Alexandra Hope Flood's Open Salon Blog

Lucifer and Me... My Last Holiday From Hell.

Wed, 15 Dec 2010 11:12:17 -0500

I am so ready to breakup with him, but I thought I should wait until after the holidays. It seemed cruel otherwise, especially since it was our turn to go to his house. I could see his excitment and I didn't want to hurt his feelings, but I gotta tell ya, it's so freaking hot there I'm kinda dreading the trip. I tell myself, what’s a few days? It’s not for eternity, right?

Truthfully, I think he likes to take me home just so he can see me in me rock my red bikini the entire visit (I roast in anything else) -- which does make this lady feel a little objectified. One plus? His mother's Yule Gruel Flambé is to D.I.E. for...

It’s time to split with him because he’s so damn focused on his career. He doesn't put time into our relationship (though I will say, that boy can do things with that forked tongue you would not believe). He’s unrelenting with the work talk. Whenever we're together, it's always, "Did I tell you who I ran into the office today? Man, was he burned!! Ha! Ha! Ha!" Sure, this joke was funny the first ten times, but now it's tired.

He's not the easiest boyfriend to shop for either. Last year I got him a nice terry robe, but it was incinerated before he got a chance to try it on. I thought it would be a refreshing change to see him relax, but no, up it went just like the sweater my mother knitted him the year before. Poof! The personalized stationary that I got for him lasted even less time. Maybe not the most practical gift, but I didn't think it would kill him to send the occasional "thank you" note to his legion of demons. Those guys work really hard, but manners were never my boyfriend’s strong suit.

Also, he’s always on my case to develop good intentions, but I think this is just his way of trying to get me to move in with him. It makes me feel pressured. I tell him I can’t take the heat at his place to deflect from what is really his thinly veiled “commitment talk” a.k.a. Eternal Damnation. He dances around the issue saying,“It’s a dry heat. That’s the best kind.” “Do you ever get used to it?” I ask. “Eh...” he answers not too convincingly.

This year, even though I’m determined this is our last holiday together, I’m taking the high road getting him something special to soften the blow of the impending breakup. It’s an imported snowball flown in all the way from Norway (not easy getting that sucker through customs, let me tell you). I hope he likes it! Despite everything, I wish him no ill will.

Hope: Not For The Faint of Heart & 9 Other Hopeful Ideas

Wed, 8 Dec 2010 13:12:04 -0500

Hi friends.

There are many misconceptions about hope that are in serious need of clarification -- if not illumination. So let’s get to it.

1.) As the title of this post states: hope is not for the faint of heart. Remaining hopeful takes tenacity. Hell... it takes guts. Remaining hopeful after all that life has thrown at us is a valiant choice. Own it.

2.) There is an overwrought (and misguided) idea in our culture that the quality of hope belongs to the young, the naive, or worse, the delusional. This negative hope P.R. usually comes from pessimists or self-proclaimed realists who feel they have a better grasp of “reality” than someone who is optimistic or hopeful.

This is an impossibility because reality is relative to the individual. Our realties are unique to us. We all filter our personal realities through the lenses of our life experience. We can change our lenses anytime in order to see the world in a more positive and hopeful light. It may take some work. In fact, we might need to dig deeply to make this shift, but the work is so worth it, because...

3.) Life is so much better with hope than without it. This is a simple truth. I've sampled life from both buffets and "The All You Can Eat Hope" is so much better. No Contest. It's downright delicious compared to the "The Empty, Void, Eat What You Want, But Why Are We Really Bothering?" which is at best bland -- at worst bleak.

4.) Being hopeful, or having hope, doesn’t mean you’re weak -- it means you’re courageous. Every enlightened leader the world has ever known has been hopeful and espoused some form of hope.

5.) Facing difficult challenges is part of life. Remaining hopeful in the wake of them is one of the gifts these challenges give us (wisdom is the other). We can’t give up on hope or worse -- backlash against it -- as if hope owes us something. It doesn’t. It’s not a stock we buy and then when the market takes a turn, we sell it to show how smart we are: “Look, I saw this coming... that’s why I got out.” Hope is a long-term investment.

6.) Hope is not a gimmick. It’s a force. Not unlike the most famous force of all: Star Wars'. In the original movie, Princess Leia implores, “Obi-Wan Kenobi, you’re my only hope.” The Force is the whole Jedi Master power source, but they need hope in their Light Saber holsters to access it.

