Demystifying Hypnosis

Have you been to a stage hypnosis show?

Have you been on stage IN a stage hypnosis show?

Have you sat in the audience watching in shocked awe as that guy did the Big Bad Booty dance to “Baby’s Got Back?”

Have you thought, OMG!  No way that hypnotist is getting ME up on stage to turn ME into a BIG BAD BOOTY DANCER!

Well, tonight, I’d like to assuage your fears a little bit, and assure you, that nobody can control your mind.  After this explanation, you will understand that hypnosis is not the same as mind control.  Under hypnosis, you are in complete control.  Nobody can turn you into a big bad booty dancer if you don’t have the big bad booty dance in you!

Let me start with Exhibit A.

Here is your brain in its normal alpha state.  If you can recall from the movie Star Wars, the Death Star was practically impervious to rebel attack.

Now your brain wasn’t always like this.  When you are a young child, all outside forces easily influenced your brain.  You would accept anything and everything as truth.  Around ages 5 to 7, though, a defense mechanism, known as your developing ego, was erected to protect you.  Outside forces after that age have a harder time getting in.  You become wiser and less gullible.  We will call this the “Death Star Effect”.

The Death Star Effect is the normal state of mind for most people.  Think of it as a “benevolent” Darth Vader.  Though you might think it is good to have Darth Vader in your mind, especially if he keeps the controlling hypnotists of the Big Bad Booty Dance at bay, Darth also prevents you from changing certain habits or old tapes that play in your head.

Some routines in your brain are really good.  But some are not as pleasant.  Have you ever tried to break a bad habit unsuccessfully?  Blame that on Darth Vader’s Death Star.  He locks in both good habits and bad…

So how can hypnosis defeat Darth?

In a state of deep relaxation, your ego skips off the scene, thus dropping the energy force field of the Death Star.  This allows a person, such as Luke Skywalker, to get past the protective barrier and talk directly to the brain, thus changing brain patterns.   In this state, you can forge new pathways in your mind.  You will allow yourself to do things in new and different ways.

Please allow me to present Exhibit B:  your brain in beta state.

Have you ever noticed how flexible and pliable a child is to new ideas?   That is because they have a Pre Darth brain.  Now you most likely have a Post Darth Brain.

This doesn’t mean that you won’t try new things.  It just means it’s a little bit harder to form new habits.  If you are quite diligent, you will be able to form new habits by repetition.

It is known that if you want to change habits, you can do so by making sure to repeat the same new good habit every day for 40 days, and this new habit will become ingrained in your routine.

Now not everybody has the patience to wait 40 days.  If you would like to take a quicker approach, you might want to give hypnosis a try.

Through the deeply relaxed, yet aware state, you will be able to quickly break the walls down.  You can once again experience a child-like brain, open and flexible.  The relaxed state of hypnosis allows suggestions in.  It allows you to change habits.  It allows you to release fears and negative emotions.  It allows you to do the Big Bad Booty Dance without inhibitions.

And fortunately, when you come back to room awareness, and the Death Star Effect falls back into place, those new Good Habits and intentions are locked behind the electric fence, trapped in the Death Star.

Your star is looking a whole lot less death-like, no?

Before I go any further, please let me assure you.  Though you are changing things, your common sense is still intact.   You still know what is right and wrong.  And though you are in a relaxed state, you will still protect yourself from bad advice.  Nobody can make you do anything you DON’T want to do.

So.  What does all this have to do with that guy up on stage doing the Big Bad Booty Dance?

Well, he has dropped his inhibitions, and is acting like a playful little kid.  He has let his inner child out and is having fun.  Remember, if he didn’t want to do the Big Bad Booty Dance… if he didn’t want to get up on stage and be star for the night… if he didn’t know how to dance…  He just wouldn’t.

I know.  Because I’ve been to stage shows where some people act nuts, and others just sit in their chairs like lumps.

To be on the safe side, though, when those Big Bad Booty Dancers come back to the here and now, and the Death Star energy field falls back into place, do him a favor.  Don’t tell him, “Luke.  I am your fathah!”  He may whip out his lightsaber and say, “May the force be with you!”

Fun Your Way Out of the Box!

 

 

 

 

darth vader · death star effect on brain · fun · hypnosis · relaxation · stage hypnosis

Most of the time, I like to think that I am laid-back and easy going.  My feathers don’t get ruffled that easily, and I usually look at the foibles of life with humor and laughter.

