Effort

“It's not about perfect. It's about effort. And when you bring that effort every single day, that's where transformation happens. That's how change occurs.” ― Jillian Michaels

“They” say that you can never go home again.

Man, “they” sure do seem to talk a lot, but maybe that’s why we get along.

It’s partly true though, once you have completely moved out of your parent’s house and away from whatever you defined as home growing-up, it’s never really the same going back. Those who have stayed are changing, don’t mistake me, but you are changing too and more importantly, without them. As a former piece of that puzzle you never really fit back into place, at least not perfectly, like a side got bent; nevertheless being home this past weekend, even just for the day, felt good. Better than it has for years. There was no guilt associated with being gone, mine or theirs.

I think the aging of us, the success and failure of relationships, the weddings, the houses, the babies, the experiences, the disagreements, the misunderstandings, the years have put things into perspective for everyone. You are friends with people for a reason. Sometimes that reason weathers the storm, and sometimes it doesn’t, but it feels good if you can find it again.

Basically, what I am saying is sometimes what you really need is to have a good yack in your best friend’s parent’s front yard in route to a semi-formal baby shower to cleanse the toxins and really bring you back to the basics.

In related news, don’t ever drink Avery’s Beast.

Ever.

But as I prepare for one of the busiest months to date, I am getting more and more excited at the opportunity to spend quality time over the next four weekends with those closest to me, whether formerly or currently... making moments movie montages cream over.

When I happened upon that particular quote earlier this week, it was just the mantra I had been searching for to kick start my second week of CrossFit, but as the days went on, and thoughts of the weekend passed through my head, I realized it applies to so much more. Life isn’t so much about perfection but more the effort you put into it.

Or maybe all the blood has fled my head, and I am just talking crazy. SHOTS! SHOTS! SHOTS!

Amendment One

“Some things you must always be unable to bear. Some things you must never stop refusing to bear. Injustice and outrage and dishonor and shame. No matter how young you are or how old you have got. Not for kudos and not for cash: your picture in the paper nor money in the bank either. Just refuse to bear them.” -William Faulkner.

On nights like this, I find myself battling so many different negative emotions that I am unable to articulate anything useful; therefore, on nights like this, I find myself searching for quotes to better fit how I feel. Anything has to be more productive than “fuck off, you ignorant assholes!”

Feel free to quote me if you find no comfort in the other more thoughtful quotations I am offering here this evening. That’s L-i-z-M-u-r-r-a-y.

I will fully admit as a straight, white woman living in Middle America I’ve never really suffered discrimination. Outside of being the “chubby girl”, I can’t even say that I have felt particularly out of place in my life; so please, understand that I am not coming from a place of experience in this rant, just a place of disappointment and frustration in the face of what I believe to be blind, ignorant hate.

I can’t image someone telling me that I had no right to love Glenn, that we had no right to be together based on the fact I am white and he is black. It is easy to forget, but it wasn’t that long ago relationships like ours were illegal and seen as morally damaging to society. I can’t imagine my life without him in it, and I certainly can’t imagine the nation tell me “tough tittys”, get over it, love someone else, be something else.

People like to compartmentalize love like that, place their comfort before another’s happiness. How dare love exist outside their comfort zone. Daft defiant love. But is love the daft one when all this fear mongering hate is justified by the supposed loss of family values, traditional beliefs, morality, faith and common decency? To me, it just seems so backwards to claim you have morals and decency, to only use them as pretexts to judge and hurt others.

"I stand for honesty, equality, kindness, compassion, treating people the way you want to be treated and helping those in need. To me those are traditional values, that’s what I stand for. Oh, and I believe in dance" - Ellen DeGeneres.

This was in response to One Million Moms - a group claiming to be proponents of family values and common decency (shocking how predictable these groups can be) - calling for her termination as the newest spokesperson for JCPenney because she is gay.

Okay, wait, Ellen is GAY?!? And dancing isn’t what is really threatening the ethical foundation of our society?!? I believe Reverend Shaw Moore might disagree.

