Gigi-Gray Matters

Who Do You Think You Are?

2011-09-12T14:18:00.000-06:00

I have been away for AWHILE. I hadn't realized just how long. Regardless, Summer came, and is insisting on slipping through my feeble fingers, clutching after the sunshine in immeasurable futility. It has been a rough one, stormy (both literally, and metaphorically.) In spite of it's tempestuousness however, I wish that Summer would stay to warm the ever-present chill in the atmosphere. Being the emotional "girl" that I am, I over think, over dwell, over love, over feel, maybe over dramatize (but I will never verbally admit to that)-it is this shortcoming that has kept me away so long. Having too much to say, turns into cathartic blog vomit. So you are glad I spared you. Writing forces me to investigate the very complexities of life that I am buzzingly-busy trying to distract my weary self from.

That said, here I find myself...with you- my much appreciated, and adored ten readers. I am not returning to you empty handed either. I have a thought/question of the day to occupy our precious time together. Ready or not, here I come...

Who do you think you are?

It is a question we are all familiar with. Our parents likely asked it of our younger, slightly less sassy selves. I recall as a teenager thinking... "You named me, don't YOU know?" Of course...even then, I knew that was a response that needed to stay imprisoned in my thought bubble. It is a question, that I now kick my current self for parroting to my own children. If after all these years, ( the exact number of which-shall remain countless) I don't know exactly who I think I am, what kind of answer am I expecting from a five, and a seven year old? They don't even care what day it is. Still...I expected back then...that when I was on the reciprocating end of this loaded, rhetorical question, that by NOW I would have a reasonably sound, slightly dignified, utterly exciting, profoundly wise answer to it.

Fail, fail, triple fail.

Do YOU know who YOU are?

I know what I think, I know how I feel, I could tell you about all the random things that I do every single day-but none of these add up to the complete definition of WHO I am, they are but parts of a whole...hot mess...but whole just same...whole...ish. We each have been given a name, we each possess a life, we each have people that we love, who hopefully love us back...at least like us...possibly, maybe...hopefully. Some days I would settle for super warm, pretty pretenders who dote on me, and give me sweet toasty kisses, cinnamon embraces, and the occasional thoughtful gift. We all have minds to be challenged, hearts to be filled, broken, warmed, mended, shattered, melted, and abandoned for dead. We have bodies that we abuse, pamper, and punish in turn. To a degree, we share a human experience, yet each story is similarly unique in it's common solidarity (yes I understand my own contradiction-it's utterly intentional this time.) Each of us equipped with the same basic model, but the add on features vary. Some of us are driven, some shiny, some bright, some sleek. some filled with features, while some have faulty engines. Some are easily lost, some speed through, speed past not noticing the change in climate, faces, not caring what, or who they leave in their wake. Still others, rarely leave the garage, for fear they will scratch. Enough with the car metaphor, or I will have to pull a Mater "She jus' likes me for my body." Point made.

This alone does not determine WHO we are. Does it?

And does it matter who we think we are?If our actions define us, and perception is everything, then does it matter what my 4D self portrait looks like?(What if I can only draw stick figures? Will that make me skinny? Beats dieting and running around the hamster wheel.) Wouldn't that mean we are technically whomever each individual we encounter perceives us to be? How confusing, conflicting, and disorienting is THAT?? What if our minds, or our perceptions change? What about our circumstances? And then, am I me, or part of you? Or do I/you become both? Then what? Those morphed celebrity baby photos from the original Conan O'Brien Show come to mind. And THAT doesn't even begin to scratch the concepts of psyche and soul, and any other component they may add up to the existential crisis of the millennium. Not to mention, (in the mentioning of) that the second you-or anyone else figures out WHO you are- the cards of fate/change/time/God/destiny are shuffled once again-and it all is likely to be altered.So THAT is the question... Not how do you smell, what makes you laugh, what do yo value- but?

WHO do you THINK you are?

Maybe this is THE question. The one that sends people looking...for themselves.I don't really know...(this also appears to be the point. I am certain of little, but uncertainty.)If you find yourself, or define yourself? Find me next?

Maybe I can put ME in the GPS, only to lose myself again...

Here are what wiser peeps had to say about who they think (thought) they are (were.)

"Most people are other people. Their thoughts are some one else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation." Oscar Wilde

"The best way to find yourself, is to lose yourself in the service of others." Gandhi

"We can spend our lives letting the world tell us who we are. Sane or insane. Saints or sex addicts. Heroes or victims. Letting history tell us how good or bad we are. Letting our past decide our future. Or we can decide for ourselves. And maybe it's our job to invent something better." Chuck Palahniuk (Choke)

Mira Mira! Pretty People!!- A Fashionably Late Oscar Report

2011-03-12T17:10:00.003-07:00

And the Oscar goes to...*drum roll* The Pretty Person whose name is written on the fancy red card in the glittery sealed envelop.

How long ago were the Oscars? Two weeks ago? Emily Post would say I have two more weeks...so hush....

As a lover of all things that shimmer, I find the Academy Awards somewhat irresistible- sorta like rubber necking for ferrets ... Regardless, here are the highlights...First, I watched some of them with my friend Jen...and THAT is always a pleasure. Not only because she a brilliant ray of sunshine, but especially because if it weren't for her, I would never venture to the theater-to see anything. We have a semi-regular late night ritual where we sneak out like teenagers whilst our families sleep and catch a flick. Sadly, that is the closest I come to living life dangerously. That, and standing in the kitchen without a stitch. CAH-RAZY...I know...I can hardly believe it myself. Anyhoodle, went to Jen's to watch the Oscars.

Here is my take in a nutshell. I LOVED Hillary Swank's dress...it shimmered like diamonds, had fluffy feathers, and was the color of champagne...surprised she could leave her reflection to present. I DO think she is a great actress, even though she has a massive jaw...and will always be the single mom character that worked at the Peach Pit on 90210, and dated Steve Sanders. Of course that wasn't the only pretty dress, I also really liked the muted violet-hued dress Mila Kunis wore amongst others. Ohhhh and Anne Hathaway got to wear these killer stilettos that looked like a galaxy of radiant stars. They were to DIE for...if not to walk in. Other than that, I had only seen about half the movies that were nominated. Of course, the King's Speech tops my rental list when it releases to dvd. If you can resist the charm of Colin Firth...you should be a Navy Seal or something...because you have an iron-clad resolve. So...even though I didn't see the movie, I am glad he won. And? I actually did see the Black Swan. Natalie Portman was tortured and flawless...and I am not talking about her ridiculous gorgeousness...Um...and in real life...she is also pregnant. What is she? 12??? Heehee...I know she's not, but I always think of her in Beautiful Girls (LOVES it), and she is practically a toddler in that. Anyway, she won best actress...gooooo Natalie. JT brought sexy and his mama to the Oscars. And while Anne Hathaway is funny, and smart...and utterly lovable? James Franco was unfunnily dry, and unimpressive. Got the feeling that his friends, if he has them...were at home ROLLING at his "witty-ness." But the rest of us...sorry I am speaking for everyone- just this once...again-weren't feeling it. In my humble opinion, the writers tried too hard to make it seem like the hosts weren't trying. So...shiny, pretty, giant toothpaste smiles, obligatory applause, fake laughter, shiny...f-bomb in an acceptance speech...OH! Alice in Wonderland won stuff (yippee) the end. At this point I stop to give thanks to the She-vo for allowing me to skip commercials and dull speeches...thus allowing me to view Oscars, the way that Sports Center allows peeps to view sports. Other than that, if you haven't seen Social Network- have someone help you out from underneath that rock of yours and get on it. It is snarky and comical.

Oh and the Jimmy Kimmel post-Oscar special was so much more entertaining than the ACTUAL show.

That is all. *Strutting away down the red carpet I had installed in my kitchen.*

It's Really NOT That Simple

2011-02-24T15:41:00.003-07:00

“Simplicity is making the journey of this life with just baggage enough.”

Charles Dudley Warner

Thank you Charles...Y'know, it is too bad that you are no longer with us. Because I would like to ask you a deep-ish philosophical question. What exactly is ENOUGH baggage I wonder? How does one travel through life, experience it, take a little, hopefully give a little more...and move on with just ...ENOUGH? I am a borderline hoarder when it comes to deciding...what is important for the journey, and what is best left behind. I love it all, I have difficulty separating that and those I meet along the way...from my life itself. Each makes my experiences richer, warmer, sweeter. Each eases the way, offers comfort, or at the very least teaches me something-even if it is a lesson not easily learned. Admission: I have always been a pinch envious of those who possess the ability to get in, get out, get on. I get...attached to people, sometimes to things, and that gets...complicated....Which reminds me of the numerous moments along the road of life, that I have heard people say...

"Remember when life was simple?"...

Has anybody ever asked you that? This question frustrates me to no end. I think...because the answer is a definitive, almost defiant "NO!" No I most definitely do NOT remember when life was simple.

And? I remember. I remember my own experiences vividly as far back as four. I remember...my eldest sister Cynthia coming to my friend Sherry's house to get me for dinner. (I also remember that at a later date, that same friend Sherry cut my hair with lemon colored, plastic, play-dough scissors to BOTH our mothers' chagrin.) Anyway, I remember Cynthia bracing her weight on the curved and tassled handlebars of the heavy iron tricycle that was handed down to each of us, me being the last in the line of the hand-me-down trike. Clearly, I recall the platinum grape purple paint that framed in chipped fragments the gun-metal naked state of the trike beneath. Explicitly my mind paints not only the colors, the weight, the textures, but the scents, and the tones that played a role in each memory snapshot encapsulated in my mind's memory. I remember Cynthia's auburn-brown hair, unwieldy and long, tickling my chilled round cheek. The fall air that smelled of baking meatloaf (eww), and damp earth. There was a chilled wind whistling at our pink ears. The axles creaked on my slightly rusted mode of transportation and the crushing sound of molasses and crimson hued leaves as they fell victim to the rubber nubbed tires. Cynthia took a deep breath as she pushed off with her long, grasshopper-like, bell bottomed clad leg, and rode me toward home. No, my unfamiliarity with simplicity, is not for lack of memory from the days when life was allegedly "simple".

Perhaps it is instead a matter of personal perspective? This is not to say that I consider myself to be complex in the least. As an individual, I am quite simple. My basic needs are not at all outside Maslow's little hierarchy pyramid. My intelligence and ability are well within the bounds of average. There is nothing particularly complex, superior, or unusual in my physical, emotional, or intellectual capacity or property. Pretty much,I am the basic model. So I guess, when I look with an untainted eye...at the world around me-and those that inhabit it...I DO see simplicity of motivation. Even more than that however, I see complexity of thought, and action. Mostly I witness, often firsthand, the ultimate frustration of ceaseless interaction. My eyes have seen the devastation that can occur when one need, is ignored by another desire, or when one ambition is quashed by another dream. The source of action may be simple, but the chain reaction that is set off by said innocuous, basic action, incited by said basic need? Not necessarily, or even usually. How easy it is too look back judgily (Making up Words 201)on different phases in your life, with your new set of goals, and your suitcase bulging with wisdom gained through each of your past experiences. How shortsightedly common to glance back over your full grown shoulder and look , on the days when you were concerned with getting home before the streetlights came on, or the days when you hoped against hope that you would get a bike without a techno-colored, flowered banana seat as your summer transportation. How forgetful, to analyze the time when you were utterly vexed by whether your friends would approve of this outfit, or that boy. The numerous problems and people that troubled you then, and they DID trouble you? They were not simple. Not then. It COULD be that in your perspective, all of it has always been simple....Possibly you are NOT playing a game of Hindsight's Always Easy Peasy. In that case, maybe simplicity IS a matter of perspective. Perhaps it is your way of viewing the world...and if that be the case? Switch me glasses please? Mine are dark and twisty (thanks again, Meredith Grey.)