7.) Hope goes hand-in-hand with peace. If we want peace in our lives, or in our world, we must remain steadfastly hopeful.

8.) Hope is creative. In order to bring something new into the world -- whether it’s a scientific discovery or a work of art -- hope fuels the creative process. It propels us to keep moving forward each day ... sometimes for years... in order to realize our visions. No great leap of humanity was ever made without hope. Fire? Hope. Vaccines? Hope. A man on the moon? Hope.

9.) Hope is the flip side of fear. This an archetypal dichotomy. When studying the Tarot, you learn that there is a card that represents our “Hope and Fears," because they are entwined. If we’re not feeling hopeful, it’s because on some level we're feeling fearful. Yes, it might very be artfully suppressing these fears, but we're suppressing them nonetheless. Hope expunges fear.

Upset? Take hope out for a spin and think about something that excites you -- even if it's a fantasy of a new job or a new home. This exercise will drop-kick fear out of sight. Repeat until hope becomes second nature, but don't expect this to happen overnight. This is where the tenacity comes into play. Stick with hope. It will eventually take you where you want to go.

10) Don't be afraid to hope. Hope allows us to take risks in order to have what we want in life. This is why hope is not for the faint of heart. Be brave. Claim it. Hope is waiting for us.

Well, I Do Declare! Scarlett's Sole Bit O' Wisdom

Mon, 4 Oct 2010 14:10:47 -0400

Scarlett O'Hara was all about Scarlett O'Hara. She was selfish, spoiled, scheming, and worst of all, a slave owner. Gorgeous and resourceful, she would stop at nothing to get what she wanted. Scarlett may be fun to watch, but we never root for her. Her choices add up to a cautionary antebellum tale that could be subtitled, "Let's Not Do What Scarlett Does... Let's All Be Like Melanie!"

In the end, Scarlett, the original Mean Girl, gets her comeuppance from Rhett Butler’s Civil War-style F. U., "Frankly, my dear, I don't give a damn."

As far as I can tell, Scarlett gets only one thing right. After the burning of Atlanta by General Sherman's army, Scarlett hits bottom in her hoop-skirt. Does she crumble? No. Scarlett discovers that she is a survivor. Alone in the muck, she vehemently declares: "As God is my witness, I shall never be hungry again."

This is one of the boldest moments in Gone With The Wind. What she says preceding this statement is still selfish and scheming... okay... it's a little crazy: "As God is my witness, as God is my witness they're not going to lick me. I'm going to live through this and when it's all over, I'll never be hungry again. No, nor any of my folk. If I have to lie, steal, cheat or kill."

Lie? Steal? Cheat? Kill? Geez, Scar... chill... don’t kill.

Enlightened she is not, but Miss O'Hara's one nugget of inadvertent wisdom, from which we can all prosper, is that we have the power to decide what it is that we don’t want -- just as much have the power to decide what it is that we do want.

Scarlett vows that being hungry is no longer an acceptable avenue for her. We can do this too and we don't have to be starving in the Confederate muck. We can decide what is no longer acceptable or serviceable to us. By making conscious choices, we tap into our power. By tapping into our power to choose, we can profoundly change our lives. This power is the battery of hope.

Recently, a loved-one of mine decided that a longtime work situation no longer served them. While they’re not entirely sure what the next step will be, they know what it won’t be -- the same-old, same-old. They consciously drew a line in the universal sand. This small act has tremendous creative voltage to generate a new paradigm in one’s life. It’s not necessarily easy. In fact, it takes moxie to leave something familiar for the unknown.

Taking is a step further, we must now mix our classic movie heroines. When it was time for her to leave the safety of the abbey, Maria in The Sound of Music says, “When the Lord closes a door, somewhere He opens a window." Everyone’s favorite musical nun-turned-nanny recognized that a metaphoric door had closed, but trusted that the unseen window was open for a reason.

While doors do close in our lives, we don’t have to sit around and wait for them to shut in our faces. We can close them on our own. By doing so, we create space for more beneficial opportunities to take shape in our lives. Once we gently close a door, the fun can begin... formulating what is it we do want, like Scarlett in her post-Civil War Era, but without all the Southern-fried lying, cheating, stealing, and killing, y’all.

