Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Wings in The Sea

Even if I had wings

And flew in the sky,

If you had fins

And swam in the sea,

I would fly to you…

To the depths of you.

Wednesday, October 12, 2011

The Nines

I probably shouldn’t be writing anything this late at night. When it gets late, my brain gets going on creative tangents, yes, but it is also over-analytical and gets into things in great length.

To hell with it. I’ll try to summarize.

I watched the film The Nines starring Ryan Reynolds. This is the second time I have watched it. The first was with my ex and I was distracted. The ex got something from the film. I had grasped very little of it because my attention hadn’t been focused.

None-the-less, tonight, my full attention was devoted to watching the full film, uninterrupted.

I have to say: I love films like this. Films that pose questions about metaphysics and people’s perceptions of reality. I love when a film is complex and abstract enough that people can have something to talk about with other viewers, but can also take completely different stances in what they feel the film stated, and what they took personally from it, if anything, to incorporate into their lives.

This is one of those films. It isn’t an Inception, an Adjustment Bureau, or a What Dreams May come of a film because it is more minimalistic visually, but it is a good base. Looking at this objectively I can see where there were things the film might have been lacking, but it certainly wasn’t in the writing, or the attention to detail concept-wise.

I suggest people watch it. Then we can discuss.

Saturday, October 8, 2011

How Not To Do Laundry How Brains Work on Saturdays

(1) Walk into room
(2) Stand there
(3) Wonder what you came into said room for
(4) Ponder
(5) Ponder
(6) Ponder
(7) Look high and low for desired object/task
(8) Realize you're standing on the very thing you need: A giant pile of clothing.

How Not To Do Laundry How Brains Work on Saturdays.

Thursday, October 6, 2011

Eye Candy Brain Candy.

I've recently developed a new celebrity crush.

Normally I'm pretty bad at this whole crush thing in the way that I sort of learn way too much information about the celebrity person...

Anyway, I am quitting while I'm ahead with this whole potential Ryan Reynolds addiction. I'm nipping it in the bud.

I've watched one half of an interview between he and Letterman and I had that sheepish girly grin (y'know, the one where your head is, like, rested on your palm and such, your cheek is smooshed essentially to your forehead and your eyes are all happy-squinty in an expression mimicking the one you had when you were 5 years old and woke up at 2 am on Christmas morning to find your brand new bike was right in front of the fireplace)?

Yea. I'm stopping myself right now.

..................just as soon as I watch the remaining 110 videos I found on YouTube.

Kidding. But it is a little tempting.

Sunday, October 2, 2011

Thank You for Not Sending

Dear Long Beach Verizon Internet:

Thank you for causing my Internet to go kaput momentarily right as it did, which in turn stopped me from sending an e-mail to my professor, confessing my lack of discipline in staying on track with his online class and inquiring as to whether or not I should even bother sending in my short midterm paper a week late.

Thank you for giving me that moment. That one little moment to pause, slow my heart rate down, breathe, swallow the sick-to-my-stomach-I-fucked-up-so-bad-now-how-am-I-going-to-get-straight-A's-this-semester feeling, and decide to be optimistic, hopeful, and inquiring enough to look at the syllabus...just in case.

But really, thank you! Because said midterm paper is not, in actuality, due until the 18th of October.

You saved me! I would have felt greatly psycho-analyzed had I revealed this lacking of responsibility as neurotically as it was written in my now-deleted e-mail to Dr. T, professor of philosophy, psychology and religion...especially after the last class chat on the topic of Freud's concepts of anal-retentive behavior and the likes.


Needs to get her shit together.

Friday, September 30, 2011

The Art of Starting Fires

To properly light a woman
Do not drench her body
In alcohol and gasoline
Then strike a match
And use it's red burning head
To blacken her pure skin.

For in this manner,
A flame will be short lived
If it is to be at all.

To properly light a woman
Seek slow and steady friction
Between her twigs and yours
Over time, releasing breath
Fanning her flicker to a flame
That dances through her veins.

For in this manner,
She will burn for you
From her insides, out.

Have patience in the art of starting fires.

Sex By Numbers

I recently went on a date where the number of men I’d been with sexually came up. It is a low number and while I haven’t previously considered myself to be proud of the number, I also am most definitely not ashamed of it. That said, the man’s response to the number was a bit of a surprise to me.

His eyes widened as he said “But you’re so cute,” and after a short pause, asked “Why?”

I answered with one statement when I should have answered with all of the below:

Because I have a high regard for my body.

Because I demand respect

…not just from a man, but from myself.

Because I value my emotional health.

Because I prefer quality over quantity.

Because I prefer character to a mere part of the human anatomy.

Because I am a good judge of character and have a strong intuition.

Because I am not a number, nor should anyone else be.

I think that covers all the bases.

While I could be frustrated by these happenings, I am, tonight, grateful for the man who inspired this train of thought for the simple reason that I needed to be reminded that I am actually very proud of that number. And here’s the most important answer:

Because I feel that it is a positive reflection of my character. And I like who that character makes me.

Friday, September 23, 2011

Collecting Pennies of Myself

“I should be no stranger to this by now.”

That is what keeps running through the corridors of my mind as I read through the e-mails that my mother is receiving from my late grandmother’s childhood best friend, informing us of wonderful, lively and exciting parts of this amazing woman that my mother and I apparently never fully got to know.

