Monday, August 23, 2010

New Blog. New Posts. Loves it.

For my 30th, P Bonex has been working on setting up a new blog site for me. It's definately in the works still but i've already starting posting there instead of here. So come and join me!!

http://ginrod.com

Monday, August 02, 2010

Facebook Status of the Day

You cannot make this shit up.


"Gosh!!!!!!! I was just listening to "In Christ Alone" today on the radio and telling xxxx about how I sobbed as you and xxxx sang that to each other holding hands with your veil blowing in the wind and all of us singing along. One of the most memorable moments in my life. Praying today you are finding even more joy in Christ. Love you tons!!!!!!!!!!"

Tuesday, July 20, 2010

basket toss

“ You should totally try out.” They told me smacking hubba bubba cherry cola pieces between their metal guarded molars. There were three or four of them, their blonde bangs contorted perfectly into two layers and held in place with four pounds of aqua net hairspray.

My back was against the terracotta tiles. I stared at them while fidgeting with my bitten down fingernails, the cacophony of flushing toilets around us echoed into my ears. My straight brown hair clung to my faded sweatshirt like the sticky legs of an octopus.

“Show us your split jump” they dared me, eyeing my hairy pole legs with smirks on their faces. Hesitant, I stood in front of them and showed them what I had been practicing secretly in the confines of my home.

Four years later, I found myself with my foot pointed straight above my ear, on top of a multi layered human pyramid. The memories of my static prone hair and knobby knees now behind me, I was now a toned, flat- chested fourteen year old, with an asymmetrical bob. Through years of private coaching, cheerleading camps and supplemental gymnastics classes, I became a mold of the quintessential Midwestern adolescent female, weathered in stiff clapping and deep yelling.

The human pyramid melted as I effortlessly slid onto the gym floor, my pointed toes lead the way as I hopped to the next spot, my arms systematically clapping and elbows perfectly aligned with my underarms in “arm chair” mode. “Thumbs pointing down wrapped outside of fist.” I would remind myself. “Stiff straight arms means slightly bent,” I nervously whispered under my breath, a reminder to keep my angles sharp. .

After ten more steps and the repetitive yelling of three colors in my deepest voice. I found myself facing my worst enemy with a palpitating heart and perspiring sebaceous glands. The cause of this allergic reaction would be the impending next stunt that featured yours truly as the shining star.

They called it the basket toss. Our senior coach introduced it to us as our secret weapon in winning this competition. Mastering such a high level stunt at our age would catapult us to regional champions, she explained with her wide blue eyes and waving a halfhearted notebook paper explanation of the stunt in front of us. To build it, two of the tallest girls in the squad would squat then weave their arms and hands into a mini-platform and four other girls would add to the buoyancy of the flier (myself) by placing both their hands underneath this platform. I never volunteered to be the flier for this stunt; my hesitation came from my natural fear of heights and a even stronger distrust of the adolescent girls below me who would be responsible for my safety.

This advanced stunt had hundreds of hours behind it. I woke up every morning for months with a basket toss knot in my stomach, ending the last academic hour of every other day knowing I would be thrown in a variety of directions during “practice” whether I wanted to do this or not.

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On the count of three, I placed my clammy hands on the shoulders of the two base girls facing one another and jumped into the human basket awaiting me. All 6 girls would dip down in perfect unison with stiffened backs to propel me with momentum into the air like a rising phoenix into the universe. Or more so, propel me straight up into the gym’s speaker system that closely resembled a sputnik on the center of the roof.

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The aim was to hit my peak height, arms outstretched and toes pointed into a perfect reverse dive. When I arrived at the peak, I would extend my long thin, limbs into an elegant toe touch then sweep my legs together in a V-shape so the rest of the squad could catch me in perfect motion.

This of course, did not happen.

This climax of our symphony, where the world should have held its breath in awe instead, held its breath in fright. It could have been a mis communication between the physical world and the spiritual world, or the very instance in the universe where that the laws of physics were shaken like dice- to this day, I may never know. The minute the girls below me counted and then dipped, I knew I would never rise like Phoenix did in x-men. I was far from the spandex-clad superhero I strived to be. Instead, the hushed and worries faces in the audience witnessed my super hero bloomers, the cheerleader version of granny underwear in the school colors. The elegant catch that had been practiced tri-weekly for two months morphed into a panicked scramble to awkwardly catch my crumpled body from the air that rejected me.

