When Will Jesus Bring The Doughnuts?
Just thought I’d give y’all a little update. I had reams of wild and woolly dreams last night, none of which I can presently remember clearly, but I’m pretty sure there was a giant sandwich involved in one of them.
Been doing a lot of musing and introspection lately, and let me tell you this; it totally blows donkey balls at 400 psi. I need to stop asking my patients to do this, it’s totally gnarly. Anycarbs, I realized last night that my problematic relationship with food probably began at a very young age, when I attended St. Patrick’s Church. The math went something like so:
GO TO CHURCH + DOUGHNUTS AFTERWARD = ETERNAL SALVATION
Does that sound right to you? I think I’m missing some kind of metaphysical denominator here, like “NUMBER OF SPRINKLES” or maybe “YOU’RE A GOOD GIRL!”.
Also: there is a poker cue jabbing me rather impertinently in the back of my brains at the moment. How to fix besides a trip to Dunkin Donuts? Please advise.
Lordy Lordy Look Who’s 40
That’s right, you’ns. Dr. Ding is turning 40 tomorrow and I couldn’t be happier. Why? Read on, my gentle and very sexy readers.
1. Finally, I will have a smokescreen for my pottymouthed, irreverent and curmudgeonly behavior. People will just go “Oh, it’s probably just the perimenopause talking” and leave it at that, which then allows me to continue my bid for global domination unfettered by things like decorum. Or, quite possibly, a job.
2. I will be squarely in the zone of negative a-fuck-giving. I’ve been teetering between Not Caring One Whit about what others think and Not Giving A Tinker’s Damn, but rollin’ with the 4-0 heaves me into some hippy-zen kind of mental state where I’m all cool with letting the stream of life, like flow on by me, man. Wow. It’s just so….there, you know?
3. According to the ancient ways of my people* turning 40 entitles me legally to go swanning around whenver I feel like it while demanding that people pay homage by throwing glitter and the occasional set of rhinestone eyelashes.
4. Most people don’t know this, but being out of one’s 30s automatically imbues one with deep mystical wisdom, effortless grace, and the sudden ability to perform the Electric Booglaoo. Truth. Behold:
*Women who unabashedly adore drag queens, 1980s nighttime soap opera wardrobes, and pretty much anything with a reflective surface.
Dear Dr. Ding
I need your wisdom Dr. Ding. I have had a very weird dream this week that
is confusing to me. I shoot myself in the head about 4 times. It
doesn’t hurt and I am fine. The only thing I remember being concerned
about is that one of the wounds was on my forehead and others would see it.
In the dream I was worried about what I would tell others about what had
happened.
I don’t remember feeling depressed or anything that would
make me want to hurt myself. I don’t think the process of shooting
myself was about killing me becuase that just doesn’t resonate with me.
I can’t figure out what it means. What is your intrepretation?
Hard Headed
Dear Hard Headed:
You think Dr. Ding has actual wisdom? May the Lords of Kobol and GirlJesus™ Herself bless you, but I suspect this assumption explains like 90% of your issues right there. I’ve got plenty of the following things: hair products, black clothing, red thumbtacks, the perfect moue of distaste when confronted with people that don’t think feminism is a good idea, KFC “fixin’s” and withering sarcasm. The whole wisdom thing is debatable and varies according to my mood, the planetary alignments, and whether or not I’m getting my fill of words that haven’t been used since Agatha Christie bought tampons.
O How Shall I Celebrate Myself?
Dr. Ding, as a young lass, was prone to thinking about what she would be asking Santa for X-mas starting on December 26th. I used to plan my Hallowe’en costumes 7 and 8 months in advance, and my birthdays? Fuhggedaboutit. Constantly.
I am a mere 9 months and 28 days away from my 40th Birthday, and since I didn’t have a Sweet 16 party or attend any of my high school proms (too Goth/Punk/generally surly/geeky), I’m thinking there’s going to be a massive and crinolined dress involved, plus the ubiquitous tiara of course, just because of the whole lifelong curiosity thing with foofy princess dresses as well as the whole lifelong ability thing of getting myself into just enough trouble beforehand to not get to wear one.
And I’m quite sure I’ve mentioned my rather keen interest in getting a tattoo of some sort to commemorate 40 years of living on this planet sans actually strangling anyone (who probably richly deserved it) for being an ignorant, billious, and all-around pig-headed arschloch. Quite an achievement, I’d say.
