Candy Crush Crack

For those of you not familiar with the game Candy Crush Saga, stop reading now…you won’t get it. But for anyone who has played the game, I have to believe you’ve felt my pain.

This is a game of levels…you move to the next level once you’ve successfully won a level by reaching a certain score and meeting other criteria for the level such as removing all the jelly (and icons that look like whipped cream) and knocking out candies and lowering a few ingredients, most notably nuts and fruits, to the bottom of the screen…just typing this makes me wonder what the heck made me play the game…just sounds way too weird.

And at first it’s all very harmless. You move from one level to the next with relative ease. Until they get you hooked! That’s when it turns from Candy Crush Saga to Candy Crush Crack…you can’t stop! The levels become more difficult to surpass but you can’t stop…you’re in too deep! You keep getting that message that the level has failed and you didn’t reach your goal. For a perfectionist like me, they might as well just tattoo “loser” across my forehead! You’ve already spent hours and days trying to get that happy dance of jelly fish swimming across your screen alerting you to your “Sugar Crush” (read: you get to advance to the next level)…you’ve got to have more. And that’s when you realize you can purchase additional boosters that supposedly help you advance. But they don’t…they just cost you money and increase your frustration because now you’ve not only failed to pass the level…you’re out $.99 or $1.99 or more (gotta love those lollipop hammers)! And that sounds benign…but believe me when I tell you…it adds up during the hours you’re spending with your phone in your hand, clicking on play again…over and over and over. The first sign that it was getting bad was when I found myself doing the happy dance and high-fiving myself when I got the icon that looks like a donut with sprinkles…you can use it to knock out all of the candies of one color. Very cool…and yet somewhat twisted that I get so much pleasure from seeing one on the screen. This is a game that draws you in with things like rainbow sprinkles, pink crusted doughnuts, jelly fishes, striped candies and wrapped candies. And there’s licorice too…who can resist this confectionary buffet?

And just like with any other addiction, other things fall to the wayside…the house goes uncleaned, meals are uncooked, your appearance will suffer because after all…who has time to shower and dress when there’s the hope of this next attempt being the one that gets you out of level 28…which by the way is where I got stuck. Like a madwoman, I hold my phone and move candy pieces from one side to the other and top to bottom…all in a vain attempt to get that last jelly. And just when you think you’re there…you run out of moves (oh yeah…you only have a certain number of moves to meet the goal). AND you find that you’re also all out of retries (oh yeah, you only get a certain number of tries) and you get the dreaded message that you can’t try again for 23 minutes! Are you kidding me? That’s like standing in line for tickets to a concert, getting to the head of the line, and the moron behind the counter puts the back-in-23-minutes sign up while she takes a smoke break!

So this morning I removed the app from my phone. Let’s face it…there are like 395 levels on this darn thing…and I can’t get beyond level 28. That tells me a lot of things…not the least of which is that there has to be a better way to spend my time than on a game that frustrates me and keeps me from doing other things that are actually more fun and productive (like watching The Bachelorette). I knew I was hooked when I found myself last night Googling “how to get past level 28 in Candy Crush Saga” (which, in a sad testimony to our culture, produced about 397,000 results) and telling myself ‘ok, just one more try…I know this’ll be the one that gets me to level 29.’ [Note: picture me wild-eyed and unkempt with a death grip on my phone.] Really? I’m better than this…or at least I need to believe I am.

Okay, off to my Candy Crush Saga support group---Candy Crush Saga Anonymous. Gotta get off the crack!

 

 

 

Parenting: the hardest job in the world?

They say parenting is one of the hardest jobs in the world. Not having been a parent, I don’t know that I’m qualified to have an opinion about that. But who am I kidding…I have an opinion about everything. And in this instance, I beg to differ. I think there’s a job harder than parenthood: being a stepparent. If you’ve never had the opportunity, count your blessings.

Having children of your own, you are a part of every memory, every tradition, every milestone. You’re a part of who these people are. When you marry a parent, you not only become the second spouse (and don’t get me started on that…that’s a whole other blog post), you inherit stepchildren.  You’ve had none of the history, there’s no obligation (or inclination) on their part to love you…or even accept you. I think the stepparents who are lucky are the ones who marry the parent when the kids are young. They’re more pliable and have had less chance to be angry and jaded by the divorce. The possibility exists for you to be a part of their life, another person to love them. Which is really all a stepparent should hope for. A stepparent isn’t a parent…I’ve actually lived the cliché of having a stepchild throw the comment in my face—“you’re not my mother”. To which I responded (in my most adult voice), “Thank God for that!” Okay, not my finest hour…but you had to have been there….longest 6 months of my life. But I digress.

