A devinnity day in the life.

…a sound like someone trying not to make a sound…

Good Morning World

Hello.  I’m back.  I go back and forth with wanting to blog, but decided if I’m not going to work on my new novel in the morning, I should at the very least bitch about life or be sarcastic or reflect on unimportant but qualifying things instead.  Something to release my tension or feed my creativity.  You know… stuff like that.  =)

ImageMy topic for the moment:

I’m not a can’t-beat-em-join-em type of gal.
I’m a can’t-beat-em-fight-harder-or-stand-alone type of gal.

And I mean that in every sense of the word(s).  But I realized today that it’s a blessing AND a curse.  Sure, it’s nice when you hear people say how strong you are and that you inspire them and that they wish they could be more like you, but they don’t understand how hard it is to be me sometimes.  I get lonely!  I feel like an alien even around my own family at times.

Case in point: I’m a vegetarian. Sometimes I am vegan.  My reasons vary, but for the most part I like to eat clean food. I feel cleaner inside when I do.  When I eat meat or dairy, I feel heavy and bloated and I break out in zits in weird (dare I say hormonal) places.  When I eat vegetarian or vegan (better), I feel lighter, more energetic, and my skin is clearer by far.  I also came across this interesting article (among many on this topic, especially lately) and it’s DEFINITELY worth a read whatever court you’re in (meat or no meat): http://theorganiccompany.blogspot.com/2009/08/high-cost-of-cheap-food.html

ImageAlso of extreme importance to me: animal compassion.  I love animals and hate the way the majority of them are treated to put food on our tables.  Gone are the good ole days of hunting for your own food and providing and being thankful at the same time, all the while using every scrap of the animal before just discarding.  And, there’s more: the animal lived a comfortable grazing life, not a life in a cage with abuse on a daily basis as if they had no feelings or felt any pain. Now it’s grocery store mystery meats and oh-so-processed packaged foods.  I’m the weird one in the family that checks labels and looks for fewer ingredients.  I’m the ONLY one around me who cares about this and that, how the animals were treated, what I’m putting in to my body on a meal-by-meal basis, whether the foods I consume have GMO ingredients or not. I care a lot.  I refuse to purchase anything that’s questionable for my well being.

ImageThen there’s my husband.  He is a meat with a side of meat type guy. And animals: he doesn’t care at all.  Well, that sounds harsh, I guess the truth is nobody ever really explained it to him, but you’d think people would just care on their own.  Right?!  Well, no, and it makes for a tough shopping trip and we often eat completely separate meals.  Talk about awkward.  Still trying to find the balance there after 5 years of marriage.  Wish me luck!  I end up cooking him a separate meal entirely (he often won’t even eat my meal as a side dish).  He’s very stubborn and it causes a lot of friction since I’m SO aware.  I try to explain the WHY to him, and he listens for about 10 seconds, then it’s whatever else is going on that’s more important.  *sigh*  Hence, the feeling like an alien in my own home sometimes.

But, I’ll keep being me.  I’m a certified personal fitness trainer thriving on a plant-based diet (by the way) with the intention of taking my skills remote to coach people in diet and exercise on a weekly basis for a fee.  I’ll set up a website someday.  Right now I have a little facebook page on it, if you’re interested or want to talk to me about it: www.facebook.com/FITBootyGoddess

Anyhoo… I think that’s good for a first-in-a-while post.  Have a great day! =.)

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NEW BLOG!

Hey!  New blog address, go follow it!  =)

http://giannaperada.wordpress.com

xxoo,
G

The Engagement Story.

Finally… the engagement story.  It’s been over a month now (Dec. 6th), but it’s still fresh in my mind.  =)

Cucina Paradiso, our favorite Italian restaurant. We were supposed to make it up to Mendocino to stay at MacCallum House, but poor Ric Baby hurt his back BAD and we were unable to make it.  He had planned to do the deed there.  In fact, just about everyone knew but me.  He talked to my parents, even.  How cute is that?!

So, he insisted we get out to the restaurant he knows I love so much.  Once there, I get up to use the ladies room, and when I return, I lift up my napkin to place back on my lap . . . and what the hell is that beautiful little black box sitting there?!?!  I look up at him and say, “REALLY???”

He looked like a deer caught in headlights.