I am beginning to believe that the ability to be simple, and to be satisfied with simplicity, is both nature and nurture. What each of us requires in life, to give and to receive from each other...it MAY all be very simple. But conveying, expressing, defining, answering, and obtaining what it is that will satisfy our own needs...not to mention satisfying someone else's needs? This is where simplicity gets tangled and mired in complexity.The nature of our beasts is that no two peoples' lives can stay frozen, united in precisely the same place for very long. Then, what one wants, or needs, or expects-is bound to be at odds with the other. Then there is loss, regret, misunderstanding, pain, neglect. These emotions are anything but simple. Multiply that aching and confusion, that frustration for all the people in the entire world...WHAT...may I ask...is simple about that? Then there is the nature aspect that some of us...are a magnet for complexity. Take a concept that is basic in it's nature...like "love," or "friendship."Some of us are hardwired to over-think, over-feel, over-love, over-believe. We saturate every relationship we have with all our energies, and passions...and nurturing...We pour all we have (good and bad) inside of it, and we trust it to hold up under the weight. Some of us lack the capacity to moderate when it comes to our brains, some our hearts, some both. Put THOSE of us alongside someone who doesn't dwell, or ponder...to someone who feels when it is convenient, to someone who doesn't share, or nurture naturally...Someone who thinks that over time, feelings should just be KNOWN. Individuals that maintain that once a relationship is substantiated...it should no longer require nurturing,or affirmation...That the love in all its shapes, should no longer require- it should simply maintain. Put the All or Nothings in a world of people like that...and the result will be messy and could be devastating for the one, while the other remains oblivious... and ends up bewildered. And that is just two personality types. There are lots of them: Type A's and Type B's, Stress Hounds, and Care Free's, Clean Freaks, and Slobs, Workaholics, and Slackers. To me? Figuring out how to make it all work together, without halting all progress...individual and universal...is quite the opposite of simple.

The long and the short of it is...I always over pack for trips. I never really know where I am going, who I might encounter, or what I might need when I get there. What is life? But one Odysseus-style journey. Thus, I don't cast things, people, history, aside with ease. When encountering mermaids, cyclops, hell, and cattle...when at the whim of the fates, and the tantrums of "the gods"...how am I...how is anyone, to know what "enough" baggage is??

Life simply...is not that simple.

Believe it or not, I researched this. When I was "researching" I found volumes of wisdom imparted by undeniably wise people about the beauty and purity of simplicity. I am going to have to take their word for it. In my lack of wisdom, my experience has proved otherwise.

"There is a certain majesty in simplicity which is far above all quaintness of wit."-Alexander Pope

"Nothing is true, but that which is simple."-Johann Wolfgang von Goethe

“Of manners gentle, of affections mild; In wit a man, simplicity a child” Alexander Pope

“Simplicity and repose are the qualities that measure the true value of any work of art.” Frank Lloyd Wright

“I would not give a fig for the simplicity this side of complexity, but I would give my life for the simplicity on the other side of complexity.” Oliver Wendell Holmes

Time...is no friend of mine

2010-11-24T11:48:00.004-07:00

"You may delay, but time will not"-Benjamin Franklin

Time has been on my mind a lot lately. This reeks of oddity. I am generally as unaware of its passing, as I am of the rapid oncoming of the events and appointments its passing causes to crash into me- colliding head on. Mostly I have become acutely aware of the fact that we never HAVE time.Neither do we command it, nor do we possess it. We merely choose to treasure it, or decide to reside in oblivion-land with regards to it. It has been argued in various schools of philosophy throughout the ages ,which pracice leads to a more abundantly lived life.

There are a number of things that I can say about time. Most of them have four letters and are words that I utter sparingly. I store them up for extra special occasions...so all those within hearing distance (2.37 miles) can be quite sure that I mean them sincerely with passion, rancor, heartache and fury...or any combination of the aforementioned. These are the very words I reserve for the day that is so tragically exhausting, and devastatingly exasperating, that it has voraciously sucked my will to live from my now lifeless form- one excruciatingly painful drop at a time. I am left with only its venom pumping through my veins. Yes I DO spend too much time and energy on Eclipse Blood Diaries (vamp math) thank you very much... Those days that rob me blind, leaving me bereft of two brain cells to rub together...It is on these days, that the simplest of words... the ones that function as multiple, vividly, colorful parts of speech, the ones I immediately associate with my feelings for time-come rushing like a hurricane through a weakened dam, from my defeated, defenseless lips.

Time...is a necessary evil. It is certainly no friend of mine. I have comprised a basic list of reasons why I would rather be locked in a small, door-less, white cushioned round room, with nothing to do but watch hour upon hour of Lifetime television with Nancy Grace, Rosie O'Donnell, and Nancy Pelosi- than to accept time into my inner circle.

Time, "the love I bear thee can afford no better term than this: thou art a villain."-Shakespeare, Romeo and Juliet

1. Time is unreliably illusive. What's the quote again? "A friend walks in when the rest of the world walks out?" Well since time goes sprinting toward the door like a receiver toward the end zone, just when you REALLY yearn for time with someone, or when you require time to complete something crucial? Like a preschooler on shot day, time is nowhere to be found. For this reason, illusive time belongs on the Deadbeat Friends List with Murphy...a healthy bounty on her head.

2. Time is cruel. So...you get used to it, you get used to the fact that when you need time to linger, she, in fickle fashion-leaves you defenseless. There you wait in futility-Emily Dickinson style, dress and all...alone at the altar of life. The one redeeming aspect, to this shady trait of time's (or so you think), is that when you have something tedious to do, something that you are dreading...then, at the very least-time will race speedily by. At least your suffering will be brief. Hold up. Not...so...flipping...fast. Here comes the cruel part. At the very moment, when beads of sweat are breaking out on your pretty little brow. When you are entering into fight or flight mode, and look to time for a reprieve...At that very instant, she alters the rules. She laughs maniacally in your sweet, panic stricken face and takes a seat-making herself comfortable, kicking back-watching you squirm. And she sits, and she sits, savoring your misery. The flavor of it is so sweet on her arsenic-laced lips. See? I told you time is harsh.

3. Time is a schizophrenic clepto. Generally, time saunters through your life and uses her long sticky fingers to glob onto and snatch away that which you hold most dear. She sticks them treasure by treasure, surreptitiously in her bag the hue of the night sky, adorned with all the constellations in the galaxy. She has no need of the things she thieves, still she takes them because she can...and because YOU need them. She displays all of her stolen items in her vast mansion of infinite splendor, like a glass menagerie. The people and animals and friendships beloved and treasured by you and me, are all on display for her to glance at casually on her way to obtain more figures for her collection. Rarely however, a miraculous change occurs in time. Every once in a while, time's benevolent Mother Mary (full of grace)-like personality steps in and subjugates the wretched wickedly fickle clepto side. She only does this sporadically, so that you don't get too comfortable. But every so often, time gives you the bright, unexpected glimmering gift of herself. She is wrapped in gleaming unexpected hope, tied up in a bow of brilliant ruby. Selectively time allows you to drink in a moment with someone you cherish. She provides enough substance for you to inhale the moment deep into your lungs. The warm feeling of adoration seeps through your entirety. In its richness, that moment becomes more than a moment, it becomes a part of you. These gifted moments validate our daily struggles and answer all of our most troubling questions. It is this one...tiny, unpredictable aspect of time...that makes up for all of her unseemly, unbecoming ways. Makes us wish-beg even, for her to stay with us. This singular power that she possesses causes us to barter, plea...sacrifice ANYTHING in order for her to consider us worthy of such a generous gift.

All this said, I might as well accept time's existence, she isn't going anywhere. I won't embrace time.

Time...is no friend of mine. And while I am subject to time's shiftiness, her ambiguity, her cruelty, and her occasional generosity... you can't make me like it...and...it doesn't matter. Ever on she rages.

Here are some things that peeps with minds far superior to mine, had to say about time:

Clocks slay time... time is dead as long as it is being clicked off by little wheels; only when the clock stops does time come to life. ~William Faulkner

As if you could kill time without injuring eternity. ~Henry David Thoreau

The clock talked loud. I threw it away, it scared me what it talked. ~Tillie Olsen

Men talk of killing time, while time quietly kills them. ~Dion Boucicault

Fashionably Judgmental

2010-09-26T15:20:00.033-06:00

Know, first, who you are; and then adorn yourself accordingly. ~Epictetus

The only thing that separates us from the animals is our ability to accessorize.-Steel Magnolias

I admit it. I am a bit of a Judgey McJudgerson when it comes to style. I have a venomous reaction to sweat pants, trainers, and pajama pants worn anywhere other than to the gym, or to bed. They first cause me to shake my head in disgruntled disgust, and then to throw up just a little bit in my mouth-this is not a pretty visual, I am fully aware. These particular items I find especially offensive on women-I see it as their betrayal of the sisterhood and what not. We are GIRLS...it's a gift dag-nab-it...wrap it up pretty. Even with regards to sleepwear...(see The Cats Pajamas) life is too short for holey, grubby jammies. Why settle for a salt and pepper, paper thin, over-sized t-shirt-courtesy your loser of an ex boyfriend from 98', when we have been gifted with the lives and talents of Betsey Johnson, Nick and Nora, and the like? Sleep in style.

Mark my words, I make no claim of being a fashionista in any sense of the word. Couture is not an option on a shoestring budget. I do not have the body of a super model aka: clothes hanger... and furthermore, I have sort of grown attached to my soft bits. So outside of the fabulous hair, perfectly pouty lips, coveted handbags, complementary strappy designer shoes, and statuesque stature...I begrudge them not...The Beautiful Glamazons,that is. I prefer to never lose a dress size, than to sacrifice the sheer bliss I derive from chips, salsa and a frosted coca-cola...Life is too short for bland food and plain clothes...And...speaking of clothes (again)...I have always believed (and have likely stated repeatedly) that I have the soul of an artist, but none of the necessary skills to make the claim publicly. This is probably a feeble effort to dismiss my long list of eccentricities as something more colorful than oddity. Somewhere in that line of thought however, I have developed a philosophy. A philosophy that affirms that our bodies are a sort of outlet for our creative aspirations. A canvas for the artist without a paintbrush, an outlet for the clay-less sculptor, the message of a poet without a muse. And thus, my heart races accordingly at the sweet sensation derived through my trembling fingertips as they dance over a vintage velvet blazer with antique buttons. The deep emeralds, ripe plums, smoldering emeralds, burnt oranges of the fall fashion color palette make my mouth water and set my eyes to sparking. There is an entire universe of loveliness available to adorn ourselves in from season to season. Clothes... all of them...over, under and in-between layers evoke a passionate response within me. They stir my poor talentless and otherwise silent artist within. Thus causing an obvious cringe when I hear people say they selected ANY clothing item based only on its comfort factor. Comfort is a bonus, not a reason to purchase. While it is completely acceptable to NOT purchase something because it is painfully uncomfortable (likely the wrong style and fit to boot. This is not purely coincidental, learn to take a hint)...It is almost shameful to pick clothes solely based on how they cushion your lazy self as you sit on your tush watching Oprah, or Real Housewives...pick your poison...I'll find you an eye-sized fork. A failure to express oneself through wardrobe is a form of neglect...against yourself, against your body, against your spirit. A crime in my book anyway, the CJ Book of Judging Others Based On Their Wardrobe. Really it isn't as shallow as it sounds. No one is suggesting you emerge through your front door each morning hoping to be mistaken for the cover girl on this month's edition of Elle. Instead, just give it some thought and a smidgen of effort. Cute jeans? No more difficult to slip into than a pair of yoga pants. Earrings are our friends. Sweet, simple, sensational. Even the word "sweats" is dreadfully unappealing. Avoid them at all costs. Let's just call them "slobs" and be done with it. Mae West said, "Look your best- who said love is blind?" This includes the love of yourself. She also said "It is better to be looked over than overlooked." Wise, wise woman-take heed.