But for some reason, every morning when I’m driving Zill to school, I become terribly incensed with people who narrowly cut me off when there is more space for them to merge behind me.  Or there are those drivers who feel they have the right to pull right into oncoming traffic because they happen to have their blinkers on.

This morning, some person insisted on pulling  directly in front of me. There was barely a car length between me and the person before me.  There was nobody behind me.  Logically, and safely, it would have been more appropriate for Blue CR-V lady to get behind me.  But no.  She had to have cuts.

She then proceeded to step intermittently on her brakes and gas, then act like she was about to park, and then change her mind and swerve back in front of me.

I was irate.  And the first chance I got, I cut her off.  Go me.  Yeah, I was a little irrational.  After dropping Zill off, I felt a little ashamed of myself.  Driving in Little Saigon takes the calm of a Zen Buddhist.  Why couldn’t I remain peaceful?

I’ve lived in this area for a long time, and know these people’s driving habits.  Why can’t I just accept them and relax, realizing that politeness and waiting one’s turn is no longer the way to act in this neighborhood?

As I pondered this, an orange-colored cat dashed across the street in front of me.  Instead of getting angry, I calmly slowed down, allowing Ginger to safely cross to the other side.

CLANG!  Realization struck.  It was okay for a cat to cut me off, but not a blue CR-V.

I read this article, and felt a lot better.  In a nutshell, the author says to expect the imperfect.  Imagine the glass you are purchasing is already broken.   Then you will appreciate it in its unbroken-ness.  Thank you Leo Babauta for giving me peace of mind today.

May my glass box be broken.  For from a broken box we emerge free.

mr walker and mr wheeler · peace of mind · zen habits

Yesterday we went to Laguna.  What a beautiful day it was to spend at the beach.  We grabbed some snacks at Starbucks and lucked into a prime location-location-location mosaic chess table right at sands’ edge.   Break move at the breakers.  That was a freak floobly!

So we sat, or at least Zill & the husband (heretofore referred to as H-Man, or Exhibit H, or even Preparation H) did.  The table only had two seats, because chess is not a team sport.  So being a team player, I stood.  And we ate, drank and absorbed the crashing of ocean waves into our psyches.

It couldn’t have been more perfect.  But more perfect happened when he showed up.  He being the  piano mobber.

He played everything from Broadway show tunes, to classical, to Pink Panther, to Ragtime to the Mario Kart theme song.  All without sheet music.  He took requests and let us hang all over the piano.  Or at least Zill and I did.  The H-man talked on his cell phone to his brother in New York the whole time.

I said to Zill that it would be cool for her to do a mob scene with her trombone, and she could get her trumpet friend Sabrina and her Sousaphone friend Silvester to mob along.  That went over like a clogged spit valve.

The mobber dude left.  And we walked toward a sweatshirt shop.  My mantra:  When in Laguna, buy sweat shirt.

Cool sweatshirt purchase upon Zill’s being, we walked up to the top of the hill.  While Exhibit H continued his long- distance convo with  his brother, Zill and I waited for the bathroom to get cleaned.  That was fun.  Then we explored.

In our explorations, we found a shell shop, several trendy jewelry makers, a leather shop and a Russian folk art shop.  It was an area loaded with TTTT’s:  Typical Tourist Trap Tchotchkes.  Except for the Russian guy, BTDD,  Been there, done dat.

We got bored waiting around for H-man to get off the phone.  The beach beckoned.  Zill spied with her little eye an open area overlooking the beach. The gate was ajar.  There was no lock, and two other women were taking unprofessional photos of each other, pretending that they were BBW models.

Zill and I assumed since the gate was open, BBW’s were carousing, and that there were no signs saying that we couldn’t go there, that we could.  Go there that is.

Yeah, well.  You guessed it.  We assumed wrong.  Even though there is an open area, and even if you might be a potential customer, if you enter this area 51 unmarked, unlocked and wide open space, you will get kicked out by the “only-Authorized-people” -are-allowed-to-be-assholes police.

Granted, the guy said it in his most polite assholey voice, and granted, I was wearing a beanie, jeans and a sweatshirt, and was looking all of 28-years old, and, um, yeah… very unauthorized looking, in my heart I felt authority.  I knew I looked less than authority-like, but still.  I was very offended.   I could have been and was planning to be a customer.  It would have been a cool place to hold a Slique Event.

