We love, therefore we are.

dancing
Photo by Andrea Hill Johnson

There have been a lot of emotions burning today, running wild like a forest fire in a vicious drought.

When tragedies happen, we curl our hands into fists as we feel so hard even though we are helpless. And we often don’t know what to do with ourselves.

It is times like these when we must remember to keep our hearts open. Just love, because it is the most important thing we can ever do. If we keep doing this, we win – even when all seems lost.

Stop the anger. Go with the love.

We love, therefore we are.

Spring Cleaning in Five Difficult Steps

Dancer's Pose Natarajasana

A lot of “better living” advice starts flying around this time of year, specifically targeting spring cleaning.

There are a couple of different methods out there.

There’s the popular approach: cleaning behind your fridge, organizing your sock drawer, or scrubbing the floors with a Disney princess toothbrush.

Then, there’s the unpopular approach…you know, life beyond your closet.

By April, New Year’s resolutions have been carelessly swept under the rug. Eat healthy, exercise more, drink less, quit smoking…any of those yours?

Although spring is rather different than that balls-to-the-wall ambition for the new year.

Our desires are more humble, more in tune with nature. The blooming and budding stirs something inside of us – a need to grow with our surroundings and a yearning for fresh simplicity.

We often think that a little scrub-a-dub-dub is all we need for renewal.

While spick and span is fine and dandy, the bigger question is…what else should we be cleaning out of our lives?

MESSY OBLIGATIONS

Does your free time mirror your work life with appointments, checklists, and deadlines? I realize there are errands and social engagements, but do you really need to run around all the freaking time?

Not taking time out for yourself – some uninterrupted me time – is like inviting stress to bed with you. Stress not only ages us, it can slowly kill us.

Mop that shit up!  Try squeezing in your errands during the week after work when you’re already in that busy bee mode. Or get up early and knock them out on your weekend, so you can have the rest of your day. Brunch with so-and-so, cocktails with those guys, and hosting dinner parties for a herd of people is fine here and there. There’s no need to go all out all the time. Try something less “see and be seen” like staying in your jammies all day and not brushing your hair.

TOXIC INDIVIDUALS

Speaking of so-and-so’s, what do those relationships really have to offer?

I’m not talking about the wonderful people you can count on no matter what, the ones you trust with your life. You know who these toxic culprits are. To name a few: random acquaintances, oversized social circles, and Negative Nancies.

Yeah, it sounds harsh.

But guess what shouldn’t be taken lightly? Spending time with people that either don’t bring any fulfillment or worse, harm you in some way. Also, they take time away from the people you want/should be around more.

Disinfect that shit!  It’s time for the old pros and cons list. Honestly, it’s one of the best ways to stand back and logically examine the so-and-so’s. Once you’ve done that, then you have to deal with your decision. You can either tell them to their face or you can just fade out. The fade out is often easier than you might think, because sorry to tell you, you probably were as equally unimportant in their lives as they were in yours.

CLOGGED ACTIVITIES

Have you been doing something forever, so you just keep on doing it? This can be a hobby or a form of exercise.

Although it’s wonderful to be creative and stay active, make sure you are totally in love with it. Just because you’re good at something doesn’t mean you have to keep doing it.

In fact, this encourages a case of the blahs.

Where’s the challenge when you’ve been there, done that? Where’s the high when something has plateaued?

Ho-hum creative endeavors are not making you a more cultured person. And, lackluster exercise routines are not doing anything wonderful for your body.

Why? Because you’re effing bored.

Pour some drain cleaner down that shit!  It’s time to move on. I know it’s hard, especially if you’ve been doing it forever and you feel that in some way it defines you. But, it doesn’t. Take up something new, that something you’ve been secretly wanting to try but haven’t had time for. Who cares if you feel like an idiot? You’re learning and growing. Sometimes we have to look a little goofy.

FILTHY HARASSMENT

Commercials, ads, and email marketing infiltrate our very lives like a team of termites.

This is a consumer-driven world we live in, and unless you go native, you’re gonna have to deal with it.

Yet, there is so much we allow voluntarily.

Do you give cashiers your email address when they ask? Do you sign up for e-mail lists just so you can score a discount?