Admittedly...my clothing judginess is sexist and primarily one-sided. Boys are boxy. There is a reason why the tailored suit and military/athletic style uniforms are mainstays in the male world of clothing. Not accidental that the most famous male figure (the Statue of David) is adorned in not a single stitch. They're limited in how dramatic their clothing statement can be. Unless you're Bowie...and HE had to go femme to make a statement. And that statement? Confused in technicolor metallic-heavy on the guy-liner? If men have muscles to hug, a fitted shirt is nice. If they have broad shoulders, a pinstripe blazer is dashing. A nice shoe is key, but that goes with the ownership of feet. Tailoring is integral if they want to "say" anything in their dress whatsoever...other than, "I've had these clothes since college, or...my wife/girlfriend/mother dresses me". Dressed up, dressed down...their shape is fairly standard. But not so for the softer, suppler sex. We have curves, their sharp and linear is contrasted and complimented by our smooth and voluptuous. He is a frame, to your Botticelli Venus. Our bodies are made for fashion, theirs for function. The two compliment each other flawlessly. They? Express themselves through hunting, gathering, feats of strength, and the legends of their conquests ever after. For us? Expression is life. It is what draws the sexes together, and it is what thrusts them apart. We use our faces, our words, our intonation and every nuance within our power to communicate and to express. Changing our hair, our dress, or even our lip gloss shade can change our entire outlook on life-at least for the day. Even if we let ourselves go? That too is likely expressing that we have surrendered, given up hope-in our heart, forfeited our aspirations...that we have grown too weary to even make an effort toward anything beyond survival, that we are now bereft of any and all inspiration. I once heard an older woman say, "Don't you ever choose clothes so as to go unnoticed?" Um...NO. NO I DON'T. It isn't that clothes should be selected to gain notice, but our wardrobe should embellish, enhance, and speak before we do. So in the profound verbiage of Salt n'Peppa..."Go ahead girls express yourselves."

Clothing is a gift, not an obligation. Don't leave your canvas blank, or more tragic still... don't wrap it in jersey. This is not a dissertation on glorifying the external over the internal. Please first-be good, be kind, be generous, be wise, be well-read, be conscientious and unselfish, be a solid humanitarian...but also...be...stylish. Use the tool of your wardrobe to express the multi-faceted, many textured, complex woman...(or man as the case may be) that IS you. In your own unique way-literally...wear (or convey) your heart on your sleeve...Allow in some ways, for your clothes to represent you-they do anyway...so help them represent you accurately. I know you didn't ask my opinion, but I am giving it today-free of charge. I am speaking the truth in love. I am NOT the only one who wonders when dressing became a luxury...rather than a necessity...Talk amongst yourselves.

Clothes are our friends. If they're not? They should be.

These people say it better than I ever could...

One should either be a work of art, or wear a work of art. ~Oscar Wilde

Adornment is never anything except a reflection of the heart. ~Gabrielle "Coco" Chanel

When in doubt, wear red. ~Bill Blass

Wanted: Summer

2010-09-18T13:15:00.000-06:00

I've been away. Not abroad away...like to some distant Greek isle...strolling barefoot along the bleached ancient sands near the edge of the contrasting azure waters...Where fantasy melts reality into a shimmering, syrupy liquid form that tastes like honey and dark melted chocolate...Where reality is consumed for its positive deliciousness until only fantasy remains (I wish). I haven't been off collecting culture and what not (I wish that too). Nor have I been dragged away...to the circular room where one "rests" and allegedly gets waited on by strong armed, starched white coated murses. I am saving that one for one I REALLY need it...the timing of which is arguable.

Just...away. For the better part of the summer...away. Nothing thrilling to report...away. NOT that I claim past posts have had you on the virtual edge of your maroon velvet cyber seat, all a tremble with the mere anticipation of another enlightening, earth-shattering post from yours unruly. Regardless, my mind was on vaca. When I misplaced my semi-focused mind, I also put the summer someplace. Long before I was ready to part with it-it mysteriously disappeared, ran away...was stolen? Perhaps it was something I said?

It is likely in fact,that it WAS something that I said. My mouth is a gifted runner. Ironically so....because aside from running water for my bubbly tub, the running of my mouth is the closest I come to a track shoe. But run it does...like Flo-Jo, or a white Bronco, or Fred and Barney carrying their car to the quarry. It runs with the lightning speed of Hermes in those platinum winged sandals of his(I STILL need to score myself a pair of those)...and my brain simply isn't interested in trying to keep pace. It doesn't even wave the white silk scarf in surrender anymore...just bids it a resigned adieu and goes back to its random ponderings. Thus, my mouth runs ahead-unchecked, without direction. Running and running and likely? Chasing off summer.

It is also likely that summer slipped away with my left teal, paisley Haviana and my childhood pocket steno with the autographs of the girls from the Facts of Life, as well as various other missing trinkets and trifles from my entire life. Either summer, or my Clepto Gremlin has gotten off with them. Either way...my OCD is going to capture one of them and make them pay Poe-style for troubling it so. Wherever or however it went, the summer has vanished, like Bin Laden. Unlike Osama however, I miss summer's presence. If it would only come back to me, I would feed it flaming hot cheetos and buy it new sandals, I might even share my lip-gloss.

If you see it? Please tell it so...and that my mouth is gravely sorry for whatever it may have said...it just doesn't know it yet. It has moved on and on and on and on...(you get the hint) to other rantings, and new offenses. It will chase fall away soon enough.

Oh...and as far as my semi focused mind is concerned,it will likely find its way home. It has ALWAYS been a bit of a wandering rogue.

What Makes Me A BAD Girl

2010-06-26T10:45:00.002-06:00

The topic of this blog is...like nearly everything involving those of us who are both blessed and cursed by the enhancement of an extra shot (or forty two) of estrogen-a PINCH more complex than it first appears. So...Puh-leez don't expect me to show up on the next season of Girls Next Door clad in pink bunny ears and a fluffy white tail sewn into my satin black teddy and kitten heels. I will NOT be appearing as Hef's latest...(pretending he's not too ancient to taste and savor the) flavor...THAT would be wrong on so many levels it's laughable. Suffice to say...I'm not THAT kind of bad...not Lindsay Lohan:so out of control I can't tell my pills, from my boys-or my girls from my drinks-bad. Nor am I Madonna: been at naughty so long I am running out of innovative ways to be irreverently and creatively-bad (of course that IS precisely why we LOVE her). Thank my lucky stars that I also do not fit Cortney Love's definition of: rode hard and put away train wreck-bad. Not at all what I intend when I state that "I'm a bad girl"...When I say, "I'm a BAD girl..." What I MEAN, is that something in my hard wiring not only fails at...but vehemently rejects and refuses to adhere to some of the most basic and strictly enforced demands of the Girl Code. *Gripping my Girl Card so tightly to my chest that my knuckles turn white...Deep inhale...* Here goes...you can start knitting my scarlet letters "BG" onto my cashmere cardigan now...I have narrowed it down (which as you know is not my forte) to a mere five things that make me a BAD Girl.

1. I'm so pathetically non domestic that Martha would weep and June Cleaver would snatch my pearls away. It is not my mother's fault...or...maybe it is-just not directly. Primarily I trace this Girl FAIL not to a lack of ability, but a lack of interest. My mom is as 1950's housewife as a non-fifties housewife can be...and I think there is a 87% "No thank you-not me"...in my resistance to mastering a mean meat loaf. I adore a vintage style handmade, lace-trimmed apron as much as any June or Lucy...just long as I can wear it "Just Because."

2. There is only room for one drama queen in this show. It's not that bad MOST of the time. My girlfriends are surprisingly low maintenance...because of them, so am I...primarily. If they aren't? I make them vanish with a spray of my Bitch-B-Gone...I know this is a double standard...but life provides enough drama of it's own...and a flair for the dramatic just happens to be a (non-option) option I came equipped with at birth...I recently read a quote "I don't need your attitude- I have one of my own" Anonymous...Ain't that the truth? So...pedal your attitude someplace else sister, I'm all stocked up here.

3. If it doesn't include steamy hot water, loud karaoke style singing and a cookie scented sugar scrub? Showers make me cringe. Don't get me wrong, they are a necessary evil and I go...to LOTS of them. It is not as selfish as it sounds. While I appreciate the thought and effort my loved ones put forth on my behalf, I didn't especially enjoy my own showers. Sue me...toilet paper wedding dresses and guessing what kind of candy bar is mushed up in the tiny make shift diaper...is NOT my idea of a good time. Not to mention that I love giving gifts, but am an awkward gift receiver. Of course I love babies (especially when I am not providing the oven)...who doesn't? But there is something cruel and unusual about being forced to ooohh and aaaahh over diaper duckies and pee pee tee pees. *Whispering...tucking Girl Card into my pink and black polka dotted angel bra* Wedding receptions? Good-if done correctly. Weddings? should be reserved for immediate family and intimate friends...in my not-so-humble opinion. If I do not fit this criteria? I want a reprieve from the governor...pretty, pretty , PRETTY please? I will lead the electric slide to show my gratitude...watch me work...

4.Won't Watch A Lifetime Movie...In THIS Lifetime...This of course is not to say that I am above having my womanly mushiness fully exploited...but I choose the poison. Generally something fuchsia and fizzy...something possessing solid characterization, and a dash of humor tossed in to keep me from hanging myself with my chunky bead necklace, skilled writing is a prerequisite and actors with Edward-esque coifs a bonus (ahem..a must)...Something along the lines of a Grey's Anatomy...Spare me the washed up 90's actresses who end up behind bars for offing their abusive husbands, or their daughter's potential cheer coach for failing to pick lil Suzie-Que for the squad. These events were horrific enough in actual reality...why do we feel the need to relive it with sappy background music and melodramatic reenactments? Pass...

5. Football Over Frills: I AM indubitably a girly girl. Still...shopping can wait-take me to the game/fight already!!! While I do not participate in athletics...ever-the thrill of a live sporting event makes me giddy-with the exception of baseball...I am purely into America's favorite pastime for the sunshine and the hot dogs...even beer tastes better at the ball park...it's magically inexplicable. Where was I?... Oh yeah, "The thrill of victory..."...Who couldn't use a little more excitement in their daily grind? The kind you derive from the crash of helmets, the squeak of rubber soled trainers on a wooden court, a well fought, indisputable tap out paid for with blood and sweat, or the tangible, animalistic ferocity of a goalie defending his territory. Not even a sale at MAC (which is the stuff fairy tales are made of) can top that. So...*singing and swaying* "Take me out to the (insert non-golf sporting event here)game"...After all, the stores are open seven days a week for my convenience.

See? I AM a BAD Girl...told ya'...Oh...I should also mention that I rather enjoy going to the LADIES alone, and that I am a giant failure at requiring the approval of my girls before getting dressed, picking out a new lip gloss, or thinking for myself... and lip service? SO not a gift of mine...So-FINE *Taking charcoal cardigan with ruby and platinum hand stitched lettering and tiny jeweled vintage buttons off your American tipped, perfectly manicured hands. Layering said cardigan over a coordinating long, poppy red ribbed tank and matching peep toes*...Heehee...Well? I may not be such a BAD girl after all *wink-wink*...*tucking my Girl Card safely away in my Marc Jacobs slouch bag and making a gracefully fierce catwalk-like run for it*

The Fine Art of Controlling and Maintaining Your Chaos

2010-06-19T11:24:00.002-06:00

A.A. Milne wrote that “One of the advantages of being disorderly, is that one is constantly making exciting discoveries.”

