Entertainment

Junk Food My Arse – Really!

February 7, 2008 by MsCheevious

Ever feel like you’re just a cog in the wheel of the world, and relegated to doing things the same old way, day in and day out? Ever think that the wheels on the bus really do just keep going round and round?

That’s how it is at times for me. My boyfriend is one of those tall, lean, super muscular types that has always been athletic and active, and has never had to diet. Welcome to my nightmare. I was all set before I met him. Well, in the health and diet department, at least. He introduced me to the joys and delicacies of salami from around the globe (which I never would be caught dead eating before), served with fresh baked tuscan bread and olive oil. Oh, and the incredible wines that we love to drink!

Don’t get me going! I’ll gain weight just typing this. But if I even think the words “diet” or “cut back,” or “slim down,” I may as well just say “fuh-get-abou-dit!” around our house and just eat the stinkin’ salami. Heck, if he doesn’t mind the rotund little sub-human species that appears before him after a few years of eating like he does, why should I even try?

If you’re new to this blog, welcome. Enter with caution. You will get the hard cold truth, the facts about things in life and the world – as discovered and submitted by my crack team of research experts (yeah, right), and hopefully you’ll laugh a little. Cuz my life is just one big joke. HA!

But you see I’ve been on this quest to get from this:

That’s my left hip / waist up there.

Stretch marks and all. I have no secrets, I know.

To this:

That’s me on the right. But it doesn’t
really matter. The red leather pants
are mine as well, and I use to fit in
them just as nicely!

The truth is, I stay fit for ME. And this is the start of week 2 of my “thin thinking, lean, mean machine” approach to fitting back into my suit. I started last week as documented on the post I’m a Thin, Light, Lean, Mean Machine – Don’tcha Know?.

I also want to clarify exactly why I am trying to lose weight. But I won’t do that here. To find out, you’ll have to read this whole thing. It’s near the end.

Last week I left you with the notion that I have GOT to lose 11 lbs. I have a business trip coming up and have to fit into my suit! It’s a brand new, gorgeous suit. Now comes the good stuff. HOW I am doing it? I’ll give you a hint: I am a lifer with that weightloss group you thought was only for old, fat, frumpy women. Well, guess what? It’s not, and I’m not. It’s just smart. Hello Weight Watchers. Yep. They’ve saved my life – or at least saved me from having to buy entirely new wardrobes – more than once. It’s true. I even go to meetings when I can. If anyone wants to get details on how I do it, you can go here to see everything I ate, as well as the “before” pictures of both hips, and that suit. Ich.

I have to say, there is this whole mental thing that happens when I try to eat healthy.

Take the Super Bowl, for instance. My boyfriend and I were spending time at our house in Moab, Utah. We don’t really know people in Moab. We planned to watch the game on our own. My boyfriend knew this was weird for me. I like people, and I like to be social – especially when there is a big event that everyone gathers together to watch.

So, in the morning of the big game he took me out to breakfast. Remember – I am watching everything that goes into my body. So, when our choices were limited to Denny’s or the Steakhouse that serves breakfast, I knew I’d be in trouble. In L.A. I could go to any number of restaurants – even Mel’s Diner on Sunset – where ordering something like steamed vegetables scrambled with two egg whites would seem commonplace to them. As a matter of fact, they’d have it on the menu. I held my breath and thought to myself, “We are not in Kansas any more Dorothy.” Besides, I knew it might be my only chance to see beyond the walls of our house on Super Bowl Sunday. So, off we went.

As I looked at the menu, I mentioned how I couldn’t decide if I should eat the amount of food I would normally reserve for lunch, and then have my yummy egg whites and grilled vegetables at lunch. Then it happened: Peer pressure. Holiday pressure. Non-dieter pressure. Pressure from someone who has never dieted in his life. “Why don’t you just enjoy the day? It’s Super Bowl Sunday! We can grill some great stuff and make some really good Super Bowl style food (translation: junk), and you can start again tomorrow.” I knew he meant well. He is so sweet.

