#this ride has an expiration date but until it arrives my choices are basically to keep dodging and to either cry or bitch or laugh about it

[spoopy-action-at-distance]

Dealing with your dead parent's financial mess sure is An Experience. It's 50% stress, 50% complex collaborative problem-solving, and 50% feeling like you're in the audience of a convoluted and absurd comedy skit that keeps throwing up punchline after punchline.

In six months, I went from someone who had a reasonably well-to-do parent who I was estranged from for the sake of my wellbeing, and whose inheritance I was thinking of refusing to spare myself the family infighting, to being the one who has to juggle several debtors, thousands of euros' worth of someone else's debts, several institutions who don't communicate with each other half the time, and the additional surprise paperwork generated by everyone else involved having signed themselves the fuck out of this mess. I wasn't prepared for how complicated the bureaucratic aftermath of a death would be on a good day, and I certainly wasn't prepared for the bureaucratic bog that is the death of someone whose main response to financial problems had apparently been "I'm not paying for that" for several years.

Thank heavens that debt isn't automatically inheritable in my country, and thank fuck there was nothing substantial to inherit there. At the moment I'm basically an unpaid case manager who will not become personally responsible for his case's liabilities as long as he does everything by the book. Also the book was written by someone who didn't quite realise that a case like this could happen. The standard assumption within the public system seems to be that an estate will have some debt and some funds, and likely end up on the black side of the ledger. No one tells you that sometimes you will get a bit of a clown car parade instead.

Someone suggested that once I'm done, I ought to write How To Deal With The Indebted Estate You Inherited When You're Fucking Broke And Everyone Else Has Fucked Off: The Authoritative Blog Post. I said that I doubt I have a comprehensive understanding of the issue. "You think someone does?" they countered. They work within public bureaucracy, so I'm inclined to believe they know what they're on about.

If I do write that blog post, it's gonna come with a soundtrack of a techno Can Can version of Offenbach's Orpheus in the Underworld, the musical staple of Very Stupid Drama of the Week Explained in a Tumblr Video, with the following caption: "for full immersive experience, imagine that the manic bass beat is a hammer swinging wildly in the immediate vicinity of your head. You're entirely fine because it hasn't hit you. Yet."

[idolizerp]

[ LOADING INFORMATION ON VIVID’S MAIN DANCE MOON MONA…. ]

DETAILS

CURRENT AGE: 23 DEBUT AGE: 16 SKILL POINTS: 15 VOCAL | 15 DANCE | 00 RAP | 10 PERFORMANCE SECONDARY SKILLS: Multi-instrumentalist (guitar, piano)

INTERVIEW

debuting fresh off her sixteenth birthday, moon mona was perhaps an atypical choice for the group. they came onto the scene with an image that began already rather sexually charged, veiled in short bloomer style shorts and pastel colors, as if that were less affronting, less obvious, as if there weren’t suddenly and immediately eyes all over the young girl, surprise that she was a minor, that someone so young could look like that.

in fact, she probably shouldn’t have debuted that young at all. there is something inherently damaging in entering the public eye that early. the scrutiny wears at you, an endless tide beating against crags and cliffs until they wear smooth as sea glass.

many times, this is how mona feels.

a wild child plucked from the streets of jeju, from backroads where sand blows over the asphalt on the breeze that carries with it the scent of the ocean. maybe this is why she so easily melts into the role of summer goddess when it is bequeathed to her. she has the energy and power of the ocean, she thinks fondly, when she watches herself dance. this is what they capitalize on. she has a sensuality beyond her years, a grace that defies age, a presence that commands attention.

it disappears offstage into a flurry of eye smiles and half hidden laughter, tucked behind a hand that trembles just a little bit, nervous still under the direct glare of the camera, the lights. she’s young when she debuts, and foolish, and the image that they have her selling - relatable, girl next door, but impossibly hot - is one that both suits her and stifles her.

she isn’t the strongest at either skill. she doesn’t have the range to sing main, with her voice lending itself to a certain mellow, husky timbre. as she gets older and her voice continues to change and develop, it moves further into this range, and farther from the expected idol falsetto filled soprano. but she manages within her range just fine. her live performances are stable and day by day, more and more, she commands attention. she draws eyes. it covers her shortcomings, the way she can move, the look in her gaze. they chalk it up to a natural sex appeal. mona could wear a potato sack and still look like a million bucks, still have fans knocking at her door, that’s what they say.  

at eighteen, nineteen, even twenty the comments make her uncomfortable. by twenty one she doesn’t really watch her parts in their videos anymore. she knows what they’ll focus on, how the camera will pan over toned thighs or the curve of her ass, or her chest, she knows the look in her eyes because she’s spent hours practicing it in front of the practice room mirrors. it all feels so hollow, but it sells like hotcakes. as their concepts become more sexual, mona shines more and more, despite herself, reluctant to capitalize on something that makes her feel so uncertain, like the weight of eyes sinks beneath her skin to make it crawl.