Most of my life was spent with one blood relative to my name—my mother. It is heard often from those who were separated and are then reunited with their blood relations, “I finally felt whole.” To many this seems so cliché because when one doesn’t lack in this manner, they cannot fully understand what it is like to be only partially defined.

The only way I can describe this feeling of lacking a full self, is with an analogy: It is as if one had come from being alone out in the desert, trying to survive when they arrived into a village. And upon arriving into that village, they announced that they were hungry and thirsty. Say that person was given only a large amount of water. Their belly, for a moment, may feel satisfied and full, but that physical satisfaction wouldn’t last long because they would still desire the other half of that equation; food.

Here have I been in life, previously only drinking water when I was hungering for that other half. With my mother not knowing anything about her father, having large chunks of her mother’s life omitted by her mother’s choosing, my never knowing my own father, it would be accurate to say that a sense of self was a little hard to grasp with so many gaping holes.

So many others in life mature knowing at least two parents or having a knowledge of them and their heritage. They are generally told at some point in life “you are x amount of this and y amount of that. Your ancestors hail from here and we come from this set of beliefs or this sort of background.” But that wasn’t me. A number of components within me truly were ‘missing’ and I didn’t know what those components were; but rather simply that they were gone.

Eventually both my mother and I have been provided with our ‘meals’ of sorts. I have been provided with my father, and along with him, his entire family. From him I have learned certain aspects of him that are within myself, without having previously known a single thing about him. I look at our personalities or those of my brothers and see that we are related and share common traits—even ignoring our shared appearances. My mother, on the other hand, has been presented with brothers and other relatives who can answer only a little about what her other half is. Her father was as much as mystery as was her mother. And this is my point:

My grandmother only served my mother and I a portion of her identity and left so many things out. Yet the intimate details of who we are, are so important to define not only for ourselves, but for those who come after us.

My mother and I are reading e-mails from a woman who is not family and who we have never met, but that knows our family, it would appear, deeply; knows of this small portion of me and this half of my mother. And for this woman I am extremely grateful as I am learning what it feels like to be satisfied of that drowned hunger.

I am half German, and portions of English, Danish, Irish, French and Spanish as we hail from its royalty. I am as analytical and straight-forth as is my Father. I am as sensitive and as altruistic as was my Grandmother. I am as active as are my Uncles, and as stubborn as is my mother. I am as much myself as I am all of these people within me. And that, at this very moment, has me so full up.

Sunday, September 11, 2011

Nine Eleven

In 2004, during my first and only trip to NYC, a friend was touring me around the city. We got off of the train & walked a block when suddenly an overwhelming heaviness came across me, like I'd hit a wall. I stopped in my place and asked where we were going. She pointed straight ahead and said "three years ago, had you looked straight in the air, you'd have been looking at the twin towers."

The thought was flabbergasting. The sorrow, the loss, the devastation was so palpable that even I, a stranger to this magnificent city, could detect that something larger than life had occurred here, on these grounds.

The memory of that day sticks with me more than the day that the events had occurred, simply because it was the first moment that I could begin to really grasp what the people of the city had been through. I heard, through the mouth of my very own friend, how close to home this had hit. I saw her entire being change as she discussed that day. My normally happy, beautiful and vibrant friend, behind the fences blocking us from falling into the pits of where the twin towers had once stood, became a woman weighted down with emotion and loss, pale with remnants of fear. The scars of the event, three years later, were not scars at all but were still very open wounds.

I was a sixteen year-old girl when I heard that two planes had crashed into the Twin Towers. My world, at the time, was what immediately surrounded me. And therefore, I didn't feel the sadness for the people experiencing the devastation first hand. I rather felt my own fears and insecurities come to the surface. It shook up every idea that I'd had about my country and its strength, my life and its regularity, and the security of the future.

What I remember most about that day, looking back from the view-point of a grown adult and not the cocooned perspective that I had at the time, was the haze that I and the people around me were walking through.

The smoke and dust and pollutants released that day in New York City may have been relatively localized to the collapse of the towers, but it also spread invisibly throughout the country, from coast to coast, corner to corner. The ghost of the dust and the haze comes to remind us each and every year that no matter how different, we are also all one in the same in that we are Americans.

And in that way, we are all a little part of each of the individuals who have lost, have been lost, and all of those who have yet to be lost due to the after-effects of the events of September 11th, 2001.

We are one. And we will always remember.

Friday, September 9, 2011

My Mother and I

A large exposed rock, beautiful in its own, appearing magnificent and mighty as she shoves through the Earth, rising upward, seems impenetrable.

Enter Water, in her beauty, who flows with glory over any surface, owning it, rummaging through its cracks and pores, creating depth in her quest toward her destination.

Rock desires air—as much as she can get--and rises up toward it, whilst Water yearns for depth—as deep as she can be—and there she flows. Yet despite the appearance that the two could be rather decent rivals, the pair make fabulous friends. Friends who sit in a peaceful silence, in reflection of themselves and in a lackadaisical pondering of who may be the stronger of the duo.