Bam! You’re being stalked by marketers. And, you asked for it.

Trash that shit!  You don’t have to give out your email address to, well…anyone. Leave it blank on the form and decline politely when asked. It’s OK to say no. If you do sign up for the sake of a deal, you can unsubscribe after you’ve used the promo. It’s sneaky, but so are they. That initial coupon is just to butter you up. They’ll be harassing you on a regular basis after that…until the end of time.

CLUTTERED MIND

The previously mentioned life trash dumps stress, negativity, boredom, and irritation on our minds. Our lives are hectic enough as they are, but there is one phenomenal way to tidy up our minds….

Wipe down that shit!  Meditate. It works…simple as that. Even if you can only squeeze in 5-10 minutes a day, the effects are long-lasting and spotless.

Hey, I was very up front about these steps not being the easy kind. I’m not Martha Stewart, I’m Britt Skrabanek and I like to dish out the tough love sometimes.

So, put your damn hot pink rubber gloves on and start your spring cleaning!

The G-Rated Deal

under the blanket
Yep, that’s me.

I always wanted to watch the Planet Earth series, and Mr. H and I got it for Christmas last year on Blu Ray.

Let’s just say we have an arrangement when it comes to watching these types of things. I do other things and Mr. H gets my attention when something cute or pretty comes on.

I spent most of Disc 1 of Planet Earth hiding under a blanket. Why?

Well, you know everything was all hunky-dory.

Gorgeous Earth showed off her sexy self left and right – her flowery mane, her pointy peaks, her undulating sea hips, and her long tree legs.

The animals started off sprightly and entertaining.

Baby versions gave me a case of the ubiquitous female sigh – awwwww. I wanted to snuggle with them, even the ones that would surely bite my ass.

Then, comes that inevitable moment…you know which one. When the animals decide to turn into Hannibal Lecter’s.

And, that’s when I cower beneath my raggedy blanket, my protective shield, praying for an end to the graphic meal in HD (for our benefit).

Mr. H. shouts things like…

“Not yet. No, definitely not yet!”

Or my personal fave…

“Don’t come out of there. It’s NOT safe!”

I know it’s the cycle of life and all that. But, I just can’t.

If I had it my way, nature documentaries would only show the following:

  1. Interesting weather phenomena
  2. Bold and colorful flora and fauna
  3. Baby animals before they get eaten
  4. Vegetarian meals only

Alas, I know this is not often the case.

Lucky for me I can sometimes experience censored cuteness and prettiness because I have Mr. H and the G-Rated Deal.

How about you guys out there? Do you hide under blankets too or is just me?

Chicago: In the Throes of Shamrock Shenanigans

New Year’s Eve at Times Square in New York City definitely comes to mind…and I never ever had a desire to be there.

Why, you ask? Because it looks like my worst nightmare.

I like to get loose every once in a while – just not with everybody, especially amateurs. This is something I’ve always known without previously experiencing such a hellish ordeal firsthand until…

Chicago. St. Patty’s weekend. Cringe.

Nobody drugged me, tied me up, and strapped me to a bright green party bus covered in leprechauns that said, “Honk if you’re after my lucky charms”.

I went there voluntarily, on my own accord. (Damnit.)

So, how did this happen? How in the hell did I end up in the second most popular U.S. city for St. Patty’s Day debauchery?

Saturday was Mr. H’s birthday. (Mr. H is the artist formerly known as hubby.)

We needed a getaway, and luckily for us Milwaukeeans, Chicago is a hop, skip, and a jump away. The logistics of St. Patty’s Day didn’t resonate with us as we were arriving the day before, and we wrongly assumed we would be safe.

We seriously thought Chicago would be romantic.

amtrak to chicago

My book I’m currently working on, The Bra Game, takes place in 1950s Chicago. And what better way to do research than to immerse yourself in the chosen setting? I imagined myself pointing at a beautiful monstrosity of a building and jotting down the surrounding street names just so I could include the moment in a future scene.

I seriously thought Chicago would be inspirational.

Romantic? Inspirational? Oh, how naive I was.

Twenty-somethings ran amuck like it was their last day on earth and the only way to ease the pain was to drink everything in sight.