I Want to Save the Adverb So Bad!!

Wed, 8 Sep 2010 17:09:39 -0400

It's more than a little challenging to be the poor neglected adverb these days. People here are dissing it real quick and it just ain't right. In fact, it makes me, like, wicked sad. Now, I'm not saying that I always get it perfect myself, but I do think if we don’t start saving the adverb now, it may be real hard to recover later.

“What's the big deal? Why do we need to save it?” you ask.

First of all, without it, we don't sound particular smart (don't be mad, it's true). Then our poor verbs, who are doing the heavy-lifting actions on our behalf, aren't proper modified. Now they’re hanging out there without a freakin net! Doesn’t that sound total scary? And our adjectives, which are trying to describe everything so beautiful for us, are reduced to half their meaning. It's a real big bummer.

Why people are killing the adverb soft and slow, I don’t know. To be clear, the slaughter is not from my friends and family. It’s people on television! People like professional actors who are being paid to speak for a living. Lately, they are frequent saying their character’s lines more adverb-free than not.

“I’m real slow to object, Your Honor, but object I must!”

Where does the breakdown first occur? I'm not real sure. Was the adverb first missing in the script? Did the writers say, "Screw you adverb and your little "ly" too!" Hmmmm... Or did the actor (while in character) make the slip and no one noticed, cared, or bothered to correct him? So the director, the producers, the script supervisor, and the network all let it slide by? Why? Is it laziness? Ignorance? Indifference?

I've heard TV presenters and even some journalist chuck their adverbs too. This is perhaps a greater transgression since these individuals are being paid for their expertise -- part of which is speaking the English language.

Then there are TV's so-called Reality "Stars" (by the way, the word "star" is now completely meaningless since a season as The Bachelor now earns you the same label as Cary Grant -- WTF?). Anecdotal evidence supports that a large proportion of reality stars wouldn’t know an adverb if it bit them on the ass real hard. I know these are actual people and shouldn’t be held to the same standard as the aforementioned professionals -- I’m not expecting Snookie to turn into Ted Koppel here -- but I do think that we shouldn’t allow the adverb to be so forgotten that its absence becomes the norm.

Special Note: Sarah Palin, if you must stay, then will you at least get your adverbs out of your modified beehive and put them into your over-confident-for-no-reason mouth?

People all over the globe watch our TV. Many even use it to learn to speak English. I'm not trying to sound harsh and whatnot, but I think as Americans we have a responsibility to ourselves -- and the world -- to not sound like total dumb asses.

A Love Note to My Suddenly Disabled Dog

Mon, 26 Jul 2010 15:07:25 -0400

Dear Daphne (A.K.A. Scup, Scuppy Pup, Scuppy Puppy, Pooch MaGoo, MaGoodie, Oodie, Oodie DeeDee, Daffy Dog, Oodie DeeDee-My Daffy Dog),

I know you won’t be able to read this, but that’s not stopping me. I have something to tell you and I want to shout from the rooftops of Open Salon.com.

As a kid, I dreamt of getting a dog just like you, but you didn't arrive until I was a married thirty-year old homeowner. Pre-kids, the timing couldn't have been more perfect. You kicked off our family, giving us someone to love, care for, and yes, dote on, besides each other.

I don't know if I've ever told you this, but I fell in love with you even before we met. I had seen a face much like yours -- fuzzy, tan and white, with bright brown eyes, a black gum drop nose, a little canine smile, ears with personality to burn... one glance and I knew I was a goner.

When we finally met in person, we bonded instantly. Your coat was still wiry in texture and you scampered around the room on our first date like any other nine month-old puppy drunk with a taste of freedom.

On the ride home that first day, Nick (who would later coin all of your affectionate and highly creative nicknames) and I decided to name you “Daphne.” Your birth name was "Madame," but you didn't look like a Madame to us (besides, with a name like that, I would always be looking over my shoulder for Wayland Flowers)

Like any new parent, I obsessed over every detail. I bought all the books and the latest equipment. You looked so smart in your new red collar.

You were home for three weeks before you barked for the first time. In fact, I was starting to worry that you didn't know how to bark. It turns out you were saving your bark for other passing dogs... and that was about it. You have never barked -- not once -- when someone has come to the door.