For Rock gracefully takes upon her, footsteps of those who trample over her or who use her shoulders for a boost to their success. She gladly takes within her any organism who scrabbles or slithers, or slinks their way into the crevasses of her heart, no matter the cost to her being. For everyone, at times, needs shelter, and thus because she can, she provides. She stands for great periods of time before eventually she crumbles beneath the pressures and the elements which she so loves but which wear her down. For apparently strong and stable, yet occasionally shaken, Rock is oft broken with the softest flow of water.

Yet Water is in need of the very earth from which rock hails. She is used as a resource of which every organism takes advantage. They penetrate her flowing liquid skin, taking her into their bodies for their own, until she is almost spent and has nothing left for self. They impregnate her with poisons and waste and walk away ignorant of the hurt which they have caused this beauty. Yet she embraces them none-the-less as a glove takes a hand. Tough though tender, she is unbreakable. So soft and sharp is she that she may carve and cut and crumble and crack those who stand in her way, leaving her mark.

In the midst of this contemplation, the two elements paused to have a listen into the conversation of two observers, passing along a pleasant shaded trail.

“Look at that rock!” one said, as she took in the sight of Rock, who was proudly displaying her complex layers, “It’s amazing how with knowledge, the more beautiful she becomes.”

To which the other, admiring Water, who was glad to show off her fall, responded cleverly, “but that water cuts right through that rock, now doesn’t it?”

It was in the moment that the observers walked away, that the two elements smiled with understanding. For as Water weeps upon Rock, who patiently, lovingly and gently guides Water to her ultimate destination, providing constant support until their final parting, Water carves beauty into Rock, adding sediment and minerals essential to survival; building her up while simultaneously breaking her down, softening rock’s features. Shaping her into her old age.

So deeply intertwined are their lives that they are as much a part of one another as they are themselves.

Wednesday, August 24, 2011

A Wish for Alligator Skin

I know it is my birthday month, but I'll tell you what: I was hoping for something of a different surprise than what's been jumping out of the cake this August!

This month has been more than sufficiently interesting, with things thrown at me by the universe that I never would have expected. Things I've always dreaded, situations I've always avoided, behaviors I've tried to abstain from; you name it, anything that has been resisted has come up to bite me in the ass since the beginning of August.

Ever the eternal optimist, the parts of me which would like to hate the past few weeks instead say "wait... let's make lemonade! And while we're at it, let's make it pink".

Plato once said that knowledge is the food of the soul, and if that is the case, I am full up with all that I am learning.

These sorts of things require thick skin. Thus here I am, channeling an alligator, wishing for its skin.

Right now, this is my life.

Monday, August 15, 2011

Beware of Shiny Packaging

It’s like the toy you saw when you were little,

And you knew, from the very moment

That you set your eyes upon it,

You needed it.

For all of its promised glory.

Blindly, you knew how it would feel in your hands

Just what you’d do with it

The fun and the games, the adventure

How it would move with you

Going wherever you would go.

Or like a tasty treat,

How it would feel to peel the wrapper

Slowly from the morsel

And place it in your mouth.

The taste, the smell.

How it would be yours.

But there it was on the shelf in its

Shiny, alluring packaging

Just out of your reach so you can’t touch.

Unable to be acquired.

It didn’t matter that it wasn’t meant to be yours,

That your instincts said it wasn't worth

The cost.

You did anything you could to earn it.

Only to find, in the end

It couldn't do half the stuff you just knew it would.

Tuesday, July 19, 2011

"Outstanding Scholastic Achievement": Letting the Words Sink In.

A scholarship is defined to be, simply, "a sum of money or other aid granted to a student, because of merit, need, etc., to pursue his or her studies". To me, however, it is so much more. A scholarship is also belief in self, an appreciation for my past and those surrounding me, and a stronger sense of responsibility for not only myself, but also for my fellow students.

Yesterday, the 19th of July, 2001, I discovered that I was awarded the Laura Haga Memorial Scholarship for Outstanding Scholastic Achievement at my community college. The amount isn’t a grand one, and perhaps to many it would not be such a big deal, but to me, because of who I have been as a student in the past, and how I have felt as a person, this is a tremendous achievement that I am honored to have earned.

As a very young child, I “struggled” with reading. In reality I didn’t at all, but rather saw the other students struggling with certain words and sounds and decided it wasn’t normal for me to understand it so easily. I pretended to be like some of the other students to fit in, and because of that found myself in a “special” reading class. In this class we didn’t actually read, but rather, we played with clay or colored with scented markers. Or at least that is what I remembered about the class time. What I remember about myself and my thoughts as a child, was that if that was all that was expected of me, that was all that I was going to do. Whether I knew it then or just realize it now, I am not sure. But it is clear to me that this was about the time that I had decided that school was going to be a struggle and I wasn’t willing to put too much work in to be placed in lower classes.

Skip past a whole lot of what would be below mediocre studies throughout elementary, middle and high school. If it wasn’t creative, I wasn’t trying. And until high school in Wisconsin, no school official ever told me that I was capable of greater achievement. Biology in my freshman year brought with it a wonderful teacher who assured me that I was not stupid. The first of two teachers that year to realize that I had potential and to share that with me. On tests I would earn A’s easily. I just didn’t do the homework. I’d have much rather been singing than actively trying to remember all the different parts of an eyeball. I eventually graduated with simple classes on my high school transcripts, which, when looking at them, a school counselor encouraged me not to apply to college and stated that I wouldn’t even be considered if I did. I was encouraged to “maybe” try a community college but if I wasn’t ready, despite all the statistics saying it was a very bad idea, she recommended that I take a break.