The other day a friend asked me what I was planning for my 40th, and I had to confess (very dramatically, throwing myself wanly on the divan and gazing off pensively into the distance, my delicate lips all aquiver) that I had no frigging clue. This is where you come in, gentle reader.
Won’t you help a blogger out? Please respond in the comments.
Dr. Ding should do which of the following to celebrate her 40th birthday?
1. Dinner and dessert at a restaurant get-together, no presents.
2. Cake, ice cream, pinata, hired clown, lots of presents, at home.
3. Romantic weekend getaway to the Colorado Rockies with a pantsless beyoncé.
4. Carribean cruise with 10 closest female friends, smuggled rum, coconut-shell lingerie, inadvertently-yet-comically sunburned junk.
5. Invite all loyal AskDrDing readers to partake in a West Side Story-style dance-off, BYOB, canapes.
6. Kerouac-like road trip to Vegas, minus the amphetamines, plus feather boa.
7. Margaritas, kung-fu film fest, Grease-style dance-off with loyal AskDrDing readers.
8. Fried chicken, Bowl-O-Rama, keg.
Dear Dr. Ding
Hello Doctor I’m glad you’re some better. Diet 7-up is what I do too.
So I wondered if maybe you’d ponder on Amy Winehouse and Britney Spears and
post-modern zooming towards self-destruct. Are they the cultural dark anima
and shadow side of the lighter anima? I mean you’re right there close to
the Jung Center and all. Are they pointing out how our cultural beliefs
are so whacked? I’ve been reading Kunstler too much maybe again but
really…you’re in oil central and maybe you can wrap your brain around it
in such a way, I bet, that I’d like to hear your thoughts anyway…
I lived in Montrose some back in the 90′s and one year I actually taught
high school in Cy-Fair….talk about your Kunstlerian nightmare….
Anyway bye-bye and hope you feel better and have lots of fun in New
Orleans….
Lerel
Amitabha: Buddha Of Boundless Light
Dr. Ding had been feeling uncharacteristically unsettled for the last several hours, ever since departing the soul-shrivelling deep-freeze that was this morning’s YogaFit experience. Seeking consolation, I recalled a Tibetan Buddhism Deck of oracle cards I’d once given The Beyonce, so I got them out, shuffled and picked a random card. Turned out to be Amitabha, Buddha of Boundless Light. It said:
Amitabha rules over the western paradise of Sukhavati, the Pure Land of Ultimate Bliss in which all beings enjoy unbounded happiness.
Amitabha’s color is red, his element is fire, and he is associated with life beyond the setting sun. In his hands he holds a lotus, the flower that is born in the mud and finds its way to the surface of the water to flower — like our true nature. He represents the ability to transform malice into compassion and opens a door to salvation that does not depend upon a tireless dedication to transformation.
Feel your substance,
bones, flesh, and blood,
saturated with cosmic essence.
Here’s a lovely image of Amitabha hisself.
Confession: a major part of why Dr. Ding is attracted to Tibetan Buddhism, as opposed say, to Zen or Nirichen, is the bling. Yeah, you heard right. The spiritual bling. The thangkas, those gorgeously ornate and intricate scroll paintings, just fascinate me. I could stare at some of them for hours. I adore the shrines, the figurines, the nifty robes. What’s not to love about a spiritual tradition whose head dude gets to wear a hat like this?
Or where you get to play with bowls that sing?
Where you get the option of spinning your prayers instead of speaking them.
Dr. Ding appreciates the sheer variety of beautiful, shiny, and generally cool stuff to look at in Tibetan-style Buddhism. But I also find it to be exceptionally compassionate and embracing of our humanity; the part of Amitabha’s “message” that resonated most deeply with me is his burning desire to ease humanity’s suffering. When we awaken to the boundless, illuminating wisdom within, that inner light that warms and also guides us to salvation, we discover that it was there all along, that like the lotus, it simply needed the right conditions to emerge and come more fully into being.
Deep!
Short version: No more cold, pinchy-assed, boring YogaFit classes for Dr. Ding. In the future, I will not wait 3 hours and 25 minutes to end my suffering; there is nothing to prove and no contests to win, and so suffering is needless in this kind of frozen-fannyed context. I can and will continue to enjoy yoga for myself only; there is no need to share it by becoming a techer, as I already do quite a bit for the world. And that’s enough.
Woot!
I know, I know…Dr. Ding can’t stay in Yoda Mode for more than a few lines. Luckily.
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