Daphne, you have completely spoiled us in this way. You have also never cried or whined (unless someone accidentally stepped on you because you insisted on being underfoot when there was a chance that food could hit the floor, which is how you earned another nickname, "Little Miss Underfoot”). You also, as it turned out, didn't shed. This was very considerate of you. Not a must, but a plus we have come to appreciate.

Remember on our neighborhood walks how people would always stop us to ask what kind of dog you are? "Wire hair fox terrier," I would reply with a smile. One time, a fellow passing us on the street took one look at you and exclaimed, “Asta!” He was of course referring to the famous fox terrier from one of our favorite old movies, The Thin Man

Like any great relationship, we have had our moments: occasional accidents in the house, bolting outside in a thunderstorm (much to our terror), but nobody's perfect. You’ve been great with the kids, though a little slow to admit they’re not your litter mates at times. In the big picture, you have been a fantastic dog. Daph, we began as a trio and now we’re a quad. This quartet loves you like no other.

That is why it is so hard to think that our time together is starting to run out. You are twelve and change now, which is still kind of low-milage for your breed. I thought we'd have a few more good years.

As I sit here and write to you, you are lying cozily on your bed next to me. You are snoozing away. Looking at you in this setting, you wouldn't know that you are now disabled. Around Christmas, you back legs start to slip out from under you. It was subtle at first and was easy to mistake for the slippery new floors in our new house. By Easter, you were still getting around, but your hips were lower than they used to be. By May, we were ordering you a wheel chair.

Having run every test, we have learned that you are in great health, except that your brain is no longer communicating with your back-end. You are not in pain, you are just weak. Looking for more answers, the new vet has helped you tremendously with a diet makeover, supplements, Chinese herbs, and acupuncture treatments. You have put wieght back on and have perked up.

As if we didn't have enough challenges, the conversation with the woman from the canine wheelchair company who called to get my credit card number, floored me.

Yes, she completely flabbergasted me by taking it upon herself to tell me that you have a fatal condition, not unlike the human ALS. When I tried to tell her that neither of your doctors had mentioned this as a potential diagnosis, she replied expertly, “they don’t always know. Doctors make mistakes.”

She continued, “I’m just telling you so that you can prepare yourself emotionally,” as if she were my father’s oncologist, instead of a custom dog-wheelchair purveyor. “I’ve seen this disease in a lot of wire hair fox terriers in the last couple of years,” she persisted. Wow. Nothing I said from our side made a difference to her. She's convinced this is what's wrong with you and there was no talking her out of it. She was as tenacious as a terrier herself.

This, needless to say, threw me for a loop. I didn't think that this leg weakness development could or would kill you. I just thought you were entering your "Senior" phase with a bang.

For the record, neither the vet nor I accept this unsolicited phone diagnosis as gospel (though it is a boogeyman in my head at times).

With all of this drama swirling around you, the great news is that you seem blissfully unaware to your new limitations. You still love to give kisses and get your snowy white tummy rubbed. You still get excited for meals. You still love to sniff the morning breeze. You are yourself in every way, except that you can't walk. I am so happy that you are small enough that I can pick you up and take you out with ease (we’d be in big trouble otherwise). We have had to build a new routine with your more complicated care. You have been a total trouper throughout.

Daphne, I admire the way you are perfectly fixed in the present moment. You inhabit only now in your canine-time-stasis. It's me who is a part-time mess. I try to stay present, because I think this is what you may be trying to teach me, by example, or should I say “Ood-xample?"

But my heart is breaking at the thought of loosing you, my little pup.

I have philosophical blips where I tell myself that this is part of life, that we have given you an loving home and that nothing and no one lives forever. Then I have moments where I felt powerless and even a little hopeless.

Then I rally... hope returns. "Who knows?" I think to myself. "You may continue on in this condition just for quite some time and be fine." Wheelchair woman be damned!

I just needed to verbally declare, Daphne, that no matter what the future holds for us -- for it is a mystery -- you are a huge part of our hearts, now and forever.

You, Oodie-Dee-Dee-Scuppy-Pup-Pooch-Magoo-Miss-Daffy-Doggie, have been the delightful dog of our dreams.

Love Always,
Alix

Daphne in repose with Nooble, the teddy bear.