I was forced to explain how it really works.

“Realize this,” I began, knowing full-well he knew he was in for a lecture of sorts. “If I live my life like that: eating junk food, or the holiday food of choice, or whatever – every single time there is a holiday, just because there is a holiday, I may as well forget about ever eating healthy, staying thin or living a healthy existence. Think about it. There is some occasion every single month, usually several times a month. Birthdays, client meetings, Super Bowl, Valentine’s Day, St. Patrick’s Day, Fourth of July, business lunches, weddings, you name it. I have to decide I am a healthy eater – no matter what the occasion – and only allow myself to eat that stuff, like nachos, when IIII really want it (emphasis on I). Sure, it always tastes good, but I have learned that I will never succeed if I live that way.”

He quickly agreed. Poor guy.

But he ordered the “lumberjack” which consisted of two sausage links, two strips of bacon, a slice of ham, two eggs, hashbrowns (the processed kind), two pancakes with butter, and an order of white toast with butter (and jelly, of course). Talk about will power. Mine, I mean. Come to think of it, I didn’t even flinch. I didn’t even realize I’d taken an inventory of his meal until just this moment.

I ate oatmeal with splenda. Yum.

I didn’t really crave anything on his plate. I wasn’t jealous or wishing I could have pancakes. I’ve also learned that all of those decadent, yummy, fattening foods are always around. They will find me, believe you me, no matter where I go or how much weight I lose. But I tried to remember the last time I ate and ordered whatever I wanted from the breakfast menu at Denny’s. If I tried to remember that two or three years ago, I wouldn’t have been able to recall. I would have laughed and thought with a distant memory of that greasy taste in my mouth, how it must have been in high school or something. But the sad thing is, as I looked at my boyfriend’s entire table of food, I realized I’d just ordered the lumberjack myself about two months ago. This is why I am here now, trying to lose 11 lbs.

How easy it is to slip into the land of “I can eat whatever I want and still look fabulous” mentality. I decided a few years back, and I am quickly regaining that resolve, that I will always have to work at being thin and fit, and that’s just it. If I decide I have earned the option of looking frumpy after reaching seventy, then I will cross that bridge, as they say. But even that thinking gets you in trouble. I can just see it. With that mentality, I’ll reach my seventieth birthday and head straight for the market to buy myself all the favorite foods I’ve kept myself from eating: pizza, manicotti, filet mignon with real butter, giant baked potatoes with real butter and real sour cream, nachos with beans and ground beef and cheese smothered all over them, enchiladas, with cheese and sour cream, and oh so much more. I’ll decide that my three-times-a-week yoga class can now be replaced with baking days. I’ll bake my delicious Russian Tea Cakes (all butter), my chocolate chip pecan cookies that have Cadbury Dairy Milk chocolate in them, and my fudge and peanut brittles, and every other kind of decadent sweet I can think of. I’ll say it’s because I’m older now, and I’ve earned the right to bake food for my kids and grandkids (if I ever have them). But in reality, I’ll be eating most of it myself, because hey – I earned it.

So, I’ve decided to plan to go out like Audrey or Katherine Hepburn. Slender, lovely, and full of style. That’s my plan anyhow, morbid and narcissistic as it sounds to speak of how I want to look when I die. It’s more about how I want to live. When I get older, I don’t want to lose my breath trying to lift my sausage thighs up the stairs, or to bend down and pick something up. But I’m so young and so far from being that age, you say? Well, now is the time to set patterns and lay the ground-work for how it with be then.

So NOW is the time – okay, last week was my NOW – but I have begun.

Here are my results after week 1:
Start Date: Thursday January 31, 2007
Height: 5′ 5″
Goal: 125 lbs
Beginning weight: 136 lbs
Weight after week 1: 132.5 lbs (02.07.08)
Net Loss or other: – 3.5 WOO HOO!!!