I “tried” community college, but it felt much the same as high school. The same people, filled with the same drama, behaving the same way I was tired of. For the most part the same teachers just talking their way though classes, unwilling to form a better bond and help students to gain an interest in their subject matter. Filter in grades which evaluated me to be, except in artistic classes, more often than not, a failing student when in actuality I was helping so many of the other students with their work that I didn’t get a chance to write down my own answers. I left, and for many years felt intellectually less than cousins who were 8 years younger than myself and in high school.

After many years of a break, and a failed relationship, I decided that I was ready to give this a serious shot. Not again, but for the first time. I was thirsting for a better knowledge of not just my favorite artistic and expressive topics, but all of the ones I knew basically nothing about. So I enrolled and found a new student within me. One who decided to believe in herself because her biological father was eligible for MENSA, and the women in her line kept one-upping one another in the academic and career worlds. I wanted to be a part of those things.

To my own surprise, without even giving 100% of myself and rather, I’d say, only putting in 80% of my own effort, I achieved straight A’s, which included courses that I’d considered myself incapable of understanding: Algebra and Political Science. Turns out, all that was required of me was attention in class and completion of homework (go figure).

I was encouraged by my English professor to enter into a creative writing contest as well as apply for scholarships. I missed the creative writing deadline, but applied successfully for the scholarship which I was awarded.

I know that I can logically attribute my having been awarded this scholarship to my studies. But I can’t help but feel that the professors themselves have also had a large effect on me. I crave a deeper knowledge and personal expansion in my studies, and at this community college (different than the one I first attended after high school) I have not met a single professor who was not willing to have a personal discussion after class regarding a subject of curiosity, a lacking of understanding of something gone over in class, or even just a casual conversation about life and observations of it. My pofessors, in this case, are people that I am extremely fond of and grateful for, and have been an immensely helpful tool in my success. And for that reason I find myself so much more attached to my school and the people in it. It makes the award that I’ve been given so much more sentimental and rewarding. Because this came from people I have come to deeply admire.

Holding a piece of cardstock in my hand which acknowledges my “outstanding scholastic achievement” is something that brings me to a higher level emotionally as a student, than I ever thought was possible. With a simple piece of thick paper, I find a small amount of responsibility invisibly stapled to it.

I have been giving 80% of myself to my studies and was rewarded. I feel like I should still have done more. I feel like with this acknowledgement, someone who doesn’t even know me is telling me that they believe in me and they see a potential. You can have a family member tell you your whole life that you can do anything, that you are brilliant, but there is just something about it when an “expert” in the field tells you so, or a complete stranger says ‘let me pay you because you’re “outstanding”’ that really just ignites a rocket beneath your butt and sets you really aiming perhaps a bit past the moon so you don’t just land among the stars, but perhaps actually on the lunar surface.

With this scholarship I feel that I have a duty to challenge myself more than I have in past semesters. Not just in the effort that I put into my courses, but also in my emotional and intellectual growth as an individual. I feel that in order to do this, I will be required to help others to do great things and reach their goals. I want to leave a memorable mark on this community college which renewed in me a hope and deservingness for great things in life, whatever I should define great things to be.

Friday, July 15, 2011

Even Though I Shouldn't

Deep down inside, there must be a rule-breaker hiding someplace in my soul.

I was never the girl to break the rules. It wasn’t that I was severely punished for breaking them if I ever did as a child; there has just been a deeper part of me that always understood from a very young age, that rules are generally put there for a good reason. Whether it be there for safety or for learning or whatever other purpose, there generally is one.

So here I am almost 26 years into life. I’ve snuck into a Sean Paul concert and I’ve tried pot. The only two non-traffic related rules I’ve ever broken law-wise (that I am aware of). But where the rule-breaker starts to bare her claws is when it comes to the the game.

I’m not, of course, speaking of a board game or a card game. I am most definitely talking about the Dating Game. And for me, I may know the rules but that naughty girl comes to the surface of me as soon as I see someone who might be interesting and she makes me itch ‘til I just have to scratch. I break the rules.

A man likes to hunt, and thus a woman should not hunt man, but he should pursue her as his prey. This is a major rule of the game. I have adapted my own rule and have told myself that I should not message a man on OKCupid. If he is interested, he will message me. And yet on a rare occasion I break not only the major rule of the game, but my own adaptation: The man, the hunter, has found me in a field of several other deer grazing, and he has passed me by for one reason or another. I am not his prey. And yet I see that he has been looking, and like a silly doe, I occasionally approach. I can’t go into the number of reasons that this goes against a single-girl’s survival in the dating world. Yet I break it.

Perhaps if I look at it in the technological sense, there is a chip missing. Perhaps that is it. We as humans, are computers and problem solvers, and I am missing the chip that simply knows that it should not call the male over. Rather, I have a faulty chip that consistently re-computes the formula. It can get the same answer repeatedly, but the chip just re-calculates and re-calculates until she –oops—makes a teensy error in the computation which tells her that it is okay to call the man rather than simply send a signal through that electric pulse to ignite a spark that should exist between the two potential lovers.

Yea, that’s it. I’m a mechanical deer with a faulty chip! (In reality, this comes down to the fact that I lack self-discipline).