My focus here is organization…something that is a bit of a stranger to me…and not the kind of stranger bearing Sweet Tarts and licorice-the kind that smiles creepily from behind a bushy beardless mustache and large far too dark seventies style glasses. The kind that makes me run-not walk-to the nearest exit. “Stranger Danger” brand of stranger. This may seem like a bit of an overstatement. After all, organization IS a friend to most. For precious few of us however, chaos is a better friend, and thus, organization in its essence, poses a threat to our friend Chaos. The two are amicable adversaries-like…Batman and Poison Ivy. They are unable to peacefully coexist…they suffer from a vicious, incurable case of irreconcilable differences. Chaos is a reliable and thrilling friend who is forever challenging and engaging us. The type of friend that found YOU and proceeded to wind itself around your heart like a wildly exotic flowering weed. As a result, WE-keepers and friends of chaos, are forced against our nature to organize a plan to care for it, nurture it, embrace it- to keep it from the oppressive tyrannical rule of organization. So…for the creatively and colorfully, organizationally inept, here are three tips for keeping your chaos happy. First, Keep things fresh. All work and no play makes chaos dull company. Second, make sure chaos knows how much it means to you. Every strong relationship requires effort. And third, Learn to be discreet. Secret service brand of discreet. Your job is to protect chaos from being stifled, color coded and filed alphabetically. Nothing TOO complicated. You’ve got this covered.

Keep your relationship exciting. Let’s not get confused here, chaos isn’t interested in cutesy notes on the refrigerator, or coming home to you in ponytails and knee socks. Chaos longs to roll in the grass and howl at the moon. Chaos craves frivolous fodder-it hungers for it...requires it even. Picture the Venus Fly Trap from Little Shop of Horrors. You know the one…”Feed Me Seymour”. Only…instead of human beings, your Chaos Flytrap feeds on adrenaline, bustle-it thrives on your ability to pile your plate high with activities and responsibilities. How ELSE can it shine? There is no “grace under pressure” without pressure. Chaos however, one ups grace. When facing a seemingly monumental challenge-chaos finds its stride. And when it does, it dances the tango, the Charleston, and the running man…backwards and blindfolded. With a flourish and jazz hands. Chaos manages to shine in vintage Valentino and strappy Jimmy Choo’s with five inch heels. No one does it better. Keep it fresh and chaos will reciprocate. Teaching you to be graceful on your toes…after all, that is EXACTLY how chaos loves you best.

Make chaos feel appreciated. While you can’t show chaos the love with lip gloss and foot rubs-you most certainly can give credit where credit is due. Instead of making false claims like “I work best under pressure” tell the truth…you ONLY work under pressure. Also, chaos puts more life in your living. While the others, like ants in a line are marching methodically to the beat of the same dull drum-stealing crumbs from other peoples’ picnics, you are having a delectable picnic all your own. An ant free picnic complete with gourmet cheeses and pinot noir. When you lift your glass to toast, toast to chaos-“The electric guitar in your rock opera, the flavor in your filet mignon, and the ruby in your slippers“. Toast to chaos for placing your labor in fiery multicolored stacks that you will heroically and dramatically stamp out together. And in between fires, chaos gives you the gift of fluttering and dancing carelessly through the air like a monarch on a summer night’s breeze. While the Live to Workers are crawling wearily into their hill, tripping over one another and reporting to their queen…you have the benefit…seven times out of ten…of ruling your own kingdom-sporting your very own, very shiny, bling studded crown while stretched out on your luxuriously roomy throne, being fed bon-bons by….emo vampiress, or crooners, or…whomever you choose. Chaos is primarily responsible for that. So in the historic words of Billy Joel, “Tell her about it.” Be good to your chaos and in turn, your chaos will be good to you.

Protect your chaos. Defend her against the haters. Wear a black suit and shades if it helps you to feel the part. Or…pretend that chaos is your very own child prodigy- blessed with a gift so profound that the world is not capable of appreciating it just yet and so for now…you keep it under your protective wing…willing to go ninja in its defense if need be. There IS some accuracy to that scenario after all. There is something inspiring in chaos that evokes and stimulates creativity. The organized world of order will NOT understand your methods. They will view your chaos as a problem to be solved. So it is probably best…to “Fake it-SO you can make it.” Model some pseudo organizational skills. Fake the need to squeeze everything into multicolored boxes, even ones that typically the wrong shape and size, where the item inside is bent and squeezed inside- growling and wiggling, pushing against the constraints of its box top. Think of it as preventing Batman from hosing your Poison Ivy down with weed killer. Protect your muse…you’re the only one that NEEDS to understand…and likely the only one that will. While the masses appreciate the masterpieces that chaos creates, her ways cause them confusion, disillusionment and discomfort. So unless you want your castle of chaos stormed by torch bearing villagers? Keep her under wraps.

In conclusion, while the world has a fierce Martha Stewart style need to put everything neatly into place, you need to strew those precise same items all over the room. You need to see and touch and smell and taste and feel EXACTLY what it is that you are working with at all times. How are you to make lemonade of life's lemons without knowing where the sugar, sparkling water, crazy straws, and purple umbrellas are kept? You also MUST allow a deadline to get down to the last possible second, there is something hypnotically musical about the racing of your heart. You need to swing from a vine rope in pink leopard skin bathing suit sou, while expressing your intentions in impassioned cries resembling that of a pack of voracious coyotes. In order to sufficiently carpe your diem-you require full view of your open box of sixty four Crayolas because you just never know when a situation will scream for chartreuse. As a result, chaos has become a John to your Paul, and an Athena to your Odysseus. You make a brilliant pair. Chaos is a friend that quintessentially believes that variety IS not only the spice of life, but the air and heartbeat too. She requires adventure, appreciation and a watchful eye. Because if you desire for chaos to ensue on your behalf, there IS an organized way to go about keeping her (happy).

So leave the organized masked masses to their pre plotted, goofy side-kicked, Bat-caved existence. You, Chaos, (aka Ivy), the Wind and I have countless thrilling horizons to explore and volumes of thrilling discoveries yet to make.

*Raising a crystal glass swirled with a brilliant kaleidoscope of Oz vivid Colors*

"To chaos"

Choices 101

2010-05-13T13:09:00.001-06:00

"We've always got choices."

Those words have been and will continue to be-REPEATED and repeated & Repeated to us from diapers to...well...let's face it... diapers. *Queue The Circle of Life*

The choices that we make will not only mold who we will become as individuals, but they will dictate the paths our lives will take

As we have discussed before, cliches did not get where they are overnight. Obviously these trite sayings (that are like somebody poking you repeatedly with the same dumb, blunt stick)have survived generations for a reason. There is some truth to them. Like the ache the stick incites, you feel the reality of the cliche. There is no denying its existence-but that doesn't make its incessant prodding any more enlightening or any less grating. Eventually you become immune to its presence-you learn to tune it out. Not to mention, that the source of our irritation with cliches,is that they are ripe with generalities-they omit the individual experience. No one feels or experiences life in precisely the same way, no matter how parallel the circumstances. Yes the big picture exists, but as "they" say "(the good)God is in the details" (Le bon Dieu est dans le detail-Flaubert). Without the detail of her knowing smile and that mischievous gaze- Mona Lisa is an unremarkable, plain woman with drab hair and a shabby dress-in desperate need of a makeover. But her individuality, her human spirit...the artist's lifes wisdom reflected in her essence...aka-the details-transform her into a masterpiece. Back to choices-and where the cliche fails us-the truth about making and living with choices...is found almost exclusively in the details,in our making of them. The why, the how, the factors, the timing, the people involved, the circumstances, the cost. Choices are like snowflakes and stars-none of them are the same-because we are not the same. And when we change, what we choose and why
we choose it changes too. So...when looking at the choices that we make-we had better dot our i's and cross our t's...because it is ALL about the details.

So let's debunk it, you and me. Let's break it down. Here is the disclaimer on choices *spoken rapidly and often incomprehensibly*

1. We have freedom of choice. Not to be at all confused with controlling the options. If life gives you lemons, you cannot opt to turn them into strawberries. What you can do...is come equipped with an arsenal of lemon recipes; lemonade, lemon cream, lemon squares, lemon cake, lemon drops. This somewhat unfortunate reality often leaves us feeling as if the "choice" is not so much a decision on our part, as it is an acceptance of our fate. However giving into that line of thought leaves us feeling like pawns-will incapacitate you if you let it, and can thus be a pitfall. There are some clear choices that are definitely ours for the making-even if it is just "regular or diet?".

2. There is no Option D. If the options are not appealing, you may not select None of the Above, nor can you choose All of the Above when all the choices are equally sublime (not a common occurrence). You just have to "make it work". Shout out to Tim Gunn (Project Runway) *Hollah*

3. Making the right choice, makes no promise to feel good. Knowing it is the right choice needs to be enough of a reason.

4. Not making a choice-is making a choice. Your indecision allows the chips to fall where they may. When that happens, you and your indecision have no choice but to take your ball and go home for some humble pie (whatever the hheeecckk that means). And the next time you can bet your decision will step mightily up to the plate.

5. As a grown up-you come to realize that what is best...and what is best for you...are many times not the same. Suck it up...you know what the kitty said...

6. Hindsight is ALWAYS 20/20. Has been a few seconds since I had busted out any trite phraseology...and so, the time has come. Seriously though, time lends perspective. You may think at the time that you are making the wisest decision. You may have searched yourself, weighed the pros and cons, convinced your head and your heart to FINALLY agree on something...but over time you realize that the other option would have served you better in the long run. You have to forgive yourself, we learn from our mistakes..unless we don't-then we need to give ourselves a harsh talking to. You are not a fortune teller (if you are-and you failed to see what the outcome would be-maybe you should hang up your crystal ball and start searching Monster for new career options).

7. Being Happy is Your Choice Too Perhaps it is your most important choice because it is the one that will never fail you. Like almost everything-there is nothing simple about it. It is a tough decision to make because it is one that we must make again and again...and more times than not? You probably don't feel like it. But life is so incredibly much what we make of it, how we choose to view it, how much influence we allow our feelings to have, how much credit we give our brain, how much our conscience weighs that week. We can and should decide regardless what the circumstance, that we WILL be happy. That is one of a handful of choices that you will never regret. Even if you cannot muster a giddy happy? A refusal to be defeated still equals success in some situations.

Oh! Before I forget, the choice is yours. The consequences of your choices definitely are not up to your discretion, nor are they consistent. Just in case you haven't learned that lesson of eternal ambiguity just yet...

Slippery little buggers-those choices...

That concludes our dissertation on choices. I don't know about you, but perhaps we should choose to take this show on the road...Seriously though, it is a delicate balance, whether we make strong choices, whether we allow our failings to destroy us, or our great choices to blind us with misplaced arrogance. That too...is a choice we make.

Here is what some more credible peeps have to say about choices and decisions...

"I know who I am and who I may be, it I choose."-Miguel de Cervantes Saavedra

"We choose our joys and sorrows long before we experience them."-Kahlil Gibran

"Some choices we live not only once, but a thousand times over, remembering them the rest of our lives."-Richard Bach

"Man had no choice but to love. For when he does not, he finds his alternatives lie in loneliness, destruction and despair."-Unknown

Roughing It

2010-04-19T09:37:00.001-06:00

So...here I sit...camping (lettin' that seep in like sweet sunshine on the first spring day after a long cold, grueling winter ).........*Crickets...literal ones*.................Uh huh, I said it. Gonna say it again "camp-ing." However-please don't go getting any grand ideas. When I say that I am camping "out"... there are no tents on the frigid,muddy ground-home to the creepy crawlys. Truly-in my spoiled by fluffy, cotton candy pink convenience- baby of three girls- mind set-there are only three solid reasons for sleeping in the dirt...1. You've enlisted in the military and are reporting for incognito, outdoor undercover duties. Your double agent status commands it...Don't think Jason Bourne or James Bond get to toss back unbecoming assignment destinations. Or...Unfortunately you're injured and couldn't get up and dust off if you chose to. If this is you-hang in there- help is on the way. We will discuss how you are able to read this, but not phone for help at a later date. All one sided kidding aside...Wait! One more for my fellow OCD afflicted Grey's fans...Perhaps you collapsed scouring the woods for Mc Dreamy's mother's wedding band that he pitched into the woods a moment of perfectly coiffed and mildly unshaven broodiness...If fiction were ACTUALLY as close to the ACTUAL as it often seems? That would be a likely reason for a dirty earth siesta. Cruel really. 2. Perhaps your eyes were hypnotized by the alluring twinkle of the mischievous midnight stars. Entranced- you were lulled to a sweet dreamless sleep in the precise spot where you lay...on your fluffy comfortably worn-red paisley quilt...or...Similarly, huddled in coziness- your heavy lids slow to a blink-less stop...while you wait to greet the sun as it's finger-like rays faintly trace their way up the twilight dim of the sky and with a kiss of its golden lips bathes the world in glimmering, gilded light . 3. Finally, um...the final dirt nap. Really the ONLY time dirt sleeping isn't optional. Unpleasant yes...but a clear, unarguable reason for sleeping in the dirt.
Thankfully none of those describe me and so...if I am subject to camping by force-or in the least, against my will-aka each and every time I go:)...it is in a heated camper with running water and electricity:) for the shortest sentence necessary.