Now as to the reason I am on a quest to lose weight, and even more important, why I feel compelled to explain it again? Well, some of you out there are wondering (I know this, because I am clairvoyant) what in the world I am doing trying to lose weight. You think I’m as thin as I need to be, and I thank you for the good thoughts toward me.

My response? Only I know where I need to be. I am not, nor have I ever been anorexic. You will see this when you take a look at what I eat in a week! I vowed long ago to never let my weight get to the point where others decide it’s time for me to lose it. By then, it’s so far gone, it’s extremely difficult. I know. It happened to me after I gave birth to my youngest son. Oh – about six years after. It was way past my time then, and took several weeks and months of hard work and dedication to get to where I wanted to be. I will not let that happen again. I know the signs. It happens slowly. Five pounds in a year, or so. But it doesn’t stop until you get tough on yourself and reign things in. So, I’m doing it. End of story. But again, thanks for caring!

I’m on my way to a renewed me. What about you? What are you doing to get healthy this year?

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How Ms. Cheevious Got Her Groove Back

January 23, 2008 by MsCheevious

“I have a funny story, right?” my British gal-pal said on the phone. “We were all talking at the office the other day about what to do this weekend, and one of the girls in the office said she was going to Temple Bar. It reminded me of that time a couple years back when we went to Boa, and then went with that guy – remember?” I remembered. I could also hear my girlfriend’s laughter in her voice. It sounded like she was going to cry, it tickled her so. “I told them, ‘I’ve GOT to tell you a funny story! My girlfriend Lisa Jey and I went there one night – and Lisa Jey thought she was one of the ‘sistahs” – remember that?” Why did she keep asking me that? I remembered. I laughed too. I was a crack up, I’m sure.

Here’s how it went down: (and no, I didn’t say ‘it went down’ to sound like I am a rapper or hipper-cooler chick than I am – that’s really how I talk, okay?) Basically, my friend Sheila (I’ve changed her name to protect her innocence. Lord knows she needs it! ha ha) and I are the best of friends. We are like sisters. We get asked it all the time, too – whether we are sisters. But she’s got this great British accent, and if there is some type of food I won’t eat – like bread or butter – she eats it, and still remains thin. Sometimes I hate her for that.

Me (left) and my “Sistah” “Sheila”
Pretty lucky to be asked if we are sisters, eh?

I was scheduled that fall to fly out to Los Angeles to work on Soul Train’s Lady of Soul Awards, no less. Just before my trip, Sheila got a sizable promotion or bonus or something at work. I’d also just sold a piece of real estate and made a sizable profit. We agreed we’d celebrate together when I was back in LA.

Sheila picked Boa, a wonderful steakhouse in Santa Monica with a very chic atmosphere, replete with bistro tables all in a row (and very close to each other), and a fantastic wine list. About a third the way through dinner, a gentleman sat down at the table next to us who was obviously on his own. He wasn’t bad looking either. He had dark skin – so immediately I pegged him as potential for Sheila. She likes dark and handsome guys. I wasn’t sure, though, as he seemed a tad-bit old for her. She also likes younger guys.

Well, after we’d polished off a bottle of wine, I couldn’t help but strike up a conversation with this guy. He just sort of kept glancing sideways at us, and our tables were so close, he may as well have been sitting with us. Once the introductions were out of the way, and after a couple more cocktails, we learned our new friend, Kevin Sullivan was a fairly well-known director. His most recognizable directorial project was probably “How Stella Got Her Groove Back.”

We talked about lots of things, and were getting along swimmingly (it’s the closest I’ll ever come to being British – using that sort of vernacular), when our bill appeared, and it was apparently time to move on. We were discussing options when Kevin said he’d been to a club nearby that plays live music, and it was pretty cool. He even offered to drive, as he’d not been drinking. I’d worked all day with the Lady of Soul gals, and one of them mentioned she was going to Temple Bar as well. I thought it sounded great.

We walked into Temple Bar, and immediately we could see that we were in Sheila HEAVEN. If there was ever a place where all the people from the hip-hop and R&B communities hang out, THIS was it! Sheila and Kevin seemed to be getting along a little better than before (they were arm in arm now), so I took my cue to do some of my famous Ms. Cheevious social fluttering. I took my drink and proceeded to try and blend in.

