Monthly Archives: February 2012

Staying Fit During My Quarter-Life Crisis


Author: Kara Mae Adamo. 

I’ve spent a great deal of time at the bar over the last couple of months–and eating au gratin potatoes at work (I’m a vegetarian working in a fine dining steak house…they feed us…but most of it previously had a face…you see how my options are a bit limited)

I have, however, been maintaining an active lifestyle. I’ve been switching it up a bit: I have gone rock climbing recently (my friends go a lot, so I really have no excuse outside of my insane schedule not to go), and I’ve started hitting the gym more, too.

I also bought myself some roller blades. I can’t decide if this last one has anything to do with my sudden mid-twenties freak-out, but I have also been looking into buying a ninja 250. It suffices to say that I may or may not be experiencing a quarter-life crisis…but either way I bought the blades. I also went skateboarding for the first time in my life. Granted, I was drinking a beer and smoking a cigarette at 4 o’clock in the morning when I was on said skateboard, but it actually didn’t go too bad…aside from when I ended up on someone’s driveway while on my friend Alex’s long-board. As it turns out, going down-hill is completely different than going straight or up-hill. The board shot out from under me and I fell right on my tailbone.

It was still fun.

And, honestly, why shouldn’t I go skateboarding or rollerblading? Why? Because I’m a grown woman? Meh. I’m the size of a ten year old, and I feel that somehow earns me the right to play like one. I’m not hurting anyone but myself most of the time, anyway.

Perhaps it will keep me young. I’ve sworn off plastic surgery and face-lifts. Perhaps if I keep that youthful glow that comes from climbing trees and making mud-pies, I will never have to consider these things. (Just kidding on the mud-pies…sort of).
I actually am developing a school of thought surrounding this. So what if I want to do all of these things? I didn’t do them that much as a teenager and, well, I’m a grown-ass adult. I pay my bills and work 60+ hours a week. I do my own taxes, clean my own house and own my own car. So if I want to get grass stains all over my jeans by falling down because I haven’t figured out how to stop on my new roller blades then who’s to stop me?!

No one; that’s who.

I’ve also taken to buying more food from the grocery store. I feel as though this is key. I tend to eat healthier when I’m, well, not at the bar. Tonight, for instance, I sauteed some asparagus with some carrots and a touch of soy sauce. I also let a vegan grilled “chicken breast” simmer in some ginger dressing and a little claret. I topped both of these with a bit of caprino cheese and had a small side salad of mixed greens, radishes (an excellent blood purifier, btw) and ginger dressing. In lieu of a beer, I had a glass of juice (a combo of two of my favorite V8 fruit blends).

Honestly, I feel better already.

I’m trying to get myself in shape so that, when I take off over seas a year and a half from now, I’ll be in tip-top condition for the training regimen.

This has helped get my mind off of a few upsetting things and, honestly, it’s how I usually live. I’ve been in a rut for a while and I feel like I’m finally climbing out of it. This makes for a happy Kara–and it also gives me an excuse to shop for cute clothes this spring 🙂


The Whole Abortion Thing


Author: Kara Mae Adamo. 

I have a headache today…and it’s not just because of my new glasses.

Santorum, in his most recent stream of verbal idiocy, made a comment regarding prenatal care…and how it is, essentially, unnecessary. His comment, of course, is in reference to Obamacare (a cluster-fuck they have done their damnedest to render completely ineffective because, well, if he doesn’t make strides, it looks like he’s not trying to do anything…but that’s another argument completely.)

The quote went like this:

“One of the mandates is they require free prenatal testing in every insurance policy in America…why? Because it saves money in health care. Why? Because free prenatal testing ends up in more abortions and therefore less care that has to be done, because we cull the ranks of the disabled in our society.”

His argument has to do with the fact that, during prenatal testing, the doctors dealing with his wife’s pregnancy recommended abortion because their daughter suffers from Trisomy 18 (a chromosome disorder that often results in stillborns). Now, fortunately young Isabella was not a stillborn, but that really isn’t the point. The point is, Karen Santorum still sought prenatal testing when she was pregnant…because when you are pregnant that’s what you do.