But in all seriousness, if it’s your children that you are worried about, I would be more concerned about how the example you are setting as a parent is affecting them. It should come as no surprise how much they learn about life from you, as their parent and provider. You are the person who is supposed to show them how to love, and how to live.

But on nights like this, it’s easy to get angry and respond to hate with hate, or in my world, respond to absurdity with sarcasm. Love, understanding, and education against injustice can be much harder. I applaud Ellen and her response. Bigotry across the board is something we should refuse to bear, but not all bigotry is the same in experience. No two encounters with injustice are the same, but it would seem the response endures through the ages.

"I have decided to stick with love. Hate is too great a burden to bear." - Martin Luther King, Jr.

So again, on a night like tonight, when "North Carolina voters approve constitutional amendment defining marriage as union between man, woman" let’s remember while it may be easy to get angry and respond to hate with hate, love is much harder... and in my opinion, more powerful.

Lizaster #782

Signing up for a 10K and then proceeding to not train for the aforementioned 10K.

Two blog posts down and I feel like I haven’t properly introduced myself. I believe you will find it’s easier to think of Lizaster as more of a way of life.

A Lizaster is when you finally recognize that your shacker instincts and kleptomaniac ways have left your boyfriend shorts-less. Poor guy, legs deserve to breathe too. So being the caring wonderful partner you are, you kindly wash and return the impressive collection of basketball shorts. Later, while beaming with pride over your selflessness (best girlfriend ever!), you watch as he excitedly looks through the stack of folded shorts, still warm from the dryer. As his excited smile (the kind you can only get when something old feels new again) begins to fade, you realize the pair he is currently holding up to examine are in fact someone else’s shorts.

Oppies.

#tribulationsofashacker

Not everyone could have found the humor in Shortsgate 2011. If I hadn’t already figured it out prior to that moment, I would say this is when I realized just how lucky I really am to have him in my life. I definitely found the one for my Lizaster lifestyle.

It is important to note that with these happenings there is typically an opportunity for something great, and usually like the one above it comes in the form of an amusing story. Life is too short to not be amused by it all. In the case of Lizaster #782 it’s an opportunity to reconnect with the ex-wife (AKA former roommate). Life and other bullshit can sometimes muddy the waters when it comes to the important stuff like friendships, it will be nice to catch-up with her and get back to those Lizaster basics, laughter over life’s innocent mishaps. And that's one department The Dollhouse always excelled in... that, and shorts collection.

Plus, nothing bonds two people more than feeling like your body is falling apart limb-by-limb, piece-by-piece, right?

But in the words of G-Unit, Get Rich or Die Trying, it takes a Hustler's Ambition, and I am ready to hustle... or die trying.

Juices...

I think I may have uncovered one of the great questions of the blog ages... when you can discuss anything you want, how do you choose?

Turns out, in my case, you just don't. I have been wrestling with what to blog about since the BANG BANG incident a few weeks ago. At first I just figured it was blog bashfulness, but now I fear it is full-on writer’s block. And truly I don’t think the blog has much to do with it, just an unexpected causality in an underlying personal battle. I guess I shouldn’t throw around casual BANG BANGS without expecting a few to ricochet.

I recently found out that my position could be landing on the chopping block soon. At this point it is hard to say for sure what is happening, as the story changes from person-to-person, day-to-day, but needless to say, I have been an application machine. Screw dreaming in color, I dream in cover letters now. Who knew so much could ride on a few little paragraphs? But no pressure really, it’s just your livelihood. I think my dear friend Steve might have the right of it.

“To Whom it May Concern,

My name is Liz. I will rock your shit. Feel free to contact me with any questions you have.

Regards,

Liz Murray”

Who knows, it could work. Who could forget a cover letter like that? I know I wouldn’t… and with ten applications submitted to no real avail, I just might hit that “shock value” point soon. Watch out Champaign-Urbana search committees, you are in for a treat.