But alas, the first step to recovery is admitting there is a problem. And therefore, I will simply stop my re-calculations and, in order to survive, will also not approach a hunter who is not hunting me.

So to all the online-dating men: Happy hunting; and to all my fellow women, happy being hunted!

Wednesday, June 29, 2011

"Just" Friends.

I'm feeling a bit nostalgic.

Just hearing from Stephanie tends to bring this out in me, which I love.

There's just nothing like when the closest thing you've ever had to a life-long sibling calls you up following a text message she received from you, to laugh at how absolutely ridiculous you are and order you to do something (which you know you need to do); reminding you that she still (after 20 years of friendship) knows you...and possibly too well!

When I say she's the closest thing to a life-long sibling that I have known, it means she's incredibly special. And while having found blood siblings and my father after a good several years of being just me and my mom is special, Steph holds a rank that is forever irreplaceable.

Seven years of living next-door to someone and spending as much time together as Stephanie and I did as kids tends to bring about a certain bond. I'm sure it's a little different for her as she actually had two siblings who lived in that house with her. But basically, I was a part-time resident in her home and she was a part-time resident of mine for those seven years. A fence may have separated the yards, but with how often we hopped it, it may as well have been gone; and certainly she should have had bunk beds in her room for how many times I slept on that floor!

Between us, two people couldn't be more different, but I think that is why I tend to do well with such friendships and in dealing with people who have completely different thoughts and realities than mine. The arguments she and I would have! Let me tell you, looking back, I see where we were both stubborn little asses and were actually at times rather dedicated to being self-disciplined and not talking to each other for an entire month when we were angry with one another and had vowed to do so.

The thing that makes me so grateful for mine and Stephanie's relationship, I think, is the fact that the relationship was never a given. It always took work, which I think creates something more of a treasure in my mind. Family just loves you. They kind of have no choice. But a friend loves you by choice even after seeing the worst and best parts of you. And this is my sort of point of this entry:

As a kid, I thought that I was alone. I had "no family". But Stephanie (who I've always seen as an older sibling--even though it's just a few months difference between us) told me something when we were 10 that I didn't grasp then but really have over the past few years: “Your friends become your family”.

Of course, she didn't make that easy. So many summers we would have the discussion about who was best friend status. It was always that Stephanie was my best friend, but Rachael Gladwin was hers. Oh, and heaven forbid that I look up to Stephanie. She was always convinced that I needed someone else to look up to. (In reality, I still at times see no one better).

The road of life separated us by hundreds of miles. We lost touch, got back into it, said hurtful things, had times of silence, had awkward moments, missed out on each other’s vital experience of High School and—in the case of Stephanie, I missed out on hearing her college experience while I opted out of that for the time being. But after all of those years apart, when we were reunited, it felt like we started exactly where we left off, which is something that honestly, looking back, I have not had with a single person ever before, or ever since. I maintain: she is special.

It was during the planning of her wedding that, I think for the first time ever, Stephanie and I talked rather unguardedly about the relationship between she and I openly, which to me felt a little odd…because words like “best friend” and “sister” seemed to be something that just wouldn’t come out of her mouth, like, ever. And I was finally okay with that because I knew how all of this felt to me. And as far as I was concerned, she was that friend that I made family years ago as she had advised.

On her wedding day, I gave a speech which was emotional. I am told there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. And I was so proud to have been able to be there and do that for my friend on her’s and her husband’s special day. But the best part of the whole experience, and quite possibly the best moment of our friendship thus far, was that she toured me around to her family—her actually family—introducing me as the girl who “is like a sister to me”, and later in the night, when my mom was driving her to her cabin, and her husband was in my car en route to the same location, words were shared between each duo about the value of my mother and I to she, her mother and her father. I will never forget that night.

Now it may be a little overkill to make an entire blog entry about the history of a friendship, but it’s just the way I am and, as Stephanie knows, most likely always will be.

So, here’s the thing—the actual point of this blog: I think in life, there is no thing as “just” friends. Each person that you have called a friend for any period of time has been more than a “just”. Each person changes you in one way or another. For better, or for worse. It can be an acquaintance that you just barely got to know, but something within you changes. A thought about the world, or a realization about yourself comes along. A friend of a longer period of time becomes a part of you and your history. And perhaps, even your family.

So to all of you “just” friends (but especially the ones who have become or always have been my “family”), the ones I talk to frequently, just barely at all. All of you, I want to take the opportunity to say that I love and absolutely cherish you for being a part of my life, past or present. Thank You!

Monday, June 27, 2011

Love, Yourself

**because I joined a daily challenge which benefits mind, body, spirit and this is a task: Letter describing your life, from you future self**


At present, ten years from where you are seems simultaneously like a lifetime away and like it will arrive tomorrow. You are uncertain of what your future will bring, but I’m writing to let you know where your future has brought you.

To begin with, you were awarded a substantial scholarship to the university of your choosing following having worked your butt off (without much strain to your social life) in community college, graduating with your associates and a 3.9 GPA. You also had taken all the not-fun classes ahead of time, which allowed you to take only the classes that were of interest to you or were essential to your major in University.

(By the way, your first student film turned out beautifully).

You graduated from your university Magna Cum Laude, which tickled you pink and put you in that mind-frame that you were at the top of the world and able to have and do whatever you want in life.