she can feel herself changing, day by day, under the weight of a thousand eyes, purposefully smoothing out the rough edges of herself, until she is polished and shining and pristine. effortless in her casual charm, in her relatable silliness, in the way she can so naturally shine with a sincerity that doesn’t seem half so manufactured as it is.

maybe it’s not. maybe this is who she is now, changed by the constant weathering of the sea. featureless and shining, polished until she is devoid of anything, a mirror held up to reflect the image men want to see in her. because let’s be honest, she was placed in the group  not for her outstanding talent, but for her visual appeal, even then. curves in the right places, a warmth and charm that drew in the viewer, a gap between on stage and off that compelled fascination. mostly, mona is just glad they can’t see that she’s tired of this. of the same sultry themes, the same lurid movements; suggestive but tasteful, they claim. she’s very well trained, she thinks, because she never rolls her eyes half so hard as she might want too.

and she gets the sort of rumors that the hypersexualized type tend to get, and then some. she takes a hiatus due to a bout of pneumonia contracted from the flu gone untreated, and there are malevolent rumors that she’s gotten an abortion, rumors the company finally, this time, steps up to smack down, to sue those who are propagating them. but even after, the menial ones continue.  is she dating this one or that one, is she posing like that on purpose? did she get her boobs done, are they real, is she showing them off? why does she try so hard, doesn’t she know this is trashy, isn’t this inappropriate? can’t she do anything but dance and make those faces, doesn’t she have anything else to show us? isn’t it always the same?it is, mona wants to tell them. it is always the same, because that’s what you all wanted. that’s what’s selling my albums and my merchandise. that’s why i’ve had a dietician and a trainer since i was sixteen years old, that’s why i spent my childhood smiling at leering middle aged men. and now you want me to do something else?

she’d like too, sure. she dreams of an artsy, lo-fi album. something folk inspired maybe, just her and a guitar and some producers to fill in the gaps. but the company knows no one wants that, they tell her. no one wants that from moon mona of heaven. they want a toned body and a bright smile and a mischievous twinkle in her eyes, they want long hair in artfully done waves that suggest she might just have left the ocean. and she can give that to them, so why risk anything else?

but she does. god, does she want to risk it. hones skills that aren’t hers to advertise, practices her vocals until she could rival the other members, maybe, if anyone would give her some lines. if anyone would let her sing. she works her way relentlessly towards the distant promise of a solo career, towards her desires to produce music she can be proud of. with their contracts arriving at expiration soon the company begins to yield to her desires, but alway sin their own way, always in their own manner. she’ll take it, she thinks, she’ll take whatever she can get.

and so mona is seaglass. weathered and unchanging, polished to a smooth shine. featureless but beautiful, meant to be admired, touched, and then put away again to keep for another summer day.

BIOGRAPHY

MOON MONA is born at the stroke of midnight, which might have meant something magical and mysterious in another story, but in this one, it means only that her mother had a little tidbit of a story to share about her midnight baby. The seaside hospital was perfectly well equipped and her mother faced no difficulties with the delivery, other than the usual. Her father was - and remains - quite typical of his generation.  Fifteen years older than her mother, he was smoking outside when Mona was born, and would remain sort of blandly absent for the remainder of their relationship. Mona holds no ill will here. In a rapidly developing society, he is undoubtedly the product of his time and not of her own. Not even of her mother’s, somehow.

Her mother is a lecturer at a nearby school - a small affair, nothing notable. She teaches biology to freshmen and an upper level botany course and Mona is surrounded by flowers and the sea from birth. The young girl is tangled in them, in the smell of fresh cut grass and salt spray, flowers braided into her hair during long hours in the fields on the edges of town, only a bus ride away.

She loves the bus, loves to stare out the window as it rattles and lurches through the town. When she gets older, her indomitable will and unstoppable energy demand trips to the nearby city to go to dance classes. She’s grown tired of the basic fare offered her in her smaller town, and so an hour off she rides, thumping along the road and dozing between stops. As she grows older and her interest refuses to wane her mother expresses gentle discouragement and her father nods in distracted agreement in the corner.

Perhaps the most attention either of them pay to her, she thinks later, is when she skips school to attend auditions for the first time. They’re furious of course, at the call from the school, at the fact she hadn’t answered her phone, at the fact she dared run off to audition at all. What a stupid pipe dream, they tell her. Do you think we moved to Busan for this, so you could gallivant off to the capital and do whatever you want?