I then look down to try to open the box, drop it once on the table, pick it back up, flip it upside down….. you get the point.  When I finally unsnap that little clasp, the ring is not in its place because it fell out while I manhandled the poor thing.  As I’m trying to fish it out I hear this little voice say to my head (and it sounded so far away to me), “Will you marry me?”  I said, frantically, “WAIT!!” while I finally get a hold on that ring, quickly inspect its shining beauty, and look up and say, “Wait, say it again to my eyes!!”  So he says it again and I say, “REALLY??”  haha

Then I say, “Of course I will!  I love you!!” And jump up to kiss him a hundred times.  The waiter comes over to pour water in our glasses (which he normally does not do, the busboys do that) and asks, “So, what’s going on here,” in his best mafia accent. Ric says, “A marriage proposal.”  Franco (the waiter) says, “And what did you say?”  I answered, “Yes!”  And he grabs and hugs me, and then looks at Ric and says, “And you’ll be a good husband to her and treat her right?” And Ric says, “Yeah!”

It was perfect.  The whole thing.  My little gimpy Ric Baby… Franco who knows my family because we always go there (and we’re Sicilian like him… and us Siciilians stick together)… and the owner giving us free tiramisu (my fave)! Perfect, perfect, perfect.  And our little table was purr-fect, too.  Awwwww!  =^.^=

Gobble Gobble

It’s Turkey Day and Ric Baby and I will go to a snazzy little joint in Marin to be served a fine feast on this gluttonous day of days. Horray for no dishes and all day cooking. I just hope they have a vegetarian option because I’ve never been a huge fan of the gobble gobbles. If not, it’s all the side dishes for me.

I am thankful for much of my life. Some of it can fuck off, but isn’t that just the case all around. I mean who really truly has a perfect life that they are 119% thankful for? Many will swear they are and have no regrets, but half the time it’s like, “Yeah, you keep telling yourself that.” Nothing in life is flawless and much of it sucks and makes no sense, but it is our own. At least we can say and mean that… Not just try to put on a blindfold and pretend everything is honky dory. I am interested in the real and raw shit. That is what perks my ears.

Not to be negative, not at all! But to be honest and to wash off all the sugar-coating so that when harsh realities hit you are at least a little more prepared to accept and deal with them.

Ramble much? I guess this came from the whole Thanksgiving thing. In reality, it was a day of chaos, control, and brutality. Yet, we celebrate it as if it were out of something good and about giving thanks for life and God or something. Somehow that makes me a little dog-eyed. For my mom, though, it is not about the holiday at all. It is just another chance for the family to get together. I’m definitely okay with that. I love my family more than anything. I am thankful for them. ❤

And there you go.

For someone who works out a lot, and is actually interested in becoming a personal trainer, you’d think injuring yourself lifting something heavy would/should not occur. Well, it does. Or, it did.

The culprit was a red plastic shipping box full of luxurious body care products to be put away in their rightful places. I used all the precautions to squat down and pick up the heavy ass box, lifted with no issues. But, alas, the cool wheel-y cart thing-y has a stupid lip on it. And in order to get the deep, heavy box securely onto the cool wheel-y cart thing-y, one must lift the heavy ass box up over the lip, just an inch or two past parallel, to successfully do so.  That one or two innocent little inches overextended the front of my left shoulder. Bad. I felt it snap. It didn’t hurt right away, but it felt… weird.  Within a couple of hours I was in total pain, grin and bearing it at work to the best of my keen abilities. Sleep was not an easy or restful experience.

In the morning, after being literally reduced to tears over putting on my jacket, I reported the incident to my supervisor.

“Morning.”

“Hey, Gianna, how are you?”

“I’ve got a serious migraine in my shoulder. It’s totally throbbing and shooting pains up to my ear. You?”

“Uhhhhh…?”

Yeah. I figured I’d just let her know that I’d be a little gimpy for the shift, and would be popping anti-inflammatories and rubbing muscle ointments on all day. But noooooooo, work sent me off to the clinic and that experience was as annoying as the injury. No, not an easy old Workers’ Comp clinic, but Urgent Care as it is Saturday and the nifty little clinics are closed. Assholes. Don’t they know us worker bees function more than just Monday through Friday just to keep this economy alive (as much as possible anyway).

The bright side was that my sweetheart, Ric Baby, braved the wait in the exam room with me, sharing a room with someone who undoubtedly had SARS or some other such contagious, deadly virus as she proceeded to take her mask off and cough freely into the air. Yay. Every time I heard that fucking fan come on overhead to recirculate the air I cringed.  But that’s another story.  A much longer-winded one knowing me. tee hee

Enjoy the home of my new grumble-fest.  I know I will.  xo

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