Once my red and white Asix shoes were safely planted on the newly waxed gym floor, I took a moment to stare at my white shoes, frozen with the failure of my actions, the final proof of my desire not to participate. I savored the two deep breaths I took before completing the rest of the cheer. Out of the corner of my eye I sensed the looming anger of my senior coach, facing me with crossed arms.

We left the gym floor with an exit chant. Lightly panting, I walked out into the lobby, greeted by the furious glare of our high school senior cheerleading coach. “You ruined, everything.” She spurted at me before stomping off. This statement was not news to me, the minute I placed my hands on the shoulders of my squad-mates I knew we were doomed. Shaking, I grabbed the red, white and blue carnations gifted to me and ran out.

The following year, I tested my boundaries by rejecting the red, white and blue and replacing it with a black flight jacket and a predominantly shaven head. Instead of my name on a plaque in the varsity girl’s basketball locker room, I chose to write for the school newspaper and dabble in the drama club. The boys who used to invite me to parties now accused me of becoming a lesbian, frustrated at my need to be different from them.

Two years after the relief of high school graduation, curiosity brought me back to an old classmates Holiday party. I arrived at a petite white house, with chips of paint flaking off like snow on the browned grass below. Christmas tree lights were carelessly strung around the frame of the creaky patio, a few people stood outside with frozen breath, sucking on cigarettes for heat. I let myself in to the warmth of the house. Greeted by the old smiles of classmates I had not spoken to in years, I am offered a Budweiser by another face while walking through the leftover gift-wrapping of a secret Santa event I happily missed. I settle in the corner of the kitchen, adjusting the zipper of my coat and observing old friends. Many of them are still in their high school roles: the academic soccer player talking politics with the valedictorian. The varsity basketball player caressing the chin of his high school ex girlfriend and back burner hookup, my old best friend intently talking to another girlfriend in another corner while playing with her long, silky brown hair.

“Suuuuusi! Have a shot with me!” The shriek is distinct. One of the four voices that first entered my life on that unique day in 5th grade in the girl’s bathroom. “Why Not” I shrug as I pour her and myself a shot of chilled, clear liquid I find in the freezer. We clink our shot glasses together as I lean against the sink in the bathroom. “Can you believe it’s been TWO years since high school?” She asks me with her glazed blue eyes. “Oh my God, LOOK what I got as my secret Santa” she interrupts herself as she pulls out a thong from her back jean pocket. Her face is round with awe as she tries to step into them. Lightly stumbling, she manages to slip the turquoise lace over her stonewashed jeans. “Is it my color?” she giggles as she poses for the onlookers in the living room, flashes erupt from digital cameras. “It’s a thong.” I flatly overstate the obvious, losing any desire to continue this conversation. She refocuses on me again. “Remember that time in 5th grade, when you showed us your split jump in the girls bathroom?” she giggles at the memory. “Ah yes, how could I forget” I answer her playing along. She continues: “It was the funniest joke wasn’t it? But we TOTALLY ended up loving you when we got to know you.” She laughed to herself.


My jaw clenches as this realization. I slowly breathe in through my nose, hiding my disdain by breathing out immediately. “Another shot?” I offer the hubba bubba smacking blonde. I pour the liquid slowly this time; masochistically savoring what I know will be the last few minutes of our reunion before I completely move on.



Monday, July 19, 2010

You can make cupcakes from Whale Blubber.

I am beginning to feel The Force's presence in my belly. At first it felt like like pats in three and then silence. That was last week. This week it's beginning to feel like digestion. As if I just ate a big block of cheese and it's making it's way through my uterus. I wonder if The Force can hear me, if he gets a sense of who I am by residing inside of me.
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As my belly grows, I am also growing into a new person. Slowly, the hormones that are changing my breasts and belly are also soaking into my brain, making me think (and worry) or what the future holds for the Doring-Preston's. Light panic begins as I think about my weak Hebrew level and the lessons in English I will need to prepare to insure my children are fluent in our native language. My imagination can run into 18 years from now and I wonder what state Israel will be in when I hit my middle age.