You wrote a screenplay and sold it to a studio who made it a huge hit. You even got to play one of the roles in it. The amount which your script was purchased for was a comfortable one and the fact that it was purchased at all boosted your confidence, launching you into a huge space of inspiration. You found your niche as a screenwriter and that is how you make your living, as well as occasionally acting in films, which you still do have a blast with. Yes, you have played a zombie with great make up, and yes you’ve also been put in period clothing…both in movies which you’ve written. You are working your way towards being comfortable directing your own feature film that you wrote.

You met a wonderful man that your family adores (and you love his, too). I’m not going to tell you the details but the relationship from the beginning was filled with excitement, adventure and that little bit of can’t-have-it that you love so much. Just the right amount so that it was fun and not torturous. He is an extremely ethical guy, the sex was (and still is) fabulous and frequent. No one turns you on more than him mentally and physically. He adores you, you adore him. That’s not to say that it isn’t work, but it is a type of work that you love doing. You both have that resolve which lets you know that no matter how hard things get, you won’t give up on one another in your relationship or goals. You guys really enhance each other, and motivate each other to move up in life professionally, emotionally, mentally and physically. You both love a challenge and have the most fun giving one to the other.

Your wedding was amazing, full of tons of family and friends, great food and was a great portrayal and celebration of your love and relationship. You danced the night away, had so many laughs your sides hurt the next morning, and so did your cheeks as you were smiling so constantly at being Mrs. So-and-So (and you LOVE your new last name).

You enjoyed a good couple of years just the two of you before deciding to start a family, taking small vacations around the world to explore it. You climbed El Capitan, learned to build that snow fort you wanted to (and yes, you camped in it for two nights), learned to dive, went sky diving…the whole shebang. You even found some new goals and achieved them, which came from his own desires. You two really expanded those first couple of years together and really grew strong as one as well as being stronger as individuals.

Your amazing photos from those trips and adventures now fill the hallways of your home, which you adore. It feels like a vacation there, and whenever you want a romantic night in, you watch a movie in your theater room together with a beer from your basement bar or wine from your wine cellar. You own property in California, Colorado, and Washington and you own that big dog you always wanted. In fact, two. A boy and a girl dog. You trained them both to do all sorts of cute and obedient things, which was a huge reward for yourself. And you love them like children. In fact sometimes, when your husband is away on business in Los Angeles and you are in Denver or Washington, you actually spoon with them in the bed that your husband says they can’t sleep in (oops).

Life progressed and when you two did decide to start a family, you really did it right and went all out. You had a lot of fun making that baby. I won’t go into details but like I said before, your relationship is FULL of adventure.

Currently you’re 36 and you have a two year old who is just as you imagined your kid would be. Mischevious, smart, sassy, stubborn and opinionated, but tons and tons of fun and extremely entertaining to be around. Your writing allows you to be home and spend enough time with the baby and you’re getting down to work on making your second kid.

You’re very proud of your life and where you’ve been. You’ve continued to develop your own spiritual belief system which fulfills you well. Your relationships with your family have strengthened and Carolyn has become a trusted person who you actually rather enjoy. And you get to “treat” your family from time to time when you want to. Life is just that comfortable.

As a side note you love the car you drive, the neighborhoods in which you live, your job, your body, and you cherish every moment of life in general. There are always those blips in life, but they only make you appreciate what you achieve in the end. Remember that.


Your (future) Self.

Tuesday, June 21, 2011

My Life Copies My Refrigerator

"Be free, day and night
Whisper like my friend
Must have road to dream
Run like the music"
--magnet poetry.

Scrounging through my fridge for a little something to nibble on this afternoon, I found myself staring at magnet poetry that I'd constructed long ago. Reading the words that I undoubtedly read within an instant almost every day, I smiled, realizing how much my life actually follows those words.

In a humorous way, I am "free" most days and nights. But in the serious sense, I am feeling more free than I ever have in my life; spiritually,mentally, emotionally.

I am trying, more and more this past year, to speak in the words which my friends use, so that they know I truly resonate with them when they communicate with me. I am also trying to be a better listener instead of always the talker in relationships; to be more quiet; to "whisper like my friends".

Pretty much the most inspiring time in my life is when I am on the road. If I did not have the opportunity to travel, I feel like I'd be a devastated and immensely depressed person. Abstractly, in the actual magnet poetry, it says "road two dream"; which I could attach to the reason that I so yearn to have a lover to travel with.

And when I run these days, I put the music on for my inspiration and it makes my work outs feel to me as if they have been nearly effortless in hind-sight. I feel like I flow with it.

And with this, I digress:

It occurred to me how simple it is to be affected by words. How, unbeknownst to myself, my reading those words daily, placed a few things in my universe without a conscious effort of my own. It causes me to wonder what advertisements or the news say to our subconscious minds. What are the words which we as individuals or communities give out and receive in producing in the world and for our planet? What effect do these have on our own hearts and souls? To the hearts and souls to others?

Just an interesting thought that I'll leave myself with.

Friday, June 17, 2011


I am a carnivore

The scent of blood surrounds me,

Pumping through the red highways

That line the animal’s skin and tissues;

The long and narrow

Or small and bulbous fibers;

The meat that my tongue and cheeks crave.

The muscles that protrude and

Boast of ability

To survive through the tests of time.