Thankfully, I didn’t see any of them leaning over the side and lapping up the frigid, green river…

green river chicago

In fact, I believe their day started very differently than ours.

First and foremost, we showered. We ate breakfast. We dressed in chic outfits, which were warm and practical.

They rolled out of bed with glee…no time for cleanliness. They guzzled their cheap beer breakfasts. They layered on their emerald adornments: antennas, tutus, glitter, hats, and foul t-shirts.

Most did not bother with coats, therefore frozen arses were out in full force. And it was bloody cold, you guys.

Cold.

These dense hooligans wandered into you like it was acceptable, stepped on your feet for sport, walked in front of cars to look cool, and picked fights in the middle of busy intersections even though they threw wimpy punches.

Now I’m actually a wee bit Irish, and I’m half Czech. I know how to pour a proper beer and I know how to keep my shit together.

I found out that my great-grandmother’s last name was McSperitt.

And, Britt McSperitt was one pissed off lassie.

The shouting and belching echoed through the city like someone just learning to play bagpipes, overshadowing the intermittent hum of the “L” and the rhythmic tooting of the buses with the most horrendous sounds.

When you’re worried about some clover clad half-wit spewing on your arm, the romance is gone…long gone. And, any daydreaming about my lovable novel was replaced by a basic need for survival…survival of the fittest.

But, something magical happened after we found refuge in a pizzeria for lunch and the parade fizzled out.

The windy city blew the lightweights away to their questionable hostels and their stained apartments, to either land spread eagle on the floor, profess their undying love to the toilet, or in many cases…both.

They looked like this at Union Station the next day…

asleep in union station

And I, Britt McSperitt, lived to tell this spirited limerick of shamrock shenanigans in Chicago.

Stay tuned for the second part of my weekend trip…Chicago: Beyond the Shamrock Shenanigans.

Winter, you can kiss my pasty ass!

bike in the snow

No, that’s not my bike – frozen, buried, forgotten.

My bike is named Silvie.

Silvie is currently nestled in the teeny hall of my apartment, buried beneath itchy coats, scarves and mittens, and tragically forgotten through the winter that won’t quit.

I’m sure some of you, especially my dad, are snickering right now. I’m the girl that never had seasons growing up and loves snow, right?

I no longer love snow…I loathe it.

I want vivacious colors to make my eyes sore, I want pungent grass to make my nose itch, I want zealous sunshine to make my skin drunk, no…intoxicated.

I don’t want white, I want green. I don’t want decay, I want bloom. I don’t want chapped, I want sweaty.

Winter, you can kiss my pasty ass!

So, anyways. This is Silvie and I when we were happy…

milwaukee art museum

It was summer in the fine city of Milwaukee, the year I first moved here. Without batting an eye, I gleefully traded in my clunky car Booger for sleek and sexy Silvie.

That’s the Milwaukee Art Museum, gorgeously designed by the great Santiago Calatrava, cascading behind me.

Of course, strangled by Winter’s crone hands, the museum looks quite different now…

milwaukee art museum in winter

So, back to the frozen, buried, forgotten bike I mentioned before I went off on my cabin fever tangent.

This bike is stationed right outside my apartment. And strangely, it’s been sitting there since last summer.

I know this, because I like to park my bike there when I’m on the run. Unfortunately, my prime parking was always commandeered by this asshole bike with the lame basket.

Well, well, well…look at the asshole now. Actually, I feel kind of bad for the asshole.

Not only is he on his way to becoming a snowball, a career he certainly never intended to have, he has turned into a tourist attraction.

Now that he is one with the snow, people stop and take pictures of him every day, spotlighting his public abandonment and emasculating him even more than that frou-frou basket.

Although Silvie has been neglected for months, she knows I still love her, that I yearn to frolic with her on the city streets, narrowly escaping death through the treachery of downtown commuting.

She knows.

So, my question for all of you is…what the hell happened to the owner of that bike?! I’ve been mulling over many theories lately, but I’m interested in what you have to say.

Humor me…I’m bored as shit.

(Please pardon my unladylike language throughout this post. The Winter Blues have spoken.)