To say that prenatal testing is unnecessary and to argue that it is part of a massive conspiracy to encourage abortions is ridiculous.

And what if it did?

Don’t get me wrong. I am not “pro-abortion”. I could never get one myself. It would absolutely destroy me and I don’t get over things easily enough. I’ve miscarried and it took over a year to shed that guilt from my mind. A purposeful ridding of my hypothetical child would, simply put, be out of the question.

For me.

I am, however, a realist. Just because would never want something done doesn’t mean that I want the government telling me whether or not it’s okay.

That’s the cliché answer for “pro-life” women. Please sit down for this next part, though, as I’m bound to make some waves.

For me, it’s not even about whether or not abortion is murder.

I’m sorry. It’s just not. I don’t know when “life begins.” I am not a scientist and I sure as hell am not a priest.

I am, however, a concerned global citizen.

We, as a populace, have grown too much. We are popping out way too many kids and, thanks to modern science, we are sticking around entirely too long (case in point: the near-depletion of social security funds). According to Jean-François Rischard (former president of the World Bank), we are projected to jump to 8 billion people by 2020. EIGHT BILLION. That’s an almost 2-billion jump in under a decade.

Our planet is already going to hell in a hand basket. We don’t have the space or the resources to contend with that kind of demographic explosion. I know it sounds cruel, but abortion is a form of population control. It sounds cold-hearted (and maybe it is), but facts are facts. Factor in water scarcity, poverty, infectious diseases, fishery depletion, biodiversity losses, deforestation, maritime pollution, and energy/food consumption, and this little traffic jam turns into a big problem. Cereal consumption alone is projected to rise by 30 percent. For those of you who insist on eating rotting, decomposing flesh, the meat consumption will jump by up to 60 percent.

Also, the same party that argues against the cruelty of abortion will dash away at the mere mention of socialized healthcare. I’m sorry, but until we are willing to take care of people that are already here, the argument regarding adding to that number is null. There are too many of us and there is no shortage of orphans out there. They’ll force you to have the kid, but then they’ll argue against the taxes set in place to care for it once it’s inevitably handed over to the state…and the charming, balloon-filled, happy home life that goes with it.

When people say that the unwanted child-fetus could go to a willing adoptive family, it makes me twitch because there are already plenty of children that lack homes, clothing, education and food.

I understand the idea that killing innocent children is not the answer, but let’s face it: we do that all the time.

In the last ten years, I have watched us give the finger to our fellow veto powers at the UN Security Council, strap up, and bomb the ever loving shit out of sovereign nations. We finance child trafficking and turn our noses to child soldier stories. So why, in the comfort of squeaky-clean suburbia, does the issue of murdering children suddenly come up? It’s hypocrisy, pure and simple.

I want my government to stay out of my personal life. Don’t tell me what to smoke, who to fuck and whether or not I should have a baby. Don’t tell me what to say, who to listen to, and please leave me alone about the faith thing. The day a presidential candidate admits to being an atheist is the day I dance a jig on the White House lawn…because the race should not be about faith. Freedom of religion was the entire point, was it not? Don’t get me wrong, I know that poor martyr would never make it to the primaries or might even end up stoned to death , but just the idea is enough to get me excited.

The life at conception argument is just as important to me as the argument over whether or not there is a gay gene…in that I don’t care. It’s not about that. It’s about numbers…just like these arguments are about numbers. Unfortunately, there are mitigating circumstances that lead people to have abortions. They’ll always be there and people will always get them. If you don’t like abortion, don’t get an abortion. But the idea that this is a prime issue in a country where so many other things have gone wrong is completely ridiculous.

As my friend Andrew says, they are flooding our media with insane, unfounded quotes regarding social issues because neither party has a solution for the economic issues we’re all facing…they are upsetting us on purpose: redirecting our focus so that we all talk about gay people marrying more and leave lack-o-cash on the back burner for a bit.

Syria was recently condemned, employment remains a constant headache on the domestic forefront, Egypt is screwed and Sara Palin still thinks it’s okay to drill for oil and simultaneously host a nature show. We have far more important issues on our hands.



Author: Kara Mae Adamo.

