I will soon create my (possibly password protected) "Forbidden Blogs" page dedicated to those blogs that have created sufficient (if not inevitable) turmoil in relationships with certain individuals from my family of origin. What is the point of a blog if not to point out that which can not be spoken in normal (i.e., repressed, controlled, dishonest) conversation? If I knew how to speak my truth, would I spend this much time in front of a computer pouring out my heart and soul for anonymous visitors? No, I would be out in the world speaking my truth and waiting to be assassinated.

There is a reason why we live in a society of complicit silence. The dynamics of dysfunctional and co-dependent families bears no small resemblance to imperialistic countries (such as the one we live in). The truth is, all great writers make people mad. Who wants to hear the truth, quite frankly?

I don't want to hurt anybody's feelings. I only hold a mirror up for the world to see and I can't be responsible for someone else's reflection. If I am inappropriately mean or rude, then, hey, those are my issues and I have my own mirrors. If I knew how to get my way by intimidation then I probably wouldn't have taken the path of the quiet, self-help junkie, web-geek, truth teller. But I'm not good at making me people afraid of me (because I cower before angry people), so I must resort to blogging.

Just for today, I stand by my "Forbidden Blogs" (which I took down...but still stand by).

I think I'm back in the saddle of My Own Personal Journey, and out of everyone else's saddle. If there's one thing I learned in 2003, it's that people LOVE to give advice (myself included). If you ever want to hear someone's life story, just ask, "What should I do about...(insert problem at hand...relationships, jobs, taxes, etc.)?"

Not to blame anyone. I love giving advice (though it's frequently comes out of my own anger). However, it isn't anyone's fault that advice from another affects me like a torrential downpour hurricane on a shantytown. I think I made it out of childhood without a certain psychic protective shield that keeps other people's opinions away from my solar plexus (or in other words, without boundaries). Hence, the need to argue with my therapist about why I choose not to date on the Internet, or with multiple vegans/vegetarians, about why I choose to eat meat, or with PC users about why I own a Mac, or with my mom about why it's OK to send more than $20 an any item of clothing. It never, ever, ever, ever occurs to me that it's no one else's business how I live my life. And while intellectually, I may get that right now, surely when my neighbor suggests that I paint my living room coffee, I will fall into a temporary spell, wonder if I need to "set a boundary" by telling her that I'm not in a place to accept her color suggestions, and then decide to pray, meditate, and after avoiding her in the hall for a few weeks...forget the episode ever happened.

Just for today, it's OK to let people have their own opinions...I think.

Today my friend referred to the people at the Farmer's Market as the BoBos (Bohemian Bourgeouis). I've been thinking of a way to describe these people for years! Though I know it's only fear and envy, that makes me a judgemental pill. I would have loved to have been one, but besides the lack of a trust fund, I was still sporting the mall bangs.

I am working to release my prejudice of wealthy people. Especially, wealthy, blond, housewives in Beverly Hills with small side businesses. Last week I met one of these women and I, again, became judgemental and enviousness of the inherent fabulousness of her lifestyle. She turned out to be very nice, kind, and smart. Until I learn to accept wealthy people as individual children of God doing what they know how to do best (and not part of some mass conspiracy to forever enslave Latino immigrants), I am keeping my own abundance at bay. And while I'm not looking for trophy wife gig (nor do I qualify for one) I really wouldn't mind weekly massages, monthly travel, and a generous home decorating budget. So long as I see that as evil, I will not manifest it without feeling evil myself. And there is more than enough for everyone.

After reading this excellent blog about how the entire population of the world can be divided into either Pirates and Ninjas, or Elves and Dwarves, I have decided that there's nothing better to do with my time than discovering new blanket categories in which to shove the innocent denizens of the world.

Unfortunately, I haven't found a very neat one...but here goes. People fall into two categories; Tom Hankses and Bill Murrays (I know this is a white/male paradigm, but I'm too tired to put on the feminist gear).