The move had upset her, honestly. Stealing her home away had been the most intolerable cruelty for a girl of thirteen, had unleashed a rebellious fury only the unbridled ocean and other parents of teenage girls with strong wills and fierce eyes could imagine, or hope to match.

So at thirteen Mona’s willful teenage form of rebellion is to pursue a pointless dream, spurred on by her fondness for the likes of SNSD and the Wonder Girls. She copies choreography, she practices singing, begs her way into continuing vocal lessons. She skips after school classes to put in more hours dancing or singing, she spends her time making faces in the mirror and wielding a hairbrush, as so many do.

The difference is that one day, someone sees something in her.

She’s promising they tell her. She has a look, a vibe, and how old is she right now? They don’t seem deterred by her confident answer of fourteen, just take a step back to examine her, ask if she can sing, or dance maybe, and are pleased when she answers to the affirmative. She should have known then, taking the card, turning up for the audition, that they’d been more sold on her face, her figure than anything else. But she was young, and she was foolish, and she had a silly little dream, as her mother might say.

The second time her family really, really notices her is when she explains she’s thinking of moving in with her aunt while she trains.

Her father is distractedly horrified, perhaps more because he should be than because he’s actually unhappy about it, and her mother has sort of just given up on the idea of an academically inclined daughter, a daughter she could maybe relate too, in some way. There isn’t an attempt to meet Mona at her level, to get to know her, or why she loves dance so much. They dismiss these things as childish whims, tell her to come home when she’s ready.

She debuts instead.

In an instant her life changes. Immediately she becomes frozen in time, it seems. Mentally she feels still as though she never quite left that moment of being a naive sixteen year old, practicing choreography designed to put more than mildly inappropriate thoughts into the heads of viewers, thrilled because this was her big chance, her big break. Foolish, ultimately, but not untrue.

She has made it, after all. At twenty three she’s established a name for herself, a brand. That brand might not be one she wants, nor one she is comfortable with, but it sells. Sex always sells, and until she hits that magical age at which women cease to appeal to men sexually on a general level, and then she’ll retire and do something like mediocre acting or variety or nothing, just get married and fade away. She’s done things that make her sick, has lived experiences that make her ill, producers with wandering hands and comedians and hosts who think it all too acceptable to push advances on her based only on an image portrayed on screen, assigned her by the lustful masses, faceless commenters that feel it acceptable to nitpick her body, her styling, her sexuality, her appeal.

Mona is seaglass. She would like to be a flower, taking root and blooming, growing day by day, flourishing, flowering. But Mona is not life and greenery, she is not reaching and seeking. She is sea glass, polished and glimmering, appealing in the moment and ultimately discarded.

[fitnesshealthyoga-blog]

New Post has been published on https://fitnesshealthyoga.com/so-zen-right-now-the-fitnessista/

so zen right now - The Fitnessista

Hi friends! Happy Monday! A friendly reminder for today….

We’ve got this. 🙂

How was the weekend? I hope you had a fun and relaxing one! I had the most relaxing weekend that I’ve had in… a very long time. My friend Betsy flew in from San Diego and we spent the weekend hanging out, shopping, eating all the delicious things, and enjoying a magical spa day at Miraval.

Before she arrived Friday morning, I had to finish my CPR certification. I did an online and classroom combination since my certification had expired, and it was SO convenient to do most of it online. (Word to the world: don’t wait until the night before to do the full online component because it takes a few hours. At the same time, it was really helpful for me to have a refresher on all of this information. I’ve been CPR certified for 10 years now, and every time I have to re-certify, I’m SO glad I did it and so thankful for the information.) 

Since the classroom component was only an hour long and I had to head directly to the airport to pick up Betsy, I took P to CPR with me. I figured you’re never too young to learn these valuable skills haha. (And yes, I called a couple of days before to make sure it would be ok, and they were totally cool with it.) 

She watched me do chest compressions on the Brayden mannequin thing and even tried to a couple of rescue breaths. (The instructor got a kick out of it.) When I needed to practice roll bandaging, she was my model. She thoroughly enjoyed having her pretend wound bandaged up. After I demoed my skills and got my certification, we drove to the airport to swoop Betsy.

We were all ready for brunch, so of course I had to take her to Prep & Pastry.

MY OTHER VIDEOS

Kyle released new menus at Prep and Commoner & Co. this week and they’re both INSANE. He surprised us with a couple of fun things:

the cinnamon roll croissant 

(this is seriously a dream come true… a cinnamon roll with flaky croissant layers)

and two of their new toasts. One had an egg, bacon and maple butter, and crispy brussels sprouts, and the other was smoked salmon with an herbed goat cheese.