Sheila & I getting our
Groove on at a Christmas
Party One Year

The bar area had a dark atmosphere, with black wooden booths in the bar area, and red velvet accents. I strutted past the booths, with guys and their girls lounging around looking at me as if I were on exhibit at the zoo. I have to say, I am extremely white. I have long blonde hair, and I live in Colorado most of the time. This doesn’t mean much, accept for the fact that it contributes to my whiteness. There isn’t much opportunity for sun bathing in Aspen. So, on this particular night I was whiter than usual, and I felt it. I could feel the gazes of the “brothers” on me, and their women too. I struck up conversations with perfect strangers, and even shared a drink (by this time, I’d switched to water) with one group. I decided to continue fluttering. There was a wide opening to another room where a lot of people were crowding near the stage. They had live music that night, and the band was exceptional – the kind you might only hear in LA or NY. ‘Ooooh!’ I thought tipsily, ‘They’re good! How fun!’ as I proceeded to inject my whiteness into the sea of black beauties and groupies in the crowd.

Sheila and Kevin stayed toward the back of the room, as the lead singer jumped down into the midst of the crowd. I am a sucker for an exceptional vocal talent, and he had it. He sang those R&B runs and his voice went all over the musical landscape – but with incredible finesse. He was good looking too. That didn’t hurt, as he tried to get the crowd of mostly women excited about his song.

Then it happened. He started to do this scatting thing back and forth with a few select little cuties in the crowd, and somehow – don’t ask me how or why – it must have been the alcohol – I decided I needed to get up there and vie for my turn at the mic. ‘Why not?’ I reasoned with myself. ‘I was a singer! I use to practice this kind of stuff all the time, and I was good too! Plus there was that time I ROCKED scatting with the guy at Nic’s Martini Lounge in Beverly Hills! This can’t be that different!’ No matter that I’d not sung professionally, or even practiced in several years – or the fact that I was somewhat inebriated, and probably not even speaking clearly. I was determined! So, I careful maneuvered my way toward the area where this hot R&B vocalist was doing his “thing” and watched, smiling, waiting for my turn. The other girls nearby bounced with me to the beat (See? How white is that?).

He was singing this one line, something like “I said, tell me what you are looking for???” And then he would put the microphone in front of a few of the faces in the crowd, who immediately backed away. I was right there with him, and ready to go. So, when he repeated his line to me, “I said TELLLL me what you are LOOOOOKING forrrr?” I leaned in and – in my mind and in my heart I sang as hip and cool as Mariah Carey. I could hang with the best of them, as the words “Much betttttter!” came out of my mouth. Only the sound that actually came out was not what I’d envisioned for myself on my big lucky break. Here I was scatting back and forth with this guy, and my voice felt like it was stuck in tar. I couldn’t make it move fast at all! Plus, I missed quite a few notes! But I gave it my ALL. I tell ya, it was an exhilarating experience, and now I know what it feels like to sing very badly in public! It was hysterical!

After it was all over, and my singing partner had moved on, I turned to one of the girls next to me and exclaimed, “Oh my god! That was so bad!” And she kindly said, “Girl! You held your own! You were right on!” Which led me to think that everyone in that place was drunk anyway, and none of it really mattered!

I meandered back to Sheila and Kevin. Sheila had a mocking smile on her face, and as soon as I got close enough, she said, laughing, “What were you doing? Do you think you’re a sister now or something?” I just laughed and threw out some cliched response, but the truth was I had a blast, and it’s one of my favorite memories to this day.

So what can we all learn from this boys and girls? That if you aren’t willing to take chances or risks, you could miss out on the spice of life? Yes. But more than that, if you’re in need of getting your groove on, or you’ve been living a suburban existence, or perhaps you’ve just been working too hard – make a trip to Temple Bar in Santa Monica. I did. I’d been living in Colorado, and hadn’t been out singing in a very long time. It’s how I got my groove back!

