast and udder milk have naturally occurring opiates to keep infants and calfs drinking milk. In the cheese-making process, the cow's milk opiates are exacerbated greatly and become morphine. It's true, cheese addicts.) I could go on, but I think you get the point.

Net-net, I decided to stop dairy (all but 5% of my usual consumption) to see what happened. Well, it's day 6 and my sinuses are as clear as a bell--as open and dry as they were after surgery.  I haven't taken Claritin in weeks (it was useless) so that's not it. I haven't added any supplements. I've eaten more fruits, vegetables and grains and shunned meat. So maybe that helps.

As the book says, "You are what you eat." I'm proud to say that I'm now more of a "no fun food eater" instead of a morphine-addicted mucous monster. So take it for what it's worth, dairy-dedicated sinus sufferers. Nothing tastes as good as mucous free feels.

Hey, Ms. Tambourine!

Some think it's called Karaoke. Well, let me tell ya, you haven't experienced warbling in its truest form until you've experienced Kerry-oke.

On Friday night, my friend held his birthday party at an awesome place called Soop Sok Music Studios in Koreatown. On my 20 minute drive over, I warmed my vocals with "Raise Your Glass," "Black and Yellow" and "Teenage Dream" (a song that I've listed to 687 times, per iTunes).

When I arrived, I immediately performed "Teenage Dream." Then lots of other people sang (including the birthday boy who did a phenomenal rendition of "NY State of Mind.") There were a bunch of actors that all had musical and theater training who made everyone step up their game.

While keenly observing these quasi-professionals, my eyes rested on a tambourine. In my college days, I sang back up for The Bartonians (unofficially. It's complicated) and mastered the tambourine. It's been some years since I held this fine instrument in my hands.

I began shaking my old friend and soon discovered that it lit up with four different speeds: spastic lights, medium, slower and then slow jam light mode. I adjusted for every song.

I sang "Raise your Glass," "Me and Bobby McGee" and "Wanted: Dead or Alive." I shook my instrument and my booty to every other song (Note: I've given up drinking for a few months now so this was based on pure joy!)

I was sad to part with my tambourine, so we did a photo shoot to commemorate the experience. Out of curiosity, I asked the price and to my surprise, the Korean lady said, "Gift" and then "Yelp." I screamed with glee and proceeded to write and post an excellent review on Yelp later that night. (This isn't payola; I did have an extraordinary time!)

So, a tambourine can be illuminating. I learned that I can still shake it, if you ask then you shall receive and sometimes you can get delight from the simplest things.

Just call me Ms. Tambourine!