But now, Slique will never be there.  Ever.

Stupid assholey guy should not be such an asshole in this economy where you don’t know where your next customer will come from.  Hey asshole guy, message for you:   haven’t you evah hoyde:   Nevah chudge a booque by yitz covah?

Guess not.  Or maybe in Laguna book covers are more important than customers.  And an income.  Suddenly, perfect day less than.

So.  When something like this happens to me, I don’t know about you, but I gotta vent.  I gotta get it outta my system.  So I thought, who else to talk to but an equally incensed Zill and my H-man.

But H-man turned out to be less than supportive.  he was more like an off-brand of Preparation H.  “Let me swath your hemorrhoid with nasty smelling cream that is more gloppy than healing, and you can pretend your crack is getting better.”  In other words, he told me to shut up.

Zill noticing my mood, took charge and walked us down a path where we saw cute little babies in strollers.  Their innocence touched me.  My icy mood melted.  Then we took this photo:

Then this one:

And this one:

Ah.  Day becoming perfect again.

We left and began walking back down the hill.

And took this pic:

Remindering to me, dat life is really goot.  So stop being a kvetch!

Within moments, we, meaning Zill and I, found a shop of natural skin stuff and the store owner, she became our new best friend.  Prep H wouldn’t join us and attempted to slather more of his noxious ointment upon our moods.  But I was refreshed and remained unperturbed for the moment.

Armed with a bag o’ stuff, Zill and I left the store.  She and H went hiking on the rocks while I tossed da booty into the car.  There I saw an apartment home guarded by two Buddhas for rent.  Oooh.  Was this a Hint-Hint?  Laguna paradise?  Not sure, yet.

Joined the troops on the beach.  Climbed rocks.  Went to Las Brisas for cool beverages.  The view of the ocean?  The snatches we could catch, perfect.

The mood was better, and we talked.  Kind of.  But the H Factor was not actually willing to have fun with us.  Anything I said was critiqued.  So I stopped talking.

And basically remained silent through dinner.

Driving home the day’s perfection rating descended into the basement.  Why?  Zill began discussing her excitement about an upcoming “surprise” family visit we are taking.  Exhibit H was pissed about our trip.  Because even though Zill is doing amazingly well in school this year, and even though the school has approved the trip, and even though the teachers are allowing Zill make up options, our trip did not pass the Executive branch of approval.  Congress pushed the law through with 2/3 vote and slipped it past the Presidunce’s nose.  Presidunce feels his veto power is worthless.

Now I didn’t mean to be a Phil-uh-buster.  I just haven’t seen my family in almost five years.  And a landmark event just pooped up.  And when things poop up I can’t help but go with the gas flow.  Family is so important.  I’ve never begrudged him family visits.  But for some reason, my family lacks the importance in his eyes.  After all these years, I can’t believe it still upsets me.  Yet it does.

That was yesterday.

Today, I awoke feeling that it was the perfect end to a day.  Preparation H is meant for an asshole other than mine.  And with this thought glued to my heart, I know that all things are possible for me.

The box I am in is not all that fun right now.  So out of it I must get.  With this in mind, I know that as I follow through with what I need to do, a funner box will find me.  Because if it’s not fun, it’s just a box!

perfect is a state of mind · poetry is soothing to the soul · when the going gets tough

Thanksgiving is in two days.  Yay!

It’s not my turn to cook this year.  Boo!

Wait.  Boo?  I mean BOO!!!!!!

That was Halloween.  That was a month ago.  Can I go back in time please?   I just found my costume yesterday.  Am ready to go trick or treating now.   Zill’s candy cache stash is running low.

But back to the Turkey cooking.  Must be crazy am I, because I love to cook Thanksgiving dinner.   Really.

Especially since Zill won a Turkey in the Turkey Trot this year.  Not because she exels at trotting.  But.  Because she won the “drawling” as she calls it.  Yay for lucky winner Zill!

This year, my usual Turkey Brine Event will not be taking place in the garage.

Ewwww!  I can just hear you yelp.  How whet is your appetite now knowing that my food prep takes place in a “rustic” area that houses a mess of tools, Gorilla Glue, several rusty cans of WD40, three bicycles, a car, a toenail clipper and a pile of old dryer lint?