[digg=http://digg.com/celebrity/How_Ms_Cheevious_Got_Her_Groove_Back] ————

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Poison Spider Bee-otch!

November 26, 2007 by MsCheevious

I have an announcement to make: I found my camera! You may recall the worry and chagrin I expressed over losing things a few months back, one of which was my digital camera which had some great photos and footage that could never be recreated. I mean, really. What is a girl suppose to do when she loses her digital cam? So many memories in danger of fading into oblivion. It’s just not right! I am soooo glad I found it. Don’t even ask where it was. I’m embarrassed to even say it was lost. Let’s just leave it at that.

This movie, which was made while in Moab this past fall, is of a hike I enjoy up the back side of what’s known as Poison Spider Mesa Trail. It’s a great little hike, with incredible views! I could spend some time (and I probably should) writing about the hike itself, or why I have only just gotten interested in hiking now, after living a fairly yogic or pilates driven exercise existence. But I think I’ll just let you get straight to the video. We’ll call it a VIDEO BLOG post, so as not to make my writer-friends out there feel as though I’ve fallen off the wagon. (Another post is coming very soon – a written one). But check it out here, and PLEASE write a comment! Be sure to watch it – or fast forward if you must – toward the end, and check out the credits at the end, which are kind of fun. Am I just overly excited about this little medium I’ve discovered? I’m so proud of myself for learning how to do these little credits, and to play around with the volume levels on the soundtrack (excuse my lack of expertise). But , please let me know what you think. When you finish watching, click to reply to post!

[youtube=http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2Iv628G10d4]

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Seeking Inspiration

October 28, 2007 by MsCheevious

I need help.

I went out by myself this evening in search of inspiration. I know. Sad.

It’s the weekend before Halloween as well as the big costume night at all the bars, pubs and night-spots here in the big lights, big ciy of Moab, Utah. (YES, we are still here. I do love it, but I must admit, I’m getting desert fever… I need something girly, and quick…!!)

My solo adventure wasn’t always supposed to be that. My boyfriend originally planned to come out with me. I planned to get dressed up as Guinavere, and drag him along, when he began dropping hints that he wasn’t feeling well.

I’m not convinced it was all purely physical. Most men I’ve known have trouble letting their hair down and wearing costumes (role-playing nymphos, aside). It is quite possible that my man could be mentally disturbed over the notion of what he deems to be “playing dress up.” He is a hard-core rock-climber, after all (And I’m not kidding. He’s a hot, hard-bodied man… yesiree…).

This is my man… wooo – hooo…..

I tried everything to get him into the costume spirit, too. I said I would dress up in my Guinevere costume, and he could come as he is, and cary around a piece of rock-climbing gear. I would stay in character, British accent and all, and claim to be searching for Camelot. He would, in turn, produce his camelot (no, not that – but said rock-climbing gear!!) and thus, be my hero! How easy is that? No dice. He just did not feel well. So, I offered a compromise. We’d been planning to drive back to Aspen to meet with some clients this week, so I suggested we drive out closer to Halloween. Aspen, Colorado comes to LIFE on Halloween. Sure, the kiddies all dress up and go trick-or-treating, but I’d wager to say Halloween in Aspen is more for the adults (to clarify for those who suffer from Peter-Pan or Tinker Bell Syndrome: adults = those over 21). It’s tradition. Upscale restaurants and bars clear out all their tables, fly DJ’s in from around the globe, and the town plays all night long.

Sounds like everyday Aspen, I know. Aspen’s nightlife is famous for never letting up. But people take Halloween seriously there. They spare no expense, nor amount of creativity on their costumes. It’s something to experience, at least once. I’d compare it to Mardi Gras in New Orleans or Carnivale in Brazil, but I’m sure that’s just going too far… isn’t it?