I have been kind of anti-Tom Hanks lately (and by lately I mean the last ten years). Now I know there is nothing more personally destructive than to denigrate high powered super stars, but this is different, it's personal. I was in love with Tom Hanks when I was thirteen after watching him rock the sit-com world for two stellar seasons on "Bosom Buddies." Tom Hanks was a teenaged girls dream guy; sharp, charmingly unguarded, but beneath the nice-guy exterior he was filled with mojo and we all knew it. He has since done some fairly decent work, but nothing really lives up to the "Bosom Buddies" days in my nostalgic opinion, and I'm kind of bummed. The teenaged girl in me wants the quick-witted, anything for a laugh guy back, and is really nauseated by his awards speeches. I don't care how many Academy Award Winning Meisner Induced performances he's given...if you ask me, he lost some of his mojo. I won't blame fame and fortune...it just happens. One of the lesser celebrated tragedies known to human kind. Shakespeare never wrote a play about losing your mojo, but it's worthy of compassion, nonetheless. (I'm sorry if you're reading this Tom Hanks...um, you can still get it back...it's so easy to sit in quiet judgement from a cubicle).

On the other side of this poorly executed paradigm, Bill Murray has gained in mojo over the past few years. He seems more courageous, vulnerable, and expressive in his later films. Maybe fame and fortune has given him courage, but since I can't blame that for making Hanks lose it, I can't credit it either.

A lot of older women seem to gain mojo, (maybe it's easier to take chances and be yourself when you're age bracket bores people), and I think Carrie Fisher (Princess Lea is hilarious), Judi Dench, and Cathy Bates got it goin' on.

You can't put a price tag on it and it transcends race, class, popularity, brains, and happiness. As we travel through life some people gain it (Murrays) and others lose it (Hankses).

Ok, so this isn't working as well as the Pirate/Ninja paradigm, but there you go....

Just for today, I will be careful to monitor my mojo.

I would like to make a public apology to Mr. Tom Hanks for saying that he has lost his mojo. I am no one to judge the degree of mojo any human being is carrying at any particular moment (like weight or gas prices, it is constantly in flux), and, more importantly, I don't know how much mojo I'm working with myself at any given point in time in my "career"...

I mean let's face the facts...I work in an office. I breathe stagnant air while I make love to my G5 and dream of overpriced Thai Iced tea and powdered donuts. I google my and my high school boyfriends' name four times a day. I avoid office parties and eye contact like Bambi running from the hunters. I have dreamed of winning an Academy Award since I saw Sally Field say "You like me, you really like me," because I admired her ability to publicly self-actualize. Not to diss on myself, I have done lots of great, brave, courageous things in my life and I am proud of who I am and my great potential...I'm just saying that it doesn't take a lot of mojo, on an hourly basis, to check my e-mail, organize my Itunes, and update my Friendster profile...so who am I to talk?

And, Tom, if you're still mad, I'm going to go see your movie tonight (Lady Killers) and deep in my heart I'm still kind of jonesing for Kip Wilson (even if you haven't played him for twenty-some years.)

Just for today, I can lovingly make amends to Tom Hanks for commenting on his mojo.

I signed up for an acting class taught by a woman who looks like she might have stepped out of Valley of the Dolls' Real Estate Licensing School c/o 1984, before discovering "The THEA-TA!" later in life (fyi: anyone who says they like theater more than movies has, quite frankly, not seen enough one person shows, performance art pieces, improv, or "THEA-TA", for that matter). Despite the fact that her skin looks tighter than mine ever did, I think she might have something to teach me, if not about acting than either about the demolishment or edification of my own prejudices towards blonde Los Angeles matrons with diamond boulders on their fingers.

However, because I know nothing about this woman except for that she called Stanislavski "that little Russian," I probably need to uncover my own resentment towards all the pampered blonds who have skipped through my life (not to be confused with the humble blonds who dragged themselves beside me).

Just for today, I can examine my prejudices.