And then sometimes my only thought is: are freckles genetic?

Sunday, July 04, 2010

Downward dog then..fart.

In the last weeks, I have entered the acceptance stage of my prenatal existential crisis. It's ok, you may slowly approach me, the pregnant woman. Alas, the world has indeed fallen on my vulnerable shoulders and I have managed to push it off into the universe for now, but I cannot guarantee this will be forever. I attribute my coping skills to various calorie filled foods, my ever-patient husband and prenatal Yoga.
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I've borrowed a handful of videos to decorate our living room with and I have finally dusted them off and hoped to make a home routine in addition to my Friday morning prenatal class. Curious as to why downward dog is one of the main positions in Yoga I did a quick search and found it was good because it:

•Calms the brain and helps relieve stress and mild depression
•Energizes the body
•Stretches the shoulders, hamstrings, calves, arches, and hands
•Strengthens the arms and legs
•Helps relieve the symptoms of menopause
•Relieves menstrual discomfort when done with head supported
•Helps prevent osteoporosis
•Improves digestion
•Relieves headache, insomnia, back pain, and fatigue
•Therapeutic for high blood pressure, asthma, flat feet, sciatica, sinusitis
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The benefits are endless for me. and the more I read about them, the more i am inspired to rock out with Yoga during this pregnancy. But really, they should call prenatal downward dog more like the flatulating dog because that's basically what it did for me. IT cleared the way to improve my digestion of those intestines that have been squished in the corner by my growing fetus. As a woman who prides herself in the discussion of bowel movements, I'm feeling that I don't have a lot to talk about lately.

Tuesday, June 29, 2010

Finding life at the dead sea

A last minute escape for the weekend brought P Bonez and I to the Dead Sea. I can’t tell you how much this weekend was needed. When I was in college, I never explored nor desired weekends away. I would spend all my free time working to pay for my general expenses. Staying up late with knots in my back, carrying trays for a living.

There is something priceless about walking into a sparse cold room, double the size of your own bedroom, and having a bathroom freshly cleaned and waiting for you to pour a long warm bath. This experience was lightly delayed due to our initial room smelling like an ashtray. In Israel, it is still legal to smoke in hotel rooms. The Le Meridien hotel allows smoking in all rooms, so it’s really a luck of the draw. Luckily, our draw landed us in an even better room than before. With a larger bathroom and a massive patio peeking over the salt water pools below and a light view of the dead sea.

Aside from P Bonez forcing us to order massages, the first day has already been a satisfying swim, massive breakfast and a float in the salt pool. A popular destination for German tourists, I’ve been able to soak in some German TV and catch up on my literary reading. The bed is so big that we couldn’t find one another when we woke up this morning. P Bonez had to text his coordinates and we were able to discover one another’s location.

Happy Weekend to us.



Monday, June 21, 2010

16 Weeks

This morning I didn't even hear my alarm. Granted, every morning it usually goes off at 5:40 a.m, I am one of those people who wake up the moment the first sound is emitted from my Nokia.
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Pregnancy is doing that to me.
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Summer has joined the Doring-Preston household in such a fashion that we're already playing catch up with our lives. P Bonez and myself are knee deep in freelance work so much that we haven't showered in 5 days. There's the constant buzzing of the Vuvuzela in our brains, in our souls and banging our heads against the couch in unison has not helped.
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Aside from that, The force is growing inside and my belly is beginning to pop out, especially after lunch. This new found look has illicited unwanted comments, especially from my coworker who said the following in one mouthfull just yesterday:

"When I was pregnant with twins I wasn't showing as much as you are right now"
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"I told you to watch yourself, I can tell you're going to get really really really big."
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".....and then it's going to be really really hard to lose the weight".
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Flabbergasted, I didn't know how to respond except that I have gained the normal chart gain for a 16 week pregnancy. Today however, that initial shock has worn off and now i'm just fuming. If you put a mirror again my ear it will fog up from the steam. I guess I just didn't think normal humans would talk that way to someone else, but welcome to Israel, where it's encouraged to act like a monkey.
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Don't believe me?
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Look at our politicans.