For my actual meal, I rolled with the classic breakfast: scrambled eggs, housemade turkey sausage, potatoes, and gluten-free toast.

It was perfection.

When we finished brunch, we came back to the house to chill for a bit, and then decided to get some fresh air. I thought Sabino Canyon would be a fun *Tucson thing* to do, and since we had time to kill before we needed to pick Liv up from school, we decided to go for a little hike.

The weather was absolutely gorgeous – I think it was in the mid 60s and sunny – and we walked a couple of miles, enjoying the scenery,

and miss P ran almost the entire time.

She is suddenly really, intensely into running.

A couple of weeks ago, we went to take the dogs for a walk, and instead of riding her scooter (as she always does), she said,

“No mama, I want to run. Please put my sneakers on.”

I put on her sneakers, and she ran the entire time we were walking the dogs. I’m familiar with the distance since we’ve ran and walked it so many times, and her little newly 3-year-old legs ran .75 miles. She did the same thing at Sabino Canyon… started running, and hardly stopped. Maybe I have a mini Janae-esque speedster on my hands???

(She asked to wear her gymnastics outfit, too, and I was just like, “You do you” haha until I realized that she likely wanted to wear athletic clothes for her run? I don’t even know.)

After the hike, we picked up Livi from school, watched a movie at home, and then went to La Encantada for shopping and dinner.

My mom, stepdad, and nana met us there, and we had an awesome meal at Blanco. I almost always get the chicken tacos, but switched it up by ordering the chicken enchiladas. It was a WISE choice. If you’re in Tucson, definitely try the enchiladas! (And PS their rice is soooooo buttery and good.)

Madre took over for the girls – she watched them for the weekend! She’s the real MVP – while Betsy and I went shopping and then checked into our hotel at Loew’s Ventana Canyon. 

This weekend was my bday gift, and all I really wanted was to hang out with Betsy and get some real sleep. I slept SO well both nights and it was amazing to have a weekend without a schedule or agenda. We knew we were doing a spa day at Miraval, but besides our treatments, we decided to go into it and just wing it depending on how we were feeling. It was so relaxing, and a much-needed refill on a cup that’s been feeling a little spent lately. 

I have SO much to tell you about Miraval (and I’ll also compare it to Canyon Ranch) but it needs its own post, because otherwise this one will be TLDR. We spent the entire day at Miraval on Saturday (from about 8:30am until 7pm) and then went straight to Commoner & Co. for dinner and drinks.

This is random, but Kyle got me into bourbon cocktails. This one had vanilla and orange, and it was so smoky, slightly sweet, and delicious. 

For my entree, I got the salmon from their new menu, which has kale chips and a mushroom risotto. It was perfect, as always. Even if I didn’t know Kyle (or be his kinda-twin), Commoner would still easily be my favorite dinner and date night spot in Tucson. 

After we were totally full from a fantastic dinner, and refreshed from a full day at Miraval, we went back to the hotel for 9 1/2 GLORIOUS hours of sleep. When we woke up, my mom was already heading to the zoo with the girls, so we met Everly and Meg for crepes at the farmer’s market.

(This is the Breakfast 2.0 with no cheese on a gluten-free crepe. It has eggs, guacamole, green chilies, and salsa. Basically this is my ideal breakfast and I could eat it every single day.)

We walked around the market for a bit, and then it was time for Betsy to head home! 

It was such an amazing weekend and the perfect ending to my week of bday celebrating. After I took the girls to swim, P crashed on the couch while Liv and I decorated for Christmas. It feels so festive around here, and I’m really excited for the next couple of months. <3 

I’d love to hear about your weekend! Do you ever do getaways with your best friends? Where’s your favorite place to go? I still want to head back to Palm Springs one day- our girls’ trip there was a blast.

Have a happy Monday.

xoxo

Gina

PS. Guess what?! 

This week, I am thrilled to celebrate Thanksgiving by offering daily deals on my brand new Fit Guide workouts — it’s my way of saying thanks to you for your love and support, and to help empower and inspire you to get and stay fit as we wrap up 2018!

Each of my Fit Guides includes 12 weeks of workouts, plus a workout calendar, a suggested meal plan and special bonuses. And if you aren’t sure which one is right for you, you can take a free, fun personality quiz to find out which Fit Guide I think is best for you:

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Now, here’s today’s daily deal:

Use the coupon HWWHALFOFF for 50% off my Home Workout Warrior Fit Guide! This is a perfect Guide for the holiday week because you can take it with you when you’re traveling, or use it to get a great workout in, even when your gym is closed or the kids are home on holiday break.

Please remember that this is ONLY available for 24 hours! This coupon is only valid on the Home Workout Warrior Fit Guide, and expires at 9amPT on Tuesday, November 20. 

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