Being dramatic(stick with what ya' know)-truly camping has it's bonuses.

1. Breathtaking scenery that I unaffectedly catch un-awed glimpses of daily. Camped tonight in the "wilderness" literally twenty minutes from my house. That view includes violet hued mountains wrapping the site like cradling arms-a fishbowl clear blue lake, capped flawlessly by an infinite water color palette of sky.

2. Got to watch a whole-nearly uninterrupted movie...*pinching myself* OUCH!...yeah- I don't quite believe it either.

3. All the snacks you eat are fat free when roughing it. Sorta like the two state rule (or whatever that is)-only with queso and smores made from leftover pink Easter peeps*rubbing pink sugar from phone keys.*

4. My Monkeys look like grubby little extras from Annie and Oliver Twist in turn...and it is a losing battle between the junk food, grime and me chasing two steps behind with a wipe...So I get to tell my OCD what for...for a change:).

5. Nothing to do...please keep in mind that this is a short-lived positive...(this native tends toward restlessness). When I say "nothing" I mean nothing of consequence. Knitting, reading, listening to Pink and painting ones toenails describes a productive evening in paradise...er...camping.

So...the owl is hooting-the coyotes howling, and I will be lucky to get the equivalent of a night nap. The fresh open air seemingly doesn't agree with me. If reoccurring camping insomnia is at all indicative of my lungs' druthers? Stale house air is their Dom Perignon.

Sweetest dreams Prettys. Hope your downy bed is more enticing than this sofa turned bed-type-thing...It could be worse, I could be attempting slumber on the converted table...mmm....comfy...Not exactly a princess (via Princess and the Pea)- but you don't have to be fragile to feel a pole through particle board.

Dare to live the dream.
Sent via BlackBerry from T-Mobile

Picking Your Battles or Picking a Fight

2010-04-16T00:33:00.000-06:00

"The hardest battle you're ever going to fight is the battle to be just you."-Leo F. Buscaqlia

I tend to avoid wars. Not the huge, frighteningly realistic, big, political, bloody, literal wars- like the ones between countries and philosophies and religions...That is not the type of war to which i am referring.I abstain from the personal, emotional wars between myself and the people in my life. I am not a yellow bellied coward (would describe my skin as more... the 'color mocha'. As would Ricky Martin-Livin La Vida Loca...aye-yi-yiyi...*sigh* I HAD to have said that before-forgive me. Guilty pleasures-bygones....Also? Just fun to say 'yella bellied-"I'm gonna' shoot ya' down Jesse James"-Cher).

I WILL fight if I feel cornered and trapped, like I don't have options. And I certainly won't chew off my own foot to be free (cuz'? Ouch...and Not A Waitress Red...tastes awful-don't ask me how I know). Look out though- because I am apt to chew off someone else's foot if absolutely necessary. Really though? When facing a war-I generally opt to back slowly away. That however, only refers to the knock down, drag out, full on T-Bird-Jock style rumble...That is the only time intimidation, or cool heads...or whatever it is...prevail. It is the battle that I can't seem to walk away from...or refrain from rushing headlong into...or...may allegedly innately crave? Jury's out and descidedly unruffled by the details.

Going to depersonalize this pseudo-philosophy real quick...because I don't think it is just me. Think we all have this Shifty-Secrest-Type multi-personality disorder when it comes to conflict. The driving motivation behind our ultimately confusing and alternating passive aggressiveness/often full out scrappyness may be different...but we all do it...Every single self important one of us...Daily, sometimes hourly, occasionally instantaneously- we change our own personal rules of engagement (written in pencil of course). It's not intentional. Being the big full grown infants that we are...we get our hearts stepped on, our egos tromped, our confidence pinched...and depending...how tight our diaper is fastened that day...perhaps reliant on how warm and frequent our bottles...we act accordingly. None of us...especially me...like to feel like we are drawing the shortest straw. We don't voluntarily choose to allow anyone else be the boss of us. We hold fast-often justifiably...to the notion that we have earned the right to be the boss of ourselves...and when that "freedom" is threatened-when we feel that our individuality is in jeopardy? We bite back...sometimes drawing first blood. We certainly CAN be intimidating...backs arched and hissing...But is that what we really want? If we put those closest to us on the day to day defensive-aren't we truly creating the very atmosphere we are trying with such exaggerated futility to avoid? Yet...if we feel that someone is trying to bogart our "us-ness"...stifle our outgoing, independent, colorful, social butterfly, though often precocious inner child...is it suicide of the soul...to standby and watch it happen in the name of passivity?

If I had the answer...I would be Doctor CJ-faking a southern accent...and doling out cliched (for a reason), shiny headed, drawled wisdom like...

“It's better to be healthy alone than sick with someone else.”=Dr. Phil

All I know, is this...the line between picking my battles and picking a fight...is often erased or faded to near invisible oblivion by my big, clumsy-bully of a heart and choked out by my inner diva. And though I am not trying to duck responsibility, the heart of the matter...is my heart-in the matter. Not sure that made sense...but the shiny-stubborn...ugly-pretty, vulnerably lethal me...in me? At the end of the day...is what I have. It is the who...I am ultimately responsible for...and if you-or someone else has to lose a leg in the battle over my self preservation (even if I am not always lucid on EXACTLY who that is, or if in every second I feel she is worthy of the fight?) you should be certain that is a price you are willing to pay. Before you pick this battle...make sure the fight in your dog...can take my dog in the fight...or something.

Wow...done feigning deepness...Be a pal? Friends don't let friends... blog after 11pm on a Thursday night.

"I have had to fight like hell and fighting like hell has made me what I am"-John Arbuthnot Fisher

formspring.me

2010-04-14T22:44:00.001-06:00

Ask me anything http://formspring.me/CarlaJean126

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2010-04-14T22:43:00.005-06:00

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2010-04-14T22:43:00.003-06:00

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2010-04-14T22:43:00.001-06:00

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That Thing You Do

2010-03-14T13:01:00.047-06:00

“Eccentricity has always abounded when and where strength of character had abounded; and the amount of eccentricity in a society has generally been proportional to the amount of genius, mental vigor, and courage which it contained.”

John Stuart Mill

Idiosyncrasies. We all have them...some of us possess more of these delightfully, pesky critters than others do. And for THOSE of us, we have given our idiosyncrasies more flattering lil' pet names like "color,it-factor, creativity,complexity, flavor, spice, our own personal brand of crazy"...and we learn to embrace them because they are woven into our ornate life's fabric. Besides, they aren't going anywhere without a battle, a lengthy, difficult battle we are likely to lose. Even if we are victorious, we are left lonely, simple, and well? dull. What kind of victory is that? Besides, we get used to them-like that friend, that beloved friend we all have one of. The one that wrapped around our heart like a weed and never let go...ever. And if you're anything like me...you have a set of coordinating idiosyncrasies, partially because the 'syncrasies' part of 'idiosyncrasies' feels like fluffy sweet whipped cream as it passes through my lips. I am kidding, but you have to admit that it is fun to say...(try it-you'll like it). The other reason to coordinate eccentricities? is because we simply HAVE to do things in pairs. Kidding again, well sorta...Nothing like a little OCD humor on a snowy spring Wednesday.

According to Wikipedia: Idiosyncrasy comes from the Greek 'idiosynkrasia' defined as: a peculiar temperament, habit of body, an individualizing quality or characteristic of a person or group, and is often used to express eccentricity or peculiarity

For those of us not elite or creatively ingenious enough for eccentricity, the most we can muster is neurotic. But eccentric sounds prettier, so let's stick with that...it is better for our all too sensitive psyche.

Now I am no psychologist. Nor do I see one professionally(the need of which is only slightly debatable), nor do I play one on TV. Yet I have come to this novice conclusion: we are all control freaks. Every, single, solitary one of us. As a direct result of our appetite for power (at least over our own lives),the less control that we have, the more we crave it. I suspect that our eccentricities developed or continue to develop as an innate need to maintain or pointlessly grasp at some sort of control. This is both feeble and ironic in a number of ways. When we feel as though we are not in charge (which let's face it-we usually aren't)our idiosyncrasies enhance, are suddenly switch blade sharp, become more defined...speak up (sometimes with an accent), multiply (like gremlins in water). Somehow these little habits and rituals-make us feel as though we are the boss...of something-of...anything. Again? This position of mine is grounded in mere personal observation, it is not at all rooted in any field of science. Consider yourself adequately disclaimered.<-Oops... I did it again. Made up another verb. Just one of the many services I offer...that there is no desire or need for...*sigh*

Funny thing about our eccentricities, is that they do not play well with (the idiosyncrasies of)others. This would be one of those sneaky little ironies that I mentioned previously. When we bring to mind the things that drive us batty about those around us on a daily (or every single solitary second) basis...it generally has everything to do with their idiosyncrasies. Those very same things people do that shape them into the objects of our affection, are identical to those aspects of them that on any given Sunday,would make us tear our hair out...if only we weren't so fond of it...if we hadn't grown so attached to our lovely locks- pun intended. And? Come back here-don't think you are getting off that easy. The endearing qualities that make you sparkle on a day kissed all over by sunshine, on a dismal,cloudy, got up on the wrong side of life-day...are like nails on the chalkboard of your loved ones'lives. Believe it. Sad-funny, nothing you can do about it funny. funny-'hey pot? This is kettle. You're black too'-funny.(FRIENDS-loosely quoted)

So the little things that your subconscious invents to make it feel all big man/she-man on campus, or woman/man about town? Regardless of your gender or location-or whether your subconscious mind opts to let your conscious mind in on its dirty little secret(s)...that thing you do (perhaps that list of things you do)...be it casual hair twirling, incessant fidgeting, absent minded pen flipping, the focused bottom lip nibble, the nonessential throat clearing, meticulous lining up of foods by color, that nervous little laugh, the blink so large that it is almost audible...the list is never ending, really. Like the song..."it just goes on and on my friend"...That thing (those things)? It's connected to you. You both inadvertently created it and non-directly keep it around-for a reason. Something about its unrelenting presence soothes your soul-no matter how superficially. However, what eases your spirit like a Valentino couture gown...(of course I am taking a confident stab at this. If you happen to have a spare, in grown woman size-I'm your girl)may very well scathe another's soul like a marathon of super sappy, poorly acted Lifetime movies, or a marathon of The View. These traits cause one person to love you, and another to flee you...Sometimes it causes the desire for both simultaneously in the same individual...and that is just confusing...and disorienting.No good can come of that. And you, you should know ALL about it. Empathize, because those same people's eccentricities evoke a similar reaction in you. Best advice? When you awake on that stormy day, and feel that you're gripping your eccentricities with the ferocity of a Bengal tiger gripping a medium rare cut of prime rib...stay inside and draw the curtains. And if that's not possible? Limit yourself to yes or no answers and deep nose breathing. Because on those days-your idiosyncrasies are after the jugular and the prey they seek just may be the traits you USUALLY love in your people...Just like "they" always say..."If you can beat em...tie and gag them until they are fit for human consumption..." And if "they" don't say that, they should.

