Not long ago I was seated in the very back row of an airplane.  You know the row I mean:  next to the line of sweaty people who need to pee, in the way of wayward crash carts, and with seats that do not lean back. I need my two inches of seat-lean, y’know?  I knew it was going to be an interminable flight.

I looked to the right for help.  Maybe my right-hand seatmate would provide interesting conversation fodder.  She was a heavily pregnant returnee from visiting her family in Costa Rica.  Looked at her book.  Nora Roberts.  Uh, no thanks.

Looked left:  a 40-something frantic disheveled woman carrying multiple bags, totes, and assorted je ne sais quoi, carefully arranging books, iPod, journal, pens, etc.  Uh, not there either.  But wait.  Her book:  Eckhart Tolle’s A New Earth. Probably an Oprah convert, but there were possibilities.  We engaged.

This Broadway choreographer was thrilled to meet a Real Psychic-Person.  So we talked shop.  And it came out that she was hugely judgmental of Marianne Williamson because of the rumor going round that Ms. Williamson’d had a facelift.  Apparently spiritual people are supposed to be above such things, she says.

I nearly spit out my club soda.

Sure, there’s such a thing as “walk the walk,” but that’s in how lives are lived.  Since when does this apply to one’s appearance?  Pardon me, but how I look and what it takes to get there is my business.  If I want to wear mile-long eyelashes like the lovely Esther Hicks or ‘fro out my hair like Sai Baba then la-di-fucking-da, people.  Appearance does not affect the message.

Why is it that people who touch lives in this intrinsic way are held to a higher standard regarding their appearance?  Sure, Gandhi made an effort to always appear clean and in clean, neat clothing, but this was an outward reflection of his inner self.  A choice he made.  Not a requirement to meet someone else’s standard.

So let it go.  Let Marianne have her facelift and leave her alone.  She looks fabulous no matter how she got there.

The message stands alone.  No matter how it is delivered.

*”Spirituality” also anagrams to “a pity I slur it.”  Something you ought to know.

People have been asking me, “WTF is going on with you, NAB?  Like, when are you going to get down to it and post?”

Like, now, people.  Right now.

Because I am in no mood to explain myself.  Life just happens, and if you wait to jump onto the merry-go-round you miss your turn and have to start over.  So, sure, I’ve been finding reasons to hold off pouring my heart and soul into these pages, but frankly I am plumb full of life-juice and need an outlet.  And this is it.  In other words, you are my alternative to masturbation.

How does that make you feel?

Let’s start with a teeny weeny little pet peeve.  So listen closely.  Here it is.  Ready?

Do not talk to me when I am writing.

There.  Glad I got that off my chest.  As a result I am now down to a 28B as opposed to the 28C. No lie, people.  Ladies, find your own Boobologist and change your lives, because 99.8% of you are wearing the wrong bra size.  Just a little tip from me to you.  Seriously, check this out because tits and their proper supportage will indeed change your life as well as the lives of those around you.  In fact, if I could offer one sure-fire tip to point you on the path toward spiritual satisfaction, this would be it.