Either way, “they” say you should write something… anything to get the juices flowing-- and you know “they” are never wrong -- so welcome to the juices portion of the presentation.

Also, welcome back to the skimmers out there.

As you no doubt have noticed by now, I chose a radio as my background. That was no coincidence. It has been officially a year since I left full-time radio. I never knew I could miss something so incredibly much, it’s like a part of me is missing. Now, don't get me wrong, as with anything in life, there are certainly aspects that I do not miss about the job, but at the base of it I could always count on a few things to be true. I loved the people I worked with (funny bastards), I loved the feeling of being behind that microphone (exhilarating), and I knew I was good at my job (most days). That feeling of pride and consequently confidence in myself is what I miss the most of all.

It was also a safe bet that no day would be without a good belly laugh or two, tears and all. Who knew humor was the key to good mental health? Another question for the ages unearthed. MAN, I am on a roll today, someone buy me a lottery ticket stat! No seriously, hooking could be in my future. Jokes! Maybe.

Hard to say if humor has anything to do with my writer’s block, I would actually probably say it doesn’t at all. Outside of work, I am very lucky to be surrounded by some hilarious characters who keep me cracking jokes daily. I think the real issue is my seemingly misplaced confidence, but I will find it. It’s just hiding in that new exciting opportunity yet to be discovered and I think we both can see I am acquiring quite a knack for uncovering things!

And if I am truly at risk of losing my chops, that is simply a loss I refuse to accept. Instead I am fighting back, blogs up! And I AM from Decatur. Decatur, where it is greater baby.

I know that to be true because a rap song told me so. Thank you Lloyd and Weezy.

So this is happening...

I have been playing around with the idea of starting a blog for years now, but never could seem to pull the theoretical trigger. But I guess since I am typing this, and you are reading it, consider trigger pulled... BANG BANG bitches!

So about five minutes ago when I decided that I was actually going to do this whole babbling about what is on my mind if for nothing else but a sanity check, possibly an ego pet, my first question to myself was "what the hell am I going to call this thing?" Nicknames seemed like the first logical choice, and unlike some people I know, I am the glue to life's rubber.

I have had many a nickname in my 27-year lifetime. Starting off with the big sister crowning of "Lil Bit." I guess I never really asked her where that came from, or maybe she told me, my memory sucks like that, but I can only assume that it has something to do with her name being Mary Elizabeth, and her overwhelming desire to kick the ball-and-chain middle name of hers to the curb. The announcement of my conception was her moment to strike. What better way to drop the Elizabeth of her title than to convince Mom and Dad to name their second daughter that very name? And honestly, not a long shot really, the only other name as popular as Mary in our family is Elizabeth. If you haven't already put two and two together, we are Catholic. Turns out, it only granted her a five letter break, but hey Mary Beth ain't bad, right? Maybe she was giving me a two letter break due to my irresistible cuteness when I was younger... Lil Bitch fits just as well though, depending on the day.

Skipping all the usual playground jabs, the other big nickname contenders of my life so far are Lizaster and Liz 2.0. After the cautionary Google search, I found that "A Beautiful Lizaster" isn't as original as one might lead themselves to believe; dare I say, "Lizaster" as a blog title in general is what some would call cliche.

Damn you, Liz Lemon! **fists shaking in the air**

I will go to my grave saying that I was awarded that nickname first; thanks to a radio ranch brainstorming session where one very clever Michelle Ryan had a light bulb moment when picking my on-air name for my new afternoon gig. Definitely a winner, but what wouldn't in comparison to Liz Hitler? Don't ask. But turns out we aren't on a sitcom and the moment was not captured on film... until one week later on 30 Rock, of course. Truly, a beautiful Lizaster. But no worries, I am no stranger to being the second of this name... some might even say the better of the two. But you know how people can talk.

So there you have it, welcome to Lizaster 2.0, kids. As far as pulling triggers go, I am bustin caps in this bitch!