So I guess it’s no secret that I’m an insomniac. This is what happens when you don’t sleep for two days.

Also: for some reason I can’t seem to add stanza breaks in this blog…imagine (if you can) that there is a break between every four lines. Iambic Pentameter is there–I promise!!

When the Witching Hour

has twice come ’round

and I’ve watched

without a blink,

The twisted words

of rhyme and verse

from shaking hands do ink.

I’ll coax them out

of my worn-tipped quill

watch them swirl and

bend and flow.

From my sleepy head

to a blue-lined pad

my riddled thoughts

will grow.


I’ll read them out

to this audience

of one

And misty-eyed

I’ll see them

and give rhythm

to what’s been done.

Out loud they are

more vivid;

their pattern

is given shape.

And as the sky

begins to lighten

the words will

then escape.

Off the walls

they’ll echo;

through cracks

they’ll surely slip

And on thin breeze

they’ll carry

the message

I have sent.

As it blows

they’ll waver

and my voice

will soon be lost:

Just a wayward sound

to clutter;

a whisper to

melt the frost.

And if all the world

would listen,

their efforts

would be in vain.

The vibrations

are far too subtle

and weighted

by this rain.

So harmlessly

I’ll write them;

my tired thoughts

‘ll be sorted out

And with one last dip

into blue-black ink,

I’ll silently

scream and shout.

It’s a power just to feel it–

that tonic called

written word–

To take what’s locked

and release it

to share my thoughts

with the world.

And while the rain

outside might shatter

the spoken bits

I’ve scribed

The energy of their


(I assure you)

has not died.

The sense of them

will continue.

It’ll hang among

the tiers.

And as sunlight

rounds the corner,

it’ll slip through

waking ears.

It may seem like

it’s nothing–

just a thought

in a sleepy head–

It may only

last a moment;

gone once you have

been fed.

But at least

I know I’ve sent it

as my tired eyes

do close…

Three days long

I’ve waited

to finally

send this prose.

And once I have


(eyes brighter

from the sleep)

I know I’ll feel

much better

and clearer

I will think.

…ramble, ramble, ramble *pause* ramble, ramble…


So I’m initiating a self-inflicted isolation.

Nothing too drastic; I’m still going out with friends and I’m still chatting with people on the phone…I’m just…I don’t know…toning it down a bit.

I suppose I mean this mostly in regards to dating. This ever-so-wonderful week marks the last week Rob and I were together. A near three-year live-in relationship was unraveling at the seams by Valentines Day (how apropos) and since then I have been on a wild roller coaster of love interests and not-so-comfortable run-ins that have left me downright winded. I’ve revisited my past relationship–and several other past relationships. I’ve also met a lot of really great people that have turned out to be  good friends and I’m glad and proud to say that they’re in my corner.

I’ve also fucked up. A lot.

Anyway, back to the reason I decided to ramble in the first place.

Kira is at John’s tonight, so I’m home alone. I figured I’d cook myself some dinner, sip some tea, and take it easy by watching The Secret Circle (my new obsession). In this episode, Cassie is being haunted by dead witches. They do a good job making it spooky–it’s much more of a Halloween episode than a Valentines Day episode–which makes it perfect. The problem is, I’m a pansy.

If you’ve never watched a scary movie with me, then there is no way for me to adequately express just how true that sentence really is. I am an absolute, 100% chicken-shit. I am a 24 year old woman who is afraid of standing in front of windows because I fear that at some point somebody will be staring back at me. Sends chills, doesn’t it? I won’t sleep with a ouija board nearby and I am not swell with jumpy things. In fact, I am deathly afraid of frogs because they do just that…they jump. And you never know which direction…and their slimy little suction cup toes…ugh…

Moving on.

The only way I can manage to get through this damned episode is if I pause it every couple of minutes. I guess that, by doing that, I wake myself up from the cinematic trance long enough to breathe before plunging back in.

I also do this when characters in normal shows/movies are about to embarrass themselves.

So my conclusion is this: I wish I had a pause button.