Once I knew we’d be in Aspen for its holy of holidays, I decided to get to work. I needed a costume, and some inspiration. NOW. All my girlfriends plan to dress up as Dallas Cowboy Cheerleaders (they always do those theme group costumes), and I canNOT wear something I’ve already worn (Guinavere is out – as it was an Aspen inspiration). The first time I met this group of friends, I was Guinavere and they were all naughty cops. It was pretty funny… me in my long velvet gown, while my new pals were parading around in a blizzard (yep, snow is common on Halloween in Aspen) in their hot pants and fishnet stockings…

There I stand (or huddle) in the middle of a bunch of naughty female cops… oh and Bo Peep and a Sexy Pirate… too funny!! I love those girls!

So, tonight I went to the neighborhood Moab “hot spot” in search of the latest and greatest costumes. I learned something: Small town does not equal Halloween creativity. Go figure. Ya’d think all that pent-up creativity would leak out into the collective consciousness and filter through into the social scene – especially on a holiday that celebrates such creativity. No, no and no. I guess in Moab, the costumes run the variety of everyday, small-town USA. Blood, gore, blood, vampires, blood, french maids, etc…

Needless to say, I wasn’t inspired. Not so much. I paid for my one drink at the bar (to get around that whole “awe… that poor older single woman, here all by herself” thing, I sat at the bar and pretended to be very interested in the outcome of the Red Sox / Rockies game that was on the bar tv. I didn’t fool anyone though. I tried to make small talk with a couple of locals, by saying really sports-enthusiast things like “So, if the Rockies lose this, are they out?” I TOTALLY thought the games being played here were the pre-world-series games, to decide who goes to the World Series. When I looked a little closer I saw that the World Series was ON…. and gee… the Rockies made it to the World Series!).

It wasn’t all for naught though. Just as I was getting ready to pay my tab, the bartender informed me of a guy at the other end of the bar who wanted to buy me a drink. It redeemed the whole escapade for me, to say the least. It actually brought to mind a question asked by Single Mom Seeking, of “Can a Single Mom have a Boy Toy?” To which I answered yes – with conditions… Not that I was looking for a boy toy… god no. But since I am enamored, enthralled and in love with my beautiful man, this guy’s offer actually startled me, and caused the flight mechanism to kick into gear! What is that all about?? I told the bartender to say thanks, but that I was leaving. Then I ran home to my honey, as fast as my legs could carry me.

I went out by myself in Moab tonight seeking inspiration, when what I think I needed was a muse.

So, here I am – seeking inspiration. Will you be my muse?

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Blog content copyright 2007, LISA JEY DAVIS a.k.a. Ms. Cheevious.

Separating the Women from the Girls

September 15, 2007 by MsCheevious

Last night was a my girlfriend Persephone’s birthday (okay – it’s not her real name, but I’ve always liked unsual names that sound like Greek goddesses or something, so I figured I’d lob that one onto my friend, in the interest of anonymity and all. Heck, I wouldn’t mind being given the alias of Persephone. Then again I wouldn’t mind being a Greek goddess, or any other type of goddess for that matter. At least for a day… but I digress).

Anyhow, the big “P” planned a casual gathering of dinner and drinks with a few of her girlfriends. I was the first to arrive at the utterly hip and cool restaurant, hand-picked by the birthday girl. We were in for an added bonus because she works there most other nights, thus initiating the unwritten code between on-duty bartenders, and off-duty workers of drink “hook-ups.”

I ‘m not one to choose where to eat based on the drink “hook up,” but can certainly see its merits among stuggling college age kids and what-not. Don’t get me wrong… I’m all about enjoying a good cocktail, on-the-house or otherwise.

So, I walked into the bar, and noticed the familiar face of Scotty, the bartender on duty in my friend’s absence. I told Scotty I was there for P’s birthday, and promptly ordered a soda and lime juice. It is my drink of choice lately, to help me succeed in my new health blitz. I’d been successfully dieting, exercising to shed the excess pounds from the last two years of debauched eating and drinking, so I was NOT going to throw it all away in one evening.