My prey lies in fields of grass.


Taking in the sun and sights,

Robed in bright colors that label him “most wanted”.

His whiskers do not sense me and

He doesn’t even know I’m coming

To devour that juicy blood-engorged chamber

And that when I bite,

From the very first nibble,

As pleasurably painful as it may be,

I am lethal.

That I will be the end of him.

I am woman.

More dangerous than the most dangerous animal.


**Inspired by the "wildlife" (if you know what I mean) of Yosemite. Thank you gentleman for the sometimes breath-taking views!

Monday, May 30, 2011

The "Washington" Post

15 Things Noted While Visiting This Gorgeous State:

1) A knowledge of Geology makes the gorgeous drive up here even more breath-taking and full of wonder.

2) There is no scent more welcoming upon arriving from a long road-trip and having slept few hours along the way than the aroma of my grandmother’s home after she has just prepared a meal.

3) Tequila is forever my friend. He will always be welcome at any party I attend.

4) To cure virtual alcohol poisoning: mix equal parts understanding family; sassy new friends who give you a good dose of picking on your sorry butt camped out on the bathroom floor; comforting new friends who let you (1) sit in a corner of the bathroom while they pee, (2) give you towels to sit on for cushioning and (3) compliment your mad skills in the art of…well… while holding your hair back; two tablets of aspirin from someone (you couldn’t remember who the next day); too much water and a good night’s sleep (plus TONS of laughter and, surprisingly, a number of good memories).

5) No matter how hokey the pokey, or how chicken people are to dance the dance; no matter how not electric people’s feeling towards the slide can be, or how bad people want to cha cha slide their way out of dancing….these songs almost always get people moving on the floor & will definitely play on my wedding day.

6) I like laying on the floor. A lot.

7) Gardening is the one single activity that I can think of at the moment that can erase any thoughts at all from my brain while I do it. And for that, I am extremely grateful and have kindled a new love affair.

8) I garden barefoot and barehanded; I love manual labor; I love, love, love getting dirty, sweating etc.

9) I could live in Washington. For sure. In fact, I’d like to buy a house on land here in addition to a house on land in Colorado, and a nice little apartment in Los Angeles.

10) Cousins who bake well and regularly are extremely dangerous to be around on a daily basis.

11) I miss the stars and felt it was a huge treat to look at them through one of the sky windows when transplanting myself from the floor to the couch to sleep at God only knows what hour of the treadmill work-out at Aunt Cindy & Uncle Greg's.

12) I think really cheesy thoughts while hiking. For instance, while cross-country hiking downhill: “I am like the water. I flow effortlessly and with grace through the easiest route down the mountainside toward my home”. No joke…that was a thought I actually had, today.

13) My true wants in life are much simpler than I sometimes imagine them to be.

14) Despite the fact that I want answers from the Universe NOW, there is a time for all to be revealed, and a reason for everything. I am precisely where I need to be.

15) The real pleasure in life truly is not found in the material things that you have, but in those people who surround you, and in the small things in which you take pleasure. Life is a gift, the world is a treasure.

Friday, May 27, 2011

Next Time

Next time I’m going to jump in without jumping all the way.

Just to test the waters. I will skinny dip and with all of the play within me, I will tinker with an idea for more than a few seconds. I will let the hydration of that thought kiss and slide over my body and I won’t give a damn. I’ll be bare naked; revealing all of me without hesitation. Without insecurity. Without fear. And shall I come to feel a fear scratching upon my shoulder—that dry aching limitation, that aridness that I yearn to escape--I will drown it. My courage will be the waves and the waves will crack the bones of that desperate fear and pry it from the land to which it clung. Not a single part of me will be parched, but rather all of me will be drenched with adventure.

Next time I’m going to say it all without saying too little.

Or too much. I will tell all of my secrets with just a look, a glance toward the one who tells me to keep it all locked inside. I will unlock the door to that chamber where the deepest ones lye, and as they wish to come to see the light of the surface, they will. But I will not pry them as I have done before, and feed them to the strangers that they fear. What is meant to be will be in time, all will be revealed, but not without a careful choosing. A smile will say a million words, a lacking of one will tell a million more. And shall I feel like I my self shall be kept inside, and desire to run away, I will run toward that from which I desire to flee, confronting it. I will not back down.

Next time I’m going to make it clear all that I am.

And am not. I’m going to sit at the bar, and without a single drop of alcohol, behave as if I am drunk. That feeling where I know that I’m saying things, showing things, doing things that normally I would consider and then not do for one or two or three reasons or more. I’m going to be who I am at home, when I’m dancing in my panties in the living room or hand-scrubbing the floors in too-short daisy–duke cut-off shorts, my ass hanging out and up in the air, but I don’t give a shit. I’m going to be that free. I’m going to take an hour to decide on what I want…if it’s just ranch or ketchup. I’m going to, if I feel like it, protest against a decision and make it my own. I’m going to try all that it seems like I would not…especially the gross and scary. And when asked to do something fun and silly, I will do it on command. Just to make a heart laugh. I’m going to go from casual to formal. From business, to personal. And I’m going to make damned sure I look extremely good doing it.

Next time I’m going to be shallowly deep.