“The surest defense against Evil is extreme individualism, originality of thinking, whimsicality, even / if you will / eccentricity. That is, something that can't be feigned, faked, imitated; something even a seasoned imposter couldn't be happy with.”-Joseph Brodsky

Our ambition should be to rule ourselves, the true kingdom for each one of us; and true progress is to know more, and be more, and to do more. -Oscar Wilde

Debunking the V-Day Debacle

2010-02-10T22:44:00.005-07:00

Valentines Day...We love it, or we love it not? Personally,I think many of us love, loving it not...Here's the scoop-

St. Valentine was a Priest, martyred in 269 at Rome and was buried on the Flaminian Way. He is the Patron Saint of affianced couples, bee keepers, engaged couples, epilepsy, fainting, greetings, happy marriages, love, lovers, plague, travellers, young people. He is represented in pictures with birds and roses.-Wikipedia

Love it or loathe it...still like death, taxes and another failed romance via the Bachelor,it is an inevitability. There's no use trying to stop it from coming.

"Every shmoop down in shmoop-ville loved V-day a lot"...Seussy/Seinfeld/Sorta...

I for one, have an affinity for Valentines Day. Of course I am under no pressure whatsoever-so that may have something to do with my affection for this particular holiday. Also...I find ruby red and pretty paper,and rich, dark chocolate supremely delicious...so yeah, pretty much...V-Day's a win,win win...And yet I know it can be stressful for some of you. So out of l-o-v-e, I am going to dig down deep to the very bottom of my limited resources in an attempt to help de-vilify VD (aka Valentines Day) just for you..

1. Single is a status-not a death sentence-

So you're single. It is no different on the 14th of February than it is on the 13th or the 15th, or the 22nd of June...Why should it be? So embrace it...celebrate your independence. There is no expectation held for you on this day whatsoever.Insert your ridiculously giant sigh of relief here, because that poor defeated soul you see wandering the aisles of the supermarket puppy-like and glassy-eyed with a cardboard red heart full of non-delicious candies in one hand and the last cellophane suffocated wilted roses in the other? He would swap you spots in a heartbeat. This I promise you. V-Day is about love...so share the warm and fuzzies with the peeps you love. Drink a little wine, have a little fun, get down tonight-get down tonight. Being single is one tiny aspect of who you are, it doesn't define you. By no means should you try to change your single status in the name of V-Day. There is no conceivable way that will end positively...Remember the Valentine's Day Massacre? Actually was mob related and had more to do with swimming with fishes than pink hearts and winged cherubs-but you get the picture, right? Madness/broken hearts/machine guns...not pretty.

2.For the Real-

Girls, gurls, girlz...*Motioning with finger for you to come closer. Whispering*...I am sorry to say this, but when it comes to V-Day-you are going to have to get over it...not ALL of it-just the part with the inflated, outlandish, Austen-romance type expectations. You have to-or you WILL be disappointed. That is unless you are dating or married to Mr.Darcy...which you aren't. Men THAT spectacular only exist in fiction...and are written by women. We've been over this...Give up the ghost and give your poor guy a break...The kind of break that real live men deserve from the sometimes too real you...so don't go gettin haughty. You are no Elizabeth Bennet either.

It is okay for you to expect your beau to remember Valentine's Day...For heaven's sake you cannot turn on the radio or the television without being bombarded with adverts for chocolates, flowers...yadda, yadda, yadda. So unless he's Amish-(in which case, you have a whole other set of issues to deal with-going on dates in wagons, trying to get the horse smell out of your hair,etc) he knows. But beyond his acknowledgment in some form-any form (grunting and mumbling included)...surrender the silly dream. Admit to yourself that your Valentine expectations may be a pinch unrealistic. And? that some of your anxiety about whether he will "show up" for V-Day has more to do with cubicle competition, than anything else. You know as sure as you dress more for your friends, than you do for him-that our gender is all about comparison and competition. Whether we admit it or not...there is a small(hopefully minuscule)part of us that returns to our slightly insecure, somewhat catty high school self in honor of Valentine's Day. Some of us are, for just this one day secretly concerned with what our friends in the office will think of us if we close out Valentine's Day balloon-less, rose-less, cookie-less, singing telegram-less(has anyone actually gotten one of these? Anyone whose phone number doesn't start with a 444 prefix...aka outside of TV-Land? Reminds me of Carmine from Laverne and Shirley)...and thus, what? Loveless? Completely CARAZY as that is, many of us put exactly this kind of pressure on ourselves, on our significant others and on our relationships...All in the name of February the 14th. It is just one day...one that you share and celebrate with everybody else...keep it in perspective. Oh and P.S.- Lead by example. If you are a girl who loves a grand gesture, then you need to be mindful of the golden rule. Nowhere does it say that romance is the man's responsibility. It is okay- no...it is necessary for you to spread the love as well.

It Really Is The Thought That Counts:

Fellas, I can only speak for myself and for the girls that I know...and I know quite a few-but an ounce of thoughtfulness is worth a lifetime of grand gestures. What I mean is this, whatever you do for VD...or any day...do it with heart. Show attention to detail. Demonstrate that she is important to you by knowing what makes her smile. Whether it be making her coffee just the way she likes it (too much flavored creamer,dash of splenda) a post it that says "I love you" tucked away for her to find in the midst of the day's din, the smallest gesture is often felt the deepest. I know, it sounds funny- but I have yet to meet the girl that prefers two dozen red roses to a single orchid, sunflower,or Gerber daisy. Simply put, even on a commercial holiday celebrated by millions-we just want to know that we're unique...to you. So please get off your Anti V-Day Soap Box. Chances are, you don't shower your girl with affection and attention. You assume that she "just knows" the way that you feel about her. Yeah...she needs to be shown, and then reminded, later confirmed... and often reassured. There is no destination-this is an ongoing journey. Capisce? No need to break the bank, or to even spend a single cent. Seriously-never ever jewelry. Time and effort are both free and priceless simultaneously. So even if we say "Valentines Day is commercial and impersonal" we silently hope that this is one of the times you won't listen. And we won't tell you this-because while you were in Direct Boot Camp, we were at Mysterious School learning discretion. We were taught that frankness is unladylike, unbecoming even. And deep down, as difficult as this may be for you to comprehend, we believe that if you REALLY know us, if you TRULY love us...you have unspoken knowledge of what pleases us. As adults most of us have come to the harsh realization that this is not exactly the way relationships, or men operate...Still inside, we believe that they should. Hoping against hope-and logic that you really SEE us...

So...when VD rolls around this year, skip the hype and go for the heart. Whether you be male or female, single or in a relationship...Valentine's Day is about feeling and sharing and showing the love. What could be bad in that? So, don't sweat it, you've got this covered.

To love is to suffer. To avoid suffering one must not love. But then one suffers from not loving. Therefore to love is to suffer, not to love is to suffer. To suffer is to suffer. To be happy is to love. To be happy then is to suffer. But suffering makes one unhappy. Therefore, to be unhappy one must love, or love to suffer, or suffer from too much happiness. I hope you're getting this down.-Woody Allen

Spitefully Happy

2010-02-01T16:04:00.027-07:00

“I like to write when I feel spiteful; it's like having a good sneeze”
D.H. Lawrence

Um...so according to Mr. Lawrence, this blog is my "sneeze" of sorts.I suppose writing is like sneezing...because sneezing and venting both serve as a terrific release, sort of like dancing it out. Okay-so here goes the illusive point...This is not the bubbling over with fiery red volcanic smokey, lava-like-spite I am addressing here. Rather than possessing full blown spite,in order to get the picture let's toss in just a pinch of stubborn...maybe a handful or twelve-full of hardheadedness (yes I know that is JUST like stubborn)...you catch my drift. So to call a spade a spade, a duck a duck, or a spite a spite-as the case may be...my MO is NOT vengeance but rather,to pull out all the stops to slyly, persuasively and if need be-ferociously prove my point of view when it is in regards to something I feel strongly about...or to disprove someone else's (only when absolutely necessary-as it is a bull in a china shop, stifling, maniacal point of view that attempts to stomp out all those in its oppressive path))...thus bringing the Napoleonic position to its' timely end with a Die-Hard style vengeance. Yippee ki-yay...you know the rest...tic-tic-tic-tic boom.

In this case, my obstinate nature is being applied to happiness and the spite that is created when I believe someone is trying to steal my happiness or the joy of someone else away. Optimism, or at least guarded optimism is crucial to me...and not always easily sought,found or maintained. Still, I believe that aside from extreme cases, "You're as happy as you decide to be".And I CHOOSE to be happy, giddy even (not in the in your face, "are you for real?" irritating sort of happy, but the subtly, quietly giddy extra foam, double shot in your latte brand of happy)-and I want you to be shiny with me...pretty please? Life is so much more deliciously worth the living that way,la vida dulce...as life was intended to be.

Unfortunately there are Gloomy Gus fun thieving-types (aka the previously mentioned dinnerware crushing oxen) out there who do not see things in quite the same sunny way that we do. They skulk and lurk around like ragey little storm clouds-thundering and rumbling. And they will not be satisfied to merely rain out their own pathetically sad parades, so they turn on yours. They derive immense pleasure (in the form of misery loves company) from raining on your pretty little parade as well. They view it as a petty victory of darkness over light. They want to get your goat...so don't let them have it. Hold tight to your goat and don't let go-so what if you get a little wet. You're wash and wear.

So as far as the sun robbing ways of the wet blankets go...I won't stand for it and neither should you. Put your stiletto strapped or work book clad tootsie down (your choice) and stand firm. But through the kind of action that silently screams volumes and/or razor sharp words if absolutely necessary, I tell them to "Pedal their pessimism elsewhere-I have no place to put it. Sulk and skulk don't go with my decor." Miserable doesn't fit between the beta bowl and the bust of Shakespeare.

*DISCLAIMER* This is not to claim that I never have dark,angst riddled Alanis-type moments where I want to lull around in despair while wearing too much black...but just for a few. That gets old lightning fast(ka-chow).

SO when those crabby clouds invade my space, they're forced to navigate my mile wide stubborn streak to get at my bliss-no one has ever made it across to the other side. You see, my day can find trouble all on it's own- I certainly don't need any assistance from the Oscar department.

And so we arrive at the destination spite. When there is the sense that someone is trying to tie their twelve ton attitude to my little red wagon-I revolt with unchecked, bubbly jubilation. Even if I "have to fake it til I make it"-which I often do. The more the monsters growl and snarl, the more I laugh and sing...maybe even toss in some *jazz hands*for flair. Nothing squashes doom and gloom like razzle dazzle. Eventually, though these trolls rarely change...they are sent packing...grumbling and rachus shmachus-ing to themselves, red faced and fuming. Try it-it really does work. And it is a win-win. You feel better and the nasty nay saying gnomes are sent packing. Sparkle is once again restored to pleasant-ville.

So there. My joy can beat up their glaring, unpleasant half empty and so can yours.

Heaps of coal, getting more bees with honey, what have you...Adios Angry Amos.

Aaa-chooo...

*Smiley Sigh* What do ya' know D.H.-I do feel better-thanks.

You?