Adult stepchildren are the worst. To the new marriage, they bring all the anger from the divorce; all the hard feelings they have toward their parents…for which they’re looking for a receptacle and BINGO…there you are; the blame for their parent changing; the mirror your existence holds up in front of them that forces them to face the reality that their parents don’t love each other and at least one of them betrayed and abandoned them. A stepparent has to have really broad shoulders to carry that kind of burden. Fortunately for me, my shoulders are the size of the Grand Canyon…metaphysically speaking.

It helps that I love my husband very much and that we have the kind of relationship where we make our own rules and can find ways to live outside the box. You have to be willing to let go of expectations and dreams, forget about the Beaver Cleaver experience you had hoped for when you inherited a ready-made family. And that’s really the hardest part for me…because as a non-parent, being a stepparent is as close as I’ll get to having a child. And I brought an awful lot of assumptions, hopes, expectations and dreams to my marriage. Sadly, I think I placed too many of my eggs in the stepparent basket…I allowed that need, that desire, that expectation for family to take focus away from what really mattered in my marriage…my husband. What a blessing for me that my husband is that one-in-a-million man who loves me enough to work through all my baggage (a 12-piece set of Samsonite actually) to get to where we are today. Certainly not where we wanted to be, hoped to be, or assumed we would be…but a family nonetheless.

 

Enough is enough

Anyone who knows me knows that no one ever has to punish me, scold me or offer "constructive criticism" when I've made a mistake...I do all those things to myself, and then some. I'm harder on myself than Ryan Seacrest is on his worst day on American Idol! What I do or accomplish is never enough in my own eyes. Even something as simple and mundane as HGTV causes me to view what I've done with my own home as insufficient and less than acceptable. Isn't that supposed to be an entertainment channel? Something to enjoy? A show where you get to make fun of other people for the choices they make and the lives they live? Well, okay, maybe that part is just me...but really. When did a home-decorating channel get so much power that it leads me to come up with a new home project every other week, to the angst of my long-suffering husband? These are just shows where people have large subsidized budgets and professional decorators helping them create the home of their dreams. It's not true reality television...not like, say, The Bachelorette/Bachelor (of which I watch every episode, so no wisecracks here!) which deals with real life situations like helicopter rides over the Grand Canyon and trips to Germany where they play soccer with a professional team and catamaran sails off the coast of Figi with their own private crew...but I digress. Where was I? Oh yeah, HGTV. Anyway, my friend Becky and I have decided not to watch HGTV for one month. Our theory is that watching as much of that channel as we do (we admit to being addicts) has led us to yet another opportunity to view what we have as not enough. And since we're so quick to judge ourselves anyway, we don't need another voluntary opportunity to do so. I myself plan to take that month to look around at all I DO have, to appreciate the blessings bestowed upon  me, and to just BE.

Love is a four-letter word

We are such a blessed people. We take more for granted than many will ever experience. Healthy children. The promise of tomorrow. Love and acceptance. None of these are entitlements, and yet in our blind naiveté we await their arrival.

Through the year of writing my book, Unfinished Business, I came to realize how much I take for granted and how much power I attribute to myself to change things. There is truly so little over which we have control, but for many of us control is the one thing over which we attempt to maintain a tight hold. Such a fallacy, such hubris. We can’t make someone love or accept us, no matter how hard we try or how badly we want it. People are mere humans, and feelings won’t be dictated and can’t be manipulated. Feelings are raw, random and spontaneous.

Family will let you down, friends will disappoint, loved ones will leave, and sometimes people will die before we’re ready to let them go. The most we can do is pay attention to those we love and who love us in return, let go of those who choose not to accept us or find a place for us in their lives, and give ourselves permission to feel what we feel. Find family where you can, in people who exhibit the characteristics you value in family: support, encouragement, admiration…those who will be your cheerleader and champion as you move through the ups and downs of life…who will celebrate your victories and grieve your losses. That’s family, and I’m thankful I have a group of friends who are my sisters and brothers. I don’t know what I’d do without them. My life would surely lack the luster, laughter and fun they bring to it.