Now, onto the reason for this blasted post! The rest of the girls arrived soon enough. Everyone was dressed up in their cutest parading outfits (myself included – at least the cutest thing my boyfriend felt good about), and we soon were seated at our table in the dining room.

The ambiance was perfect – a very chic restaurant, with some of Aspen’s own Who’s-Who in attendance – and our own Ladies of the Roundtable all in waiting. Well, waiting for drinks and appetizers anyway. I made small talk with the girls I didn’t know to my right, as everyone else that I knew was either sitting a mile across the table from me, or was seated on my left getting tanked.

It became increasingly difficult to make small talk, at least with any success. As the evening progressed, the music in our little bistro got louder and louder. I have a hearing problem. It’s true. Not a bad one. I just can’t hear background sounds very well. It’s something they think I was born with, but I have a hard enough time deciphering bacground sounds in the grocery store, let alone in an obnoxiously loud restaurant (which is what our little Camelot had turned into). I smiled and pretended to understand what my new best friend Karina was saying, three seats over from me. I had to pretend. I’d already said “EH?” and “What’s that?” far too many times to be civil, or at least not appear to be an eighty year old with extremely good cosmetic surgery.

That’s when it happened. Persephone and I caught each others glance, and she hollered across the table, “Are you doing okay? How are you holding up?”

I said half-laughing, “Great!” But I couldn’t help but wonder why she’d singled ME out. So, when she repeated it about twenty minutes later I said, “Why? Do I look tired?” and she replied, “No more than me, sister!” I quickly countered, “I’m just looking OLD! That’s it, isn’t it?!” Of course then, Heather who was sitting next to P said, “Don’t you worry about it LJ! I’m definitely the oldest one here! I’m 34!” My mouth must have dropped to the table, as my mind raced, ‘Am I flattered, or insulted?’ From Heather I was flattered, I suppose, as she apparently had NO idea of my true age. But very quickly I realized that my friend P had heard this (and anyone else?), and she DID know my age. I had to fess up. I said, “No, Heather. Sorry. I win. I’m 42…” I think I expected her jaw to drop to the floor as she exclaimed with a shriek how there was no WAY on earth I could POSSIBLY be 42. It never happened. I think she’d had a few drinks by this time, and probably forgot we were even talking, as she mumbled something about her cool nail polish to another girl next to her.

As the smoke screen cleared, and I was fully exposed, I was forced to take a little inventory of the real situation:

1) I was trying to have a meaningful conversation with some girls who I hardly knew, and were probably still in their 20’s. One had just come off the road working for rock and roll bands like Aerosmith. She was wide-eyed and curious about me and what it was like to work for myself. She said she’d love to do that some day, but felt very comfortable in her “profession.” That should have have been my first clue, or at least tipped it off for me.

2) I was struggling to hear! Not to understand.. though that had its challenges as well. Do you hear me? I couldn’t friggin’ HEAR what people were saying, when apparently everyone else could hear just fine. Even though I couldn’t hear, I could definitely observe that this too was a MAJOR clue.

3) Everyone assumed their expected roles. Birthday girl gets to drink and gets her way, no matter what (that never changes, and it shouldn’t). Everyone else is there for the birthday girl, but most use the occasion to eat drink and be merry, and eventually make utter babbling fools of themselves (hey, I’ve been guilty of that… check out my Alcohol with Altitude post…). But that was my third clue.

4) My own friend P was truly concerned about me, because obviously I was the OLD LADY of the bunch, and I might not hold up okay. THAT WAS IT!

I came to some important conclusions then:

1) I am not old, I am just wise! And I think I have some semblance of intelligence (I may also be delusional, but happy nonetheless). I have been lucky to live and experience some of the most enviable things in my life. For some reason my younger friends translate that as smart and successful. I love my life, and I thrive on inspiring, intelligent conversation, and I see my time and engergy as extremely valuable – as my “free” time is so scant these days.

2) I do not usually go out for the purpose of getting drunk anymore. I admit – it definitely happens that a few drinks take their toll on me from time to time – but I stopped going out to “party” when I was in my early twenties, with the exception of a brief stint between 36 and 40 when I was freshly divorced, on the prowl, and before I met the man I love and live with.