I’m going to skip over from one topic to another. I’m going to talk about all of the things that shouldn’t be discussed. I’m going to talk about religion and politics, but not money because that always makes me uncomfortable. I’m going to talk about death and then I’ll jump to that dream that I had the other nighty………… wait, scratch that. Next time, I will listen. Carefully.Intently.

Next time I’m going to throw out all of the past bad experiences and the fears and reservations.

Nothing to hold me in or back. I’m going to get close despite the risks of being walked away from one more time. I’m going to go commando (body, mind, soul) for the thrill of it, feel the air in all those unfamiliar places and be exhilarated. I’m going to be it all next time. Whenever next time shall be.

Sunday, May 8, 2011

Thought, Not Said / Online Dating Circus

Dear Beachboy:

Who said I “have great hair”: Thanks! Want to pull it? Oh, and when you said in your profile that you just want to hang out…are you referring to your dick or…? **delete response; delete message from inbox**

Dear Lrn2Spll:

Your college education doesn’t show when you choose to use numbers in place of actual words like “to” and “for” in your online dating profile. Impressing someone takes effort. Show some.

Dear WearsAviators:

You’re all hot until those sunglasses come off. Apparently a rare few remain so when they’re off.

Dear GoodLookin:

Crap! I’ve looked at your profile three times in the past 5 minutes on accident. Apparently I think you’re attractive. But I won’t message you first. That’s my rule.

Dear ScaryPsycho:

Is your profile meant to scare people away or actually draw in fellow psychopaths? I was going to respond in good humor but when I thought about it, you’re just too frightening. Even with your two kids.

Dear SupposedlyRich:

I don’t want a sugardaddy or financial supporter…(clearly stated in my profile which apparently you didn’t read)…especially if it’s you.

Dear SenorOldie:

I am only half your age, but from the looks of your photos, it seems like I’m a third of it.

Dear Unstoppable:

Looking at my profile every day even though you’re not messaging me (anymore) after I’ve not responded to a single message of yours in the past is creepy, not flattering. Just sayin’. Oh, but thanks for teaching me a lesson.

Dear Overbearing:

When we talk on the phone for the first time, don’t tell me that you think I’m working out too much and you don’t want me to lose my curve. Who cares what you want? On top of that, when I don’t answer your call it’s because I am………you guessed it…busy. A second one two minutes later doesn’t make me less busy or more available.

Dear AddMe2FB:

I know you just want a posse. I don’t want to be a part of it.

Dear MyXIsInMyPhotos:

Nothing is a bigger turn off than several photos with your ex hanging on you.

Dear IAmSOPositive:

It’s a dead giveaway that this is a lie when you start your profile ‘I am done with drama and with the bull shit fake girls out there who have ripped my heart out ’-OR- ‘I have money and I know how to treat a girl but if you think you’re getting jewelry from me, go f*cking buy your own baubles cause that sh*t ain’t coming from me any time soon’ –OR- ‘I am a positive person who hates abcdefg’.

Dear Charming:

Please find me soon.

Saturday, May 7, 2011

Waking Up Tired

Sometimes I wake so tired that I wonder if my soul, in the night, departed from my body and this world while I lye without motion and vision in my bed, to a parallel universe where time moves more rapidly yet feels slow and easy. A place where she, much like myself, poorly managed her time and took a late departure from this strange and wonderful world of my mind’s dream, depleting her energy stores, racing her way back to her home where she enters its fleshy comfort whereupon the couch of my heart seems to be calling her name, coaxing her to prop her feet if only for a moment. And as she returns, I myself awake, yet as she falls to rest in the deepness of my chest, I feel her weight and heaviness upon it and experience the day through a silk-screened haze, looking beyond where I am to where my soul has been, and dreaming as awake, of the places I will send her next.

Friday, May 6, 2011

Hurt Fortress

Don’t try to break these walls from around me

This fortress that I’ve built is tall and strong. Meant to hold the masses out beyond me, and allow a rare few in. The drawbridge is up. I’m not ready to let it down for you to see what lies inside and turn, disappointed, to walk away. Like my “father”, like the friends, like all the lovers who spoke to me like Romeo to Juliette and left me with a dagger in my chest.

Don’t try to take this heartbreak out of me

My broken soul loves its wounds and battle scars; they build the world and the armor ‘round my heart, fashioned from the metal of hateful words that warn me of what is to come. Strengthened by possibilities I’ve learned to not imagine, as they only fade in time and become what I can’t be.

Don’t try to make me see the best parts of me

They only remind me of parts that have been stolen; the parts that make me smile when I don’t want to grin, when I’m so angry I could laugh. I don’t want to see. I’d rather stare down the barrel of the parts that lose when I don’t want to win and dig me deeper toward the grave that I create for my loathsome hyper sensitivity. I’d rather sit in conquest of my own burial, flinging dirt and debris onto the red beating flesh that I carry on my sleeve. The one that as you reach to take my arm and pry me from the pits of my own depth, you smother and arrest, stopping its beating for me, and taking it for your own.

Don’t try to tell me it’s alright

That it is all meant to be or not written in the stars; or point out what could happen if. I don’t want your hand to wipe the tear from my cheek, and I don’t want your arms around me for comfort or in attempt to take the weight from my shoulders and bare it on your own. I don’t want a solution, I want to fight with the problem, to wrestle it down ‘til it’s either the death of it or me.

Don’t try to talk me out of it

You’ll only talk me further in.