I bet you’re thinking.  I’m never going to eat at Vick’s again!

But that is part of the plan.  Read further.  I don’t want to ruin the surprise ending!

Back to this year’s Turkey Day which takes place in a domicile other than mine.  So to celebrate.  I’m doing the next best thing a five-eighths part Jewish girl can do.  I’m bringing a ham to the party.

No not some second-rate, wannabe actor.  An actual ham.  One of those spirally cut thingys that costs $60,000,000 a pound.

It wasn’t for the snob appeal, because a ham is not exactly a high-class item.  Since when did Wilbur-Who-Wallows-In-Mud warrant such a high price tag?  I know not.

So knowing not I.  Why did I volunteer to bring a ham?  I know not yet again, because I hate the stuff.  Maybe I should bring liver and onions, too.  And Brussels Sprouts.  More of my bottom 10 foods.   Maybe I ought to gag now and get it over with.

Perhaps it is reverse psychology.  If I don’t like the food, I won’t overeat.  And if I don’t overeat, I won’t gain 50,001 pounds this holiday season.  And if I don’t gain 50,001 pounds this holiday season, I won’t have to worry about my jeans not zipping up.

And if all the other guests follow my lead, we might all wind up losing weight instead of gaining weight this year.  Think of all those muscles we’ll build pushing the table away from us.  Think of that great cardio workout we’ll get when we run screaming from the room.  And the screaming…  Increased lung capacity.  Yo.

Works for me.

Hell.  50,001 pounds is more than my wardrobe can handle!

Maybe you would like to guarantee your own holiday weight loss plan.  Here are a few of my recipes for disaster:

Torched Turkey Tush, Green Cheese Cassserole, Street Pothole Tar Pie, Chalk Lit Chipped Cookies, Hard-as-bullets boiled Eggy Wegg Devils, Chiggers & Nuts Stuffink, Granny Belly Sauced, Gravelly Gravy, Black Strap Molasses Muffin Spread with Flax Seed, Punched Chin Pie, Massacred in Mulch Potatoes…

And that only names a few of my germs.

And if you order now, for 19.95,  you can get this lovely booklet written on used cocktail napkins.  Yes!  We are green!  Don’t you love recycle people!

And wait.  If you just mention this blog to our standing by operators, (beccause we have no chairs), we will throw in, um, the towel.  I think this one has run its course.

So be like my towel.  Go run the course!  Not only will your jeans zipper zip with zip, you might be like Zill and win a Turkey Trot Turkey Too!

Fun Your Way Out of the Ice Box the Second Day in the Row!  Whoa It’s cold out now, huh!

diet secrets and tips

Ah.  The Holidays are upon us.

Once again I am not yet ready for them.  Are you?

I suggest we change the expression, from “happy” to “how pee”, as many people seem more pissed off than merry with all the stress they put upon themselves at this time of year.

How pee?  Because there are so many shoppers around, the lines for the bathroom are certain to be long.  It’s enough to put you in a daze.  It’s sure to make you howl.  Howl in anguish of the bladder fullness.

So how pee when line so long?  I no know.

Perhaps we ought to be like that ass-tro-not lady who wore Depends diapers on her cross-country trip to chase after her not-boyfriend.  That was really smart.  Why even try to attempt a pit stop for the room of rest when it is guaranteed to be unrestful?

I don’t know about you, but I like my restroom experiences to be resty and roomy.  Not wresty and rheumy.

That is enough to chew on for now.  Save your chewing for Thursday when you sink your teeth into whatever food stuffs you might be mowing!

And if you need one or more rest and relaxation sessions, and if you need to go to a real room of rest, feel free to schedule a hypno session with moi!

Fun Your Way Out of the Ice Box!

holiday stress · hypnosis · relax · room of rest

So  I decided this morning to pull all my tangent-going-offings together and actually braid them into one cohesive lanyard.

It will certainly be a very colorful and thick plait, because I have so many tangents I’m going off on at the moment.

Maybe it will even be a matchless creation.

Maybe it will just be a big knot.  Who knows until I start, huh.

The thing is, where do I start?  Where are the beginnings of all these tangents, and where are the ends?

And how will I manage to mesh and weave them all together?  Will it end up being a hideous macrame monstrosity?  Or will it be unique and useful?