It ain't over 'til the fat lady sings

Here we are again with a new year stretching out in front of us. Resolutions being made, and many with the very best of intentions. Of course, the top resolution on many lists is losing weight. And the advertising and media vultures are only too happy to guilt you into keeping that one. I read a magazine last night, and there were seven straight pages of ads for weight loss programs, pills and gimmicks. The daily newspaper (small as it is these days) carries ads for every type of exercise equipment known to man. TV programs are interrupted every 5 minutes with another ad for Jenny or Nutrisystem or Weight Watchers. Isn’t anybody happy with the way they are? Sure, it would be nice to lose half your body weight, and can anybody really ever get enough pre-packaged yummy meals, and whose day is so full that they can’t squeeze in two hours of vigorous exercise at the gym? Really? It exhausts me just thinking about it. Sure, I’m fluffy and soft and curvaceous. And if I’m at the gym twice a week I consider myself successful. And I consider a day without chocolate to be like a day without breathing. There truly is no life after chocolate, am I right? The good news…no, the miracle…is that I’m finally at a place in my life where I refuse to be guilted into buying more pills or joining another weight loss program or spending time at the gym every day (for a week or so, only to give up because it’s not realistic). I’m okay with who I am, because I no longer think of myself as only my appearance. The person I am is so much more…and pretty awesome, if I do say so myself. I try to get a vegetable into my body every day (well, most days), and fruit is no longer just a topping for cheesecake, and I do go to the little gym up the street from my house to do yoga and play on the circuit machines and walk on the treadmill while reading my Nook. But I don’t look enviously at the hard bodies who have sweat pouring off their bodies while they run on the treadmill like they’re punishing it for some serious crime. It’s good to be self-righteous.

Auld Lang Syne

I just had dinner with two friends I've known since grade school. GRADE school. That means these women have been in my life for over 45 years. How many people can say that they're still connected with someone who has known them through four plus decades. Just think how many ups and downs, trials and tribulations, joyous miracles, and just plain living have taken place in that period of time. And these people have experienced them all right along with me. Sure, there have been years where we were out of touch and some of the trivialities of life have been missed...but just to be connected with someone who shares those sweet (and often painful) memories of my childhood is such a blessing. They were there when I got my first bra, my first period, my first kiss, my first pantyhose for God's sake! They were there through go-go boots and white frosted lipstick and blush that looked a bit like clown paint and crushes that we would have sworn were life-long loves. They knew the Margaret (I was Margaret, and often Margaret Mary, until junior year of high school) who carried such a painful burden that she couldn't even share it with them. They knew the little girl who was so withdrawn that she often walked the school halls with her head down so as not to draw attention to herself, for with attention might come pain. These are the girls who taught me to dance and included me in their plans and their slumber parties. These are the girls who saved my life, when I wasn't trying to save it myself. I love these friends, these oldest of friends, and I'm so glad they've walked my journey right alongside me. And that they're still right there with me now that many corners have been turned and my path is no longer encumbered with old wounds and old burdens...a path that's free to accept love and share love and truly experience love...the love they've given me all along. Thank you old friends.

Mr. Demi Moore

What's the deal with Ashton Kutcher? It's difficult to know even where to begin my rant...the hair? the facial mistake he probably calls a beard? his goofy personality that his fans(?) may refer to as 'quirky'? I'm just not sure what annoys me the most. Okay, I'm not a fan of Charlie Sheen's winning antics and firing him was definitely the right thing to do. But come one...Ashton Kutcher??? Two words--shave, haircut. He's not 14 (behavior aside). This is a guy who does camera commercials for pete's sake! And is seemingly good at that due to the fact that he never has to speak a line. What qualifies him to come in and take over for a seasoned actor who truly was Charlie Harper? This isn't a plug-and-play situation...this is a wildly popular series with a huge following. And yes, I used to be one of them. But I'm just not buying into the premise they're asking us to accept with Ashton Kutcher joining the cast. My fear (for him) is that he's merely portraying himself. That's very sad. Here's a guy married to a beautiful (albeit older) woman, and he decides to suddenly have the college fraternity experience in his life. Really? Drunken sex with a 20-year-old on your wedding anniversary? Who does that? So Ashton, clean up your act and grow up. And do everyone a favor...start with the hair and the beard (and this is me laughing when I type that word, inferring that it in any way applies to what's on his face).