3) I HAVE my career and I am happy in it. I am exceptional at what I do. That’s why I make a good living at it, and I have crafted it to suit me and the lifestyle I have chosen.

4) I like to surround myself with people who are happy, successful (in more ways than just financially) and those who are always growing, learning and expanding.

The bottom line? I am just in a different space these days than most of the girls at my friend’s party. I was so glad to be there to honor my friend, and I do not really KNOW her other friends to conclude whether they are intelligent or “with it.” I just found that I didn’t have the drive of years ago to find out. That was the difference between me and some of the girls that night. I laughed and I had a nice time, but in the end, I am not a young girl anymore. I am not really searching for love, career, success or contentment, as they continue in their search. Oh, I will always strive to achieve more of my life’s goals, but for the most part, I am happy. And above all, I do not limit myself.

The gal who was sitting on my right epitomized our differences. At one point in our conversation about career, she said in a knowing voice to the younger, more impressionable girls, “Well, we all make sacrifices to live here. It’s just a fact of life.”

I wanted to shout out, “We do not!” I live in Aspen because I CHOOSE to. If Aspen were to stop fulfilling me or required that I make great sacrifice to stay here (without real merit), I would move on. Anything is possible! I choose to live without placing limits on myself with every breath.

I don’t say these things to shun or diss my girlfriends. I love P and her roommate, as well as my other best friend who got tanked that night… I like to go out and get a little crazy, and be carefree as well. I’ve just been in the company of people lately who have raised the bar for me. They are people I admire, and see as movers and shakers in our world. The kind you feel lucky to know, and you can learn from as well as offer input into their lives on a daily basis.

It’s just that the truth of our lives – how we choose to live right now – is what separates the women from the girls…. and lately it seems as though there is a GREAT DIVIDE!

Does a Picture Paint a Thousand Words?

September 4, 2007 by MsCheevious

Am I giving away my age to quote a song by Bread, “If a picture paints a thousand words, then why can’t I paint you?” Well, here it is boys and girls. You CAN paint me! Well – at least Google can.. I took the GOOGLE NAME challenge from LoveTips4All, Modobs and Vanessa. Here’s how it works:

1. ) Go to www.Google.com

2) Click on Google images

3) Type in your name and search

4) Repost (w/ a link) the picture of the oddest, craziest, strangest, coolest, oldest, etc. person that shares your name. Post multiples if you find a few you like. (See Below)

5) Pass it on to at least 5 other people.

Here’s what I did:

My full name is Lisa Jey Davis. A quick search pulled up my own pictures, so I was forced to go by any other derivative: Lisa J, Lisa J– (my birthname, which I won’t disclose), and just plain Lisa. I did not copy links, but simply the pictures, and I posted anything I found interesting:

Aside from the obvious famous Lisas out there (Ms. Pressley notwithstanding), I share a name with a VERY famous toon:

I am a very nice yacht:

Someone with my name shares my shoe fetish:

and someone was cruel enough to name a DOG after me!!!

It’s a cruel, cruel world. But I think I will stick with the photos that came up when searching my real name!!

Now I am suppose to share this item with 5 friends, but I am remiss to actually HAVE 5 more friends on wordpress! Enjoy it out there cyberworld. This post was a fun freebie! 🙂

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Junk Food My Arse – Really!

Seeking Inspiration

Separating the Women from the Girls

Does a Picture Paint a Thousand Words?

The Funny (that’s the blog people)

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Entertainment

Me (left) and my “Sistah” “Sheila” Pretty lucky to be asked if we are sisters, eh?

Sheila & I getting our Groove on at a Christmas Party One Year

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The Funny (that’s the blog people)

Get a Free Book

Me (left) and my “Sistah” “Sheila”
Pretty lucky to be asked if we are sisters, eh?

Sheila & I getting our
Groove on at a Christmas
Party One Year