You Give Change A Bad Name

2010-01-13T16:11:00.045-07:00

Many people look forward to the new year for a new start on old habits.
~Author Unknown

Here we are...two and a half weeks into the New Year. 20-10...WHERE oh where is my AMAZING Get Ready Machine as promised in the Jetsons??? Sigh...Can you imagine??? I actually CANNOT conceptualize what I would do with the endless hours that I spend getting myself, or someone else ready to go someplace. With ALL that time why,I could...I could...solve the energy crisis (laughably not likely) or...take up marathon running (prominently preposterous)...um...keep up with the Kardashians....hmm...yeah...just-no thank you. Regardless, I would figure SOMETHING out...something delicious. It is a VERY good thing both Hanna AND Barbera are gone. Otherwise, they would SO be getting sued by some crazy cake munching American tizzied over the delayed delivery of pretend said wonder machine-right...about...NOW! What?!? I didn't MEAN me...Anyway, I prefer taking my crazy juiced-not caked. So aside from feeling obliged to snag a pair of metallic go-go boots and act as a stand in Bond Girl(007-20-10)-um...cause THAT girl fantasy knocks Barbie out cold...and heeled knee high boots in a garden full of glorious shades? Kick plastic stiletto's lil glossy pink toosh...). What else can we do while waiting for our space cars to arrive? (I'll take mine in gun metal gray with a sparkly finish please.) You know the answer to that question as well as I do. We can toast the bubbly to a new year. We can resolve in this new year with its new chances to make promises to ourselves that we have no true intention of keeping. Like when we set our clocks ahead in the mad hope that we will miraculously shave eight minutes off our best time. Imagining that we will leap out of bed promptly and gracefully. That our coffee will perk three minutes and twenty six seconds quicker and somehow taste richer, and our right shoe won't hide out under the darkest corner of the bed on the day that our hair took extra time to not turn out exactly the way we'd hoped. Then and only then will we magically be prompt-early even because we have "tricked ourselves" into it. It doesn't work that way though, does it? Because even in our usual flurry of activity we are smarter than we give ourselves credit for. In that panicked moment, when we glance frantically at the clock-we breathe a mammoth sigh of relief because we know that we have twelve minutes to race to said undisclosed location...and we also know we STILL won't make it-that STILL won't be enough-because we have an internal aversion to precise promptness. Time is many things:sneaky, shifty, evil... A friend? It is not. Yet still, like the clock "trick",we resolve. Every year, we resolve. We maintain our relentless, often foolish optimism and when the clock strikes twelve on the new year-we vow to ourselves that we will tame our cravings, minimize our faults, fade our idiosyncrasies, be more patient,more productive, shop less, be less impulsive, less sensitive, more brave, and less well...you.

So why do resolutions generally fall flat on their ray of sunshine faces before we witness the passing of January 23rd? It's not because we all couldn't use a little touching up or a tweak here and there. Nor is it because we should in any way refrain from bettering ourselves-expanding our often limited horizons.If we stop learning, cease to experience, retreat from challenges-we grow stale. We stop living, and just exist.Blah! Who wants that? If your life role could be played adequately by an extra? You're doing it wrong-and we all slack periodically-but there is a difference between a phase and a practice...although the one, effortlessly grows into the other. There are a few sabotaging factors when it comes to setting resolutions and seeing them through.

1. First, we make unreasonable requests of ourselves. In order for a resolution to be do-able by you, it has to ACTUALLY be-well, do-able. You cannot lose twenty three pounds in a week, quash seventeen years of bad habits in a day, or fix your faulty relationships with a crinkle of your nose. Unless you have a super turbo, tres magnifique wand? If you do- can I borrow it?? Set fair expectations for yourself.

2. The second fail factor is that we often set not one resolution, but multiple resolutions. Rome wasn't built in a day...and your massive reconstruction could take years and will likely overwhelm you at times. It took you a llloooonnnggg time to take on the unsightly traits, habits, pounds, dead weight in the form of sketchy time, energy and emotion-suck...it will likely take a lllooonnnggg time to unload them. Give yourself sufficient time...and take your resolutions like you take your days-one at a time. P.S.- if you drop your cute resolution ball one day? Pick it up and try again the next, don't be in a rush to retire it.

3. The third reason resolutions are well, often less than resolute? We don't accent the positive. As creatures that often view change as a negative, we inexplicably tend to focus on the "don't", rather than the "do". Okay so maybe this is another Jedi Mind trick (Geek-Chic)-but this one may actually work. Instead of "don't drink soda" try "drink more water"...Focusing on the things you want to do-could prove to be the missing piece to the positive alteration puzzle. Maybe you were just waiting for you to ask yourself nicely.

4. Finally, not to get all Shrink-y on you- but seemingly the changes we often want to make are symptomatic of deeper issues. If the deeper issue is not addressed, the symptom will continue. Perhaps an uglier, far less pleasant one will take its place-while the real cause grows and festers...(gross word-fester).Would be a bit like having stomach cancer and rather than investigating that further, od-ing on Pepto and Prevacid in an attempt to alleviate your discomfort. May make you feel better, but the thing you aren't looking at could wrap around you, poisoning you and possibly lead to your emotional, mental or physical demise...dun-dun-dun...I apologize for the dark turn. Aka- Get to the root so you don't get weedy.

Whoop-there it is...Heading into this new year of 20-10 clad in mini-dress or tux take your pick (Bond-ref again)let's by all means, get a little shinier, smarter, smilier and wiser. But unless we want our resolutions to turn out like another sad lil season of the Bachelor (they're not finding happily ever after THAT way, any more than MAC is having a Free Fab Eye Shadow Day...not gonna'happen-never,EVER,never)let's just not get crazy-er with our hope for change. Hope and change-both noble endeavors the one aiding and abetting the other. But? we already possess the shiny, smart, smiley, wise...they were gifted, some earned through blood loss, sleep loss, tear loss. It is the "er" we are seeking. So toss, delete, burn your list of how not to be yous...and pull a redo. Try making a list of the things you want to see in yourself, those qualities that you see if you squint, and make a plan of how to do it better...hence the "er" list...Ready? let's get "er" done.

“For last year's words belong to last year's language and next year's words await another voice."-T.S. Eliot

A Hermit-ess New Year's Eve

2010-01-04T12:53:00.013-07:00

"Should old acquaintance be forgot and never brought to mind...lalalalalalalala in days of auld lang syne." (By the way, I looked it up. It means: long,long ago, or days gone by. Thank you Wiki!)

...Oh the songs drunken people slur...

Well? I have Munchkins and finding a sitter on New Year's Eve is like finding a Kevin Costner movie where he doesn't play himself-it simply doesn't happen. My favorite though? Is the film where he plays the washed up athlete. Maybe you have seen it? It was either called Bull Durham, Tin Cup, or For The Love of the Game-not sure which (wink, wink). Also, I have no desire to go downtown. No unearthed internal hunger to pay twenty bucks only to park a mile away and have intoxicated phrat-like strangers breathe jager-nacho breath down my neck or vomit in my Choo's in a sardine crowded bar blaring bad music, at ear drum splitting volume. Alright...that is wishful thinking-the Choo's - not the vomit or the techno. So generally speaking, I prefer to spend Amateur Night-aka New Years Eve...indoors.

Should I miss the good old days of celebrating downtown? I can just drink one martini too many and slur nonsensically to the puggle in my poorly lit front room while dancing a bit too freely to Brick House- problem solved. Also, it is winter and it's cold...If I am going to venture out at night in frigid temperatures? I need an advance guarantee that my efforts will be more than warranted. Always thought it was more fun to get ready to go out on New Year's than it was to actually go out...similar to prom.Yes? WOW! I am becoming a bar snob in my slightly less than super young years. I still like to have fun, delight in painting the town "I'm Not a Waitress-Red"...just any night BUT New Years Eve. Also...think that I was maybe twenty four-when I developed a serious case of the Stop-Touching-Me's in relation to small enclosed areas...not conducive to the club scene, Black Friday, or visiting my mother. Why is it that mom's do that? The preening thing. I am not a monkey, not a toddler...nor is my face crying out for a slobber wash-it is called a sink-and I have one...running water and all. Look Mom, MAGIC! Well it is not THAT bad, just that my mom- whom I love...seems to have forgotten all about my personal space and um...how to not ask inappropriate questions. Still trying to find the app for that.HELP???!!

So the long and the short of it...Spent New Year's Eve with the Fam at the Chinese Buffet (Moo-moo. Sneeze guards and cattle calls... Yes I Know) it is Boy 6's favorite eatery. Had plans to take them to the Squeakqual...but apparently Monkey Man chomped one too many pot stickers and tossed his fortune cookies...all over his unbuttoned jeans. Again with the yak-factor...sorry. Perhaps it is just obligatory for this particular holiday? So instead headed home for G-Force. The Gerbil movie with the Black Eyed Pea soundtrack...and the bearded satchel guy from Hangover-strange combo...but whateva. Made me realize that every danceable song of 2009 was cut by the Black Eyed Peas or Lady Gaga...side note. Then later, watched Fight Club...and pretended it was 1999. How I have not seen it until now, and how no one has managed to blow (pun intended) the ending-is beyond me. Let's not examine the innumerable items also included on the "Beyond CJ List" okay?

When that was over, tuned in for the obligatory ball drop in New York City. First, I miss Dick Clark and think he has been so brave and classy through all of his health issues and I love that he still has a presence on New Year's Rockin' Eve. Second, I am not sure why...but Ryan Secrest hardly seems to be the man for the job. Aside from the fact that it is STILL called Dick Clark's New Year's Rockin Eve. I feel sort of mean, but Ryan reminds me of that boy in high school who went stag to Sadie Hawkins because no girl was worthy of his not-so quippy jargon or would allow enough room in his mom's wood paneled station wagon for his over inflated ego to ride shotgun...IF that guy had existed. Guess I refuse to like him because he clearly likes himself and his off the chart cheese factor enough for the rest of us. Think with all his dough he could hire a decent stylist and buy a shirt that fits. ANYWAY... there were also performances by...Daughtery, J-Lo in a black lace cat suit that would not have looked good on anyone-or it WOULD have looked fab on her...She should call for her fashion consultants head on a blinged out platter. Oh! And the Black-Eyed Peas!!!...*Pausing for surprised gasp* Mazel tov!

And that was pretty much it. That? Is how this Hermit-ess spent New Year's Eve. Chinese, Gerbils, Decade Old Movies viewed for the first time, Lil dancin it out to Boom Boom Pow and some vino. Red-of course....No complaints whatsoever.

Where were you when the year slipped out? Raising the roof...or huddled up beneath it? Regardless, I hope that it was worth it's weight in confetti and included a cardboard tiara and flat champagne. After all, we (or at least you) deserve the very best.

*Tossing you a Hallmark card*

Blow Out Your Candles...

2009-12-16T09:49:00.024-07:00

Happy Birthday to you, this is your ddaayyyy...on this day for you, we're gonna' love you in every waaay. This is your day, your ddaaayy. Happy Birthday-to you, to you,to you, to you-Happy Birthday to you..." New Kids on the Block...Oh the tween drama, tear soaked , Love's Baby Soft scented fantasies...

Another year, another birthday. Can I just say? And don't say no- cause I am going to anyway...That birthdays are the VERY, berry best! Especially the birthdays of those that you adore. Being on both the giving and reciprocating end of a whole month of constant "I love yous" kisses, coffee, back rubs,lip gloss...and yes...getting one's way with more regularity is a definite perk...simply cannot be beat. It's a win-win really. And perhaps by "ones'" I really mean mine...and perhaps, by "perhaps"...I mean indubitably. Sorry, but who doesn't like getting their way? If you said "not me" I call "oh no you di-int"-I love you anyway, *kisses*...but embrace it...Pretend it's Gerard Butler in his ginormous boots, beard and 300 robe(rrrreerrrr), or a Victoria's Secret Angel (um...flutter, bounce?)Take your pick and hang on tight. Courage of your convictions and all that...