I know it’s not a novel concept. Who doesn’t wish they could “turn back time” (yeah, I went there…and Cher understands, man!!) But seriously…I don’t need to go back…but to “pause” would be great. I can’t count on one hand how many situations this week alone that might have been fixed if I had a fucking pause button. Just a five-second breather so I can recollect and rethink some things.

I mean, I guess I kind of do. If I would calm down more often, I could probably instigate my own little zen-like state, but let’s face it…I’m not going to do that. Not that I shouldn’t…it’s a terrific idea and would probably lead to a higher state of maturity that I so desperately need to reach, but I know me. When I’m upset, that hot-tempered Sicilian blood starts boiling and I see red and every horrible thing that could ever come out of my mouth can and most of the time will come out. As will the tears. (Yeah…pansy and crier.) You know it’s bad when you make yourself cry more than other people make you cry.

Not only that, but I’d make better decisions. If I could hit “pause” before letting my guard down too quickly or taking that last shot of tequila (Patron is my friend…Cuervo is not) then I’d probably be able to avoid a lot more stupid situations. Who knows? Maybe I’d even be able to catch myself before I fall down the stairs again!

Oh, the possibilities!!

Then again, maybe I’d just relish in my anger or make my klutzy stair-face situation worse by flipping into a sommersault and landing on my head. Maybe breaking the flow isn’t always good.

But still–how cool would it be to just freeze everything around you? I’d get into so much trouble with that kind of power. The first thing that comes to mind? I’d totally “pause” my friends’ beer pong games and take the ping pong ball out of the air and put it somewhere else…like in their pocket or something. Or replace the ball with a rubber ducky.

I could also pause life when I’m about to fall on one of Kira and I’s rollerblading routes…right before she notices I’m about to eat shit. I’d just “pause,” right myself, and skate past her before hitting “play.”

More importantly, this would help me when I’m reacting to things emotionally. Then, when I’m about to storm out on a guy who doesn’t even know what the hell he did wrong, I can wait for a second, assess the situation, and possibly stay put. Or I could decide for sure if it’s a good idea to leave.

Or I could stay out of the situation completely, recognizing that in the heat of the moment what seems like a good idea probably isn’t one.

Lately I’ve been making decisions based on nothing more than what feels good momentarily. I’ve spent so long worrying over the moral implications of my actions that I haven’t had a whole lot of fun up until recently. I have this habit of stressing myself out over how everything I do might affect other people and in most cases that’s a good thing…

…if you want to be a lonely, boring nun-like cat lady.

I am not catholic and Rob got the cat when we split, so that just leaves lonely and boring.

So I’ve been out and meeting people and honestly having a good time…except that I send myself on these horrible guilt trips afterwords. I’m not exactly sleeping around, but I’m so used to belonging to one person that I’m not completely sure I know how to be single.

I know how to live on my own and how to have fun on my own…but single life is a strange place. There are so many rules and so many people ready and willing to mess with your head and lie to you! You end up being paranoid. And paranoia leads to craziness. And I’m already crazy enough, thank you.

I’m really good at getting ideas in my head…and not very good at shaking them. Lately, due to one guy outright lying to me about a couple of key details, I have approached other men with the caution and distrust I should really be showing him (oh, don’t get me wrong, I’m tossing him out of the picture).

Another problem is that, when I get angry over something I have every right to be mad over, I feel terrible about it. I hate being mad at people. I can’t stand the idea of bad-blood being between me and anybody else. I usually know when I’m wrong (which I am about 60% of the time), and I always admit it…up to an annoying fault…and I have a feeling that it’s that quality that makes me a doormat. And when you’re a doormat you become very angry…and that anger comes out a lot when you drink…which leads to projection. Never a good thing.

Here is where that pause button would come in handy: when I’m projecting my feelings about one thing onto people that have nothing to do with it. I let myself feel this way…it’s not their fault…and I’m letting the other person–the guilty party–get away scott free because I don’t want to be the instigator. I just want to get along with people, regardless of what’s been done. So when I actually am to blame, the guilt becomes even worse.

And then I hibernate in my apartment and watch cheesy shows about magick and love and haunted medallions…because this is my personal form of a “pause button”…and damnit, I need a break.

I’d like to point out that, while writing this, The Secret Circle has been on “pause.” The TV has switched to a screen saver…so I guess it’s time to hit play and let things play out the way they will.