It’s sort of  a conundrum. And I can see myself getting lost on one of the tangents and landing in some dimension of unreality.

Whoa.  I could wind up almost anywhere.  Like in another solar system, Area 51, or even a Jenny’s Fabrics.

Maybe I should leave the weaving to someone more craftsy.  Like Jenny.

Or Hints for Heloise.

I should just stick to the things I’m good at.  Which would be creating more tangents that have no beginnings or ends.

Will I ever get anything done?  I don’t know.  But I’m sure having fun in my monstrous macrame.

Tangle Your Way Out of the Box!

braid · conundrum · creation · lanyard · macrame · tangents · to do lists · weaving

“Hello.  I am Vicky, a mother.  And my child can be a Monster…”

The crowd chants, “Welcome Vicky, to MOMA, Mothers of Monsters Anonymous.”

She is pretty cute, so even at age 13, I can’t help but forgive her, even when she stomps an Irish Jig all over my buttons.  And she stomps those buttons very good.  Every single last one of them.

But I am breathing.  And saying mantras, “I am calm, I am clam, I clam yam.”

I either eventually blow up exploding my eyeballs out of my head.  Or.  Even prettier.  I spit my lips and teeth across the room.

And then we laugh.  She and I.  Because my lips landed in some lady’s latte, and my teeth flew into the air, did synchronized triple axles, then latched themselves onto the spinning rotation of the ceiling fan.

Almost as smooth as this guy.

Nice.

Fan Your Way Out of the Box!

Breathe into calmness · Button Pushing · MOMA

In the midst of a dreary sea of silver, white and black cars, they appear, brightening the snaking freeways and byways.

Like bursts of sunshine, intermittently blinking between the  clouds on a stormy day.  They cheer me up.

Have you seen them?

They seem to be everywhere.

They are The  Minute Man Militia  Of Cars That Are  Yellow.  AKA the Yellow Swarm.

And all the cars are nice and brand new.  Corvettes.  Lamborghinis.  Monster Trucks.  Mini Coopers.  Scions and Misubishis.  Punch Buggies.  H2s.  And more Corvettes.

I have seen eight yellow Corvettes in the last week.  From Riverside.  To Brea.  From Hollywood to Huntington Beach.  From Santa Ana to Encinitas.  From Fountain Valley.  To, um.  Bell.

Is optimism returning?  Even to, um… Bell?

I can only imagine with the bright and cheerfulness that yellow brings, that people are getting sick of silver, black and white cars, and want to zap the rest of us with a splash of color.

Yay!  For waking me up as I become hypnotized by the road.  Yay for the yellow Smart Car that makes me smile when I’m stuck on the 405 with my 12,000,001 BFF’s.  (Yep.  Caltrans says that over 12 million drivers grace the 405 daily.  So I calculated that plus one.)

And especially Yay!  For the Yellow Corvette.  For which I am now lusting.

But don’t tell YUG, my black Honda CR-V.  I’m just glancing at the menu.

Fun Your Way Out of the Traffic Box!

being different works · break the mold · road hypnosis · yellow corvette

Yay for work!

Work is fun.  Work is good.  Work makes sure.   That we have food!

But not the food we had tonight.  That was a rotten piece of shoe leather, disguised in a tri-tip marinade from Trader Joes.  Blech!  The only things missing were the shoe horns and laces.

So Macy got to eat a lot of shoes disguised as meat.  And the humans satisfied themselves on hamburger bun rolls with barbecue sauce.  And seaweed.

Do we know how to live, or what!

Fun Your way out of the Blech!

No tags

So the band at McGarvin Intermediate is really big.  Big as in some kids are really tall.  And big as in many and vociferous kids who are bigger than me.

I mean bad as in good, not bad as in bad.  Because they sounded pretty good.

And Marchink because they march, but not all the 7th graders have gotten the hang of it, and there are some chinks or spaces in the armor meshing.

Zill plays trombone again.  And started a thang, I thank.  Because now there’s another girl trombonist.

There are three Sousaphone-ists.  So it’s really a LOUD band.  Yay for loud!

Big brass is fun!  It doesn’t all have to be Oompah Loompah.

Fun Your Way out of the Brass Band Box!

big bands · fun music · girls who play trombones · trombone girls