Until next time 🙂

I am a Stalker.


Okay, so please excuse the inevitably awkward diction on this one, but I am not 100% sober for it and, well, sobriety makes for well-written blogs. Sorry in advance.

So tonight I was walking out of work when my coworker (Ron) caught up to me and asked me if I was going to drive down Kirkman Road. As it happens, I take Kirkman on the way home, so I told him yes and agreed to drive him to Fridays where the two of us wound up having several drinks. He walked the block and a half to his house and I climbed behind the wheel of my own car and headed out towards my apartment.

Having had a couple of drinks and a meal while at Fridays, my buzz has been decent all night. I have that funny tingly feeling in my face that makes me kind of giggle but doesn’t really impair my judgment too much, either. It’s a happy place to be.

So on the way home, I’m jamming out to the current CD I have in my player (Shout it Out by Hanson…don’t judge until you’ve heard it.) when all of the sudden, I realize that the person in front of me is kind of swerving.

Actually, that is an understatement. They were straight weaving in between the little white dash lines. It was the worst example of drunk driving I’ve seen in a while­—and that includes the times I’ve curbed my car.

Suddenly (and I’m not sure if this was the booze talking or if I’m just a sap) I felt incredibly protective over this person. I didn’t know who they were or what they looked like…if they were male or female; black or white. I just knew that I had to know if they got home safe or not. It simply wasn’t an option. It was like all of my previous goals: of working on the illustration that was due two days ago and getting home and going to sleep and washing my uniform, etc…all of those things simply didn’t matter anymore. I had to know if they got home okay. (because, you know, if they end up in a fiery car crash, I am so qualified to even help them in that situation. *rolls eyes*)

So we turn down Conroy and the weaving gets worse. It was like, the further we drove the more inebriated they became. Now I had to follow them. I didn’t even have the option. I felt like, if I didn’t tag along, they would die in some horrible drunk-driving fiery crash and that I’d be to blame. So I stalked them. I followed them down Hiawassee and even passed the turn onto Lake Debra (my street). I hit the light at Metrowest Blvd. and strained my eyes to keep track of them as the light took its happy-ass time turning to green. Then I sped up. I jumped up to 60 mph in a 40 mph zone just to catch up to them and watch them turn into the McDonalds drive-thru.

Here’s where it gets ridiculous: I went through the drive-thru. I actually turned in and ordered myself something small just to make sure they were okay. It wasn’t until I had to pause and wait for my fries to come out that I realized that they would just speed off into the abyss once they’d gotten their food.

So now I’m sipping on a hot mocha I didn’t necessarily even want wondering if I am crazy.

Does this make me a stalker? I mean, it’s not a sick thing, really, I just wanted to know that they got home okay. But, on the other hand, I was pretty much following them home. I don’t care where they live or what they do or even who they are—I just wanted them to get home safe.

So am I a stalker-creepy-person or a concerned citizen? I’m just buzzed enough to honestly put it out there with the pursuit of an answer. When I studied paganism, I used to draw the safe-traveling rune on people’s cars.

Actually, fuck it. I’ll fess-up. I still do that. Every single day. It’s illogical and a little superstitious, but I like to think that the positive energy I send out will in some way benefit those I send it to. I like to feel like I have some fragment of influence over the people I care about and, as a result, I have drawn that rune on the cars of every friend and coworker and family member I have for years—and I really mean years. Sorry—I just really do care.

My dad used to tell my mom to drive safely whenever she would take my sister and I to church on Sundays and it’s sort of rubbed off on me. I make most people text me when they get home just so I know they’re okay. Perhaps that is where this comes from. Maybe that’s why I’m following strangers until I lose them if I think they’re too drunk to drive. I mean, after-all, I do draw the rune and send it out to drunk girls at bars and clubs for the same reason. My friends have straight caught me doing it.

Yeah. I’m a little nuts. But am I creepy? That is the real question.

Who knows? My intentions are good, but (then again) so are the intentions of most other creepy people.

Maybe we’re all creeps in different ways.

Oh, well. At least now I have a mocha to enjoy :).