We have been over this, if we just sought and received our own way all of the time we would be grubby heinous monsters, or spoiled celebs-same dif (more phrases that don't make sense). But it is human to want our own way and as long as it doesn't cross the lines of reason or burst anothers' bubble-it is even alright...or splendiferously delectable to get what you want. If you never, ever get your way you end up like a powerless little puppy tied just short of a juicy steak. That is sad and cruel. Nobody looks good in constant defeat. Nobody. Just ask...___________. Hahaha well see, I can think of LOTS of examples here-but can't think of anyone I carry enough animosity for to call a LOSER- outright...So...use your imagination and fill in the blank your own precious self. In fact, I think that is why I hated the game SORRY! so much. Man I detest losing!...Plus...no one is REALLY sorry in that game. Should be called SO NOT SORRY... Oh the point again...pesky lil thing...always trying to allude me. So the song, the goofy hat, the candles, blow out...*eyes shut, pucker up and hoooooo...wish*....

THAT is the point....found it. Birthdays are fun...as a rule...There is icing and music and a little love fest and then you are forced to make an obligatory wish that you don't believe in...Just like you don't wish on stars but when you see one free falling slow and glittery from a velvety azure sky, you just can't help yourself. Generally speaking, while we are playing pretend. I figure why not go for the whole pinata?...So I wish in massive,parade float sized,fluffy blush marshmallow style cliches..."Happily ever afters, infinite wellness, gilded sun shiny skies, smiles for miles, gobs and gobs of sparkles, red wine fountains, and dark chocolate for breakfast...Maybe ultra pretty shoes and a great pigment shadow that stays put even in the sleet...chips and salsa of course...plus the new Glambert (aka Adam Lambert) CD". And outside of ranting blog posts, I don't breathe a word of it to anyone, well, cuz you're not supposed'ta...or else it won't come true...

Guess what? In small doses it will all come true-even if you tell your mama and she shouts it out to the neighborhood. The sun will shine and our hearts will overflow. We will be well while eating decadently dark chocolate, sipping maroon hued vino from big round glasses and being Mary (or whomever you wish to be that day...And? I know it's really "merry")...Even the evil we wished against will come to pass...We will wear one ultra glam shoe...but the other one will drop and we will cry tears and we will lose jobs, friends and ideals. Dreams will come true and hopes will shatter...It's all a trade off...and it is all life...and it is all sweet-even if bitterly so. If we can sing and dance our way through it (no one-but no one did this with more charismatic panache than Gene Kelly. Shout out-*jazz hands*)...feel the music, smell the emotion, taste the goodness, hear the sound that our arms make when they are thrown open to embrace it all...Maybe just maybe we will be wearing something really fabulous as we recover from our stumbles and trips...and perhaps there will be big strong arms to set us back onto our feet when we fall. If not? Grab a wall...or chair...almost the same (although almost, isn't quite there)So...the gist is this...

What makes birthdays, birthdays- is how truly remarkable it is that you have people in your life who gather around you and celebrate that you were born. That you are loved enough that someone is thankful for you. That is the gift. Everything else is icing...hopefully the type of butter cream frosting that melts on your tongue after weighing it down with its sugary richness...And so *whispering in hushed tones* I think from now on, every year-I am going to wish for another birthday and maybe another person at my party...

One year it won't come true, but hopefully I will be dancing for a long, long time...singing badly and proudly...maybe with Glam-bert screaming back up in guy liner, manscara and hip-gloss...just because that would be glammerific fabiliciousness.

Not sure if I am early or late? But a Very Happy Birthday to You Too!
*Confetti-laced hugs*

The Things That People Say

2009-12-03T09:55:00.038-07:00

"My bad, SNAP, sweet, sick, seriously?, tight, phat,dawg, S'up?, homey, cool, man, dillly-o."

This is just a small sampling really of the slang buffet we have all grazed upon based on our moo-cow instincts to turn to the herd when looking for ways to pepper our self expression. I didn't miss the irony there, so I KNOW that you didn't. *Flashing neon I-R-O-N-I-C*...(Yes Alanis, it REALLY is...So-new verse?) Here is a short list of my current favorite phrases and words that have invaded our vernacular like little green aliens in a trailer park armed with probes...(That? is another day's study). So enjoy, hopefully laugh a little and feel my pain...

1. I'm not gonna' lie or To tell you the truth:
I hear this far more frequently than I care to, and I always cringe(hopefully imperceptibly-or else? There goes my mysterious ways). The reason for my disdain?
SHOULDN'T that go without saying? If one feels the need to put a header on WHEN they are actually telling the truth. Are we then to assume that everything else they have to say is the equivalent of Paul Bunyan and his big blue ox choppin' down cherry trees in an Easter Bunny suit and fibbin' about it to his pa-aka a hot steamy pile of...um...untruth??? To me, when I hear that? What really comes across is this:"Typically my nose reaches from here to Texas Pinocchio-style, cuz' I am a big,fat,bald-faced liar...but special just for you today *tossing cliff's notes to My Personal Truth* I am going to highlight the unwelcome semi-sincerity that occasionally spills from my lips against my will.Merry Christmas!" Honestly(<-did you get it, did you get it?) if anything, maybe we should spin the phrase to..."Hate to lie"...hopefully for most of us, untruth is the true rarity, not the unwelcome bullying intrusion of the truth on our otherwise perfectly dishonest existence.

2. Botched Words and Cliches:

None of us is perfect. Some of us...(I mean some of you) are closer than others...Laugh please...I am... We have ALL done this...Hopefully for our ego's sake we caught and remedied ASTAT. Mine was "For All Intensive Purposes"...Um...which in ACTUALITY is something that makes sense..."For All Intents And Purposes"...This is like confession for the verbally impaired...I imagine...How many "Our Fathers" for failing Cliches and Phraseology 101? Some of my favorites are: Supposibly,(aka Supposedly), Did a 360...(180?) Otherwise? Right back where you started from. Irregardless (regardless), Could care less (so you care a little then? COULDN'T care less)...The list goes on, and on and on. My mother is a professional Cliche Killer. Her fave is "We'll play it by year" That is a LONG time to make a plan! Mother...it is play it by EAR...as in take it as it happens...naturally...like the way music flows from the fingers of a musician...She could fill a book...kind of adorable, actually...once you get past the knee jerk nail on the chalk board wince. Cliches are cliche for a reason. Little anecdotes that have been proven true repeatedly through life experience and tested by history. So think through the ones that you use regularly-if they don't make sense...you may need to Google it. Check out Cliche's For Dummys from the liberry? (That was SO on purpose). You're welcome.

3. The Made Up-or-Hybrid Word-Name:

I am not only an abuser of this, but quite delight-if not SAVOR- creating my own language...All the better for us to understand each other my dear. You know...the way some of us add "ish or y" to the end of words to give them more flavor. Hybrid words are words like fantabulous (fantastically fabulous)...double the goodness, I say. The key here is to know your audience. Do not bust out your creatively, well-formed, best of both worlds language at a job interview or at your parents dinner party. Please just trust me...Save it for the beauterific, fabby-chic you choose to pass your non-laboring hours with...Why waste it on the simpletons? Another joke of course...Oh!But the Bennifer, Tom-Kat, Rob-sten junk...please, please GO AWAY...No, no...RIGHT NOW!!!

4. The Gross Overstatement:

Amazing,incredible,awesome,fantastic,gorgeous,insane,super,fabulous,beautiful,unbelievable,impressive!!!

All of these are handy pretty lil words that enhance what we have to say when something deserving comes along...However? The way that some of us toss them around as if they were words like...I don't know, alright, whatever, you know what I mean, okay, fine,swell, neato? We are quickly becoming the Peeps Who Cried AMAZING...Everybody in town runs to see what we are so crazy fired up and frenzied about. When they see that it was just say...a cup of lukewarm gas station coffee, or a BOGO trip to Payless Shoe Source...they eventually stop running when we tizzy. So what happens when we experience something truly breathtakingly unique and we want to share it with the class? Then due to our over exaggeration in the past -we have to wallow around in our blissy sumblimity (made up words....see? SO fun!) all by our lonesome. So don't cry FABULOUS...unless something is truly...well... fabulous. Easy peasy? Yes! Lemon squeezy.

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So...Whoop-there it is! The What To Say, How Not To Say It, And Whom To Shout It Out To...According To CJ....

Slang, phrases,and cliches can be fun...but Puh-leez be careful....Be selective! The goofy, freaky tweaky words you choose to express yourself, today? Become the neon scrunchie,linebacker shoulder pads of tomorrow. Take heed Shinys. And? Hopefully I avoided stepping on your tongue...um toes...whatever...

Thanking the UnThanked

2009-11-29T15:42:00.069-07:00

Thanksgiving is one of my very favorite holidays. This could be due to the fact that I am not the one cooking the turkey and tending to the numerous needs it shockingly maintains for a non-living, non-lovely creature. High maintenance is putting it mildly. It may as well have every cosmetic enhancement-attachment known to man, drive a Bentley and have a Heffy...aka sugar daddy. Or maybe Thanksgiving is so cozily intoxifying to me because sweet potatoes(canned, plus brown sugar, orange juice, maple syrup, marshmallows, oven...done and done) and (store bought)flaky on the outside, gooey on the inside rolls(generally served heated and in a basket masquerading-believably as homemade) are not too much of a strain on my acute lack of domesticity. Maybe it is all the pungent scents that fill the house; the tart of fresh cranberries, the sugar-nutty scent of pecan pie, the smell of wood crackling on the fire. Perhaps it's the rediscovered Christmas Cd's caroling melodically in the background. It could be the thrill of the football blaring on the television, or the sun burning stubbornly through the chilled fall air. Maybe it is the crunch of gold, ruby and amber colored leaves under my boots. Whatever the reason? I am thankful for Thanksgiving. Of course the togetherness is nice and we are all thankful for the heaped blessings we have like home and family, friends,health, food...not to be mistaken for health-food...Just so we're clear...that is a curse and not a blessing. As I was sitting post consumption (no tofu or granola in site) in my L-Tryptophan induced dreamlike haze...my mind took a little detour.I started to think about some of the things I am thankful for...things and people that may otherwise go un-thanked.

Okay...so here is the list I generated on my brief, familiar trip to Random-ville.

1. I am thankful for the orange-red poppies that bloom in my neighbors front yard during the sweltering summer months. They may as well be shiny-the way they grab my gaze as I stroll past their house. Not quite sure that I have experienced poppies outside of the fiery field in the Wizard of Oz that lulls Dorothy and her Friends into a dreamy sleep. But this little patch of poppies, on this simple suburban street, in this two-horse town, in my little corner of the world...is beauty flower-ified. There is a quote that says "I would rather have flowers on my table than diamonds on my neck." I wouldn't be mad at either, but I definitely would rather have poppies in my neighbors yard than to suddenly develop a grassy green, soil-brown and wormy thumb. Although the poppies? They do gloriously beckon me to do so in their oh-so vivid "get some of us all your own" bursts of crimson and mandarin.

2. Okay so this is pretty lame, I realize. And I apologize for aiding the spread of consumerism like the small pox. I CAN resist Shmarshmucks MOST of the time. However, until the Starbucks Holiday Flavors arrive? Neither does the Christmas Season...officially. A friend of mine aptly describes their holiday coffees as "Christmas in a Cup".Be it gingerbread, eggnog, peppermint mocha...(the list goes on) have yourself alotta lattes...and you will be thankful too-EVEN if you have to make yourself an island of solidarity with your no-name joe, drunk black. Brewed via recycled filter, sipped roguely from your sad lil ugly chipped mug until next Christmas...as java penance for your herd-like Christmas coffee gluttony. Just Do It...now enter cheesy, quippy commercialism...sorry. I'm so sorry...

3. Chugga-chugga-choo-choo- Enter the goofy train. I am thankful for music and how much it enriches our lives...as a non-singer, non-dancer, non-musician...my life is still significantly enhanced and defined by music. With the passing of Michael Jackson this year-I took a little moonwalk back (chacoot, chacoot*Michael noise*) and thought about what an amazing musical legacy he left behind. Truthfully I was weepfully wistful, because from Thriller:the first record I purchased with my own dime (um those were big, black, vinyl round disky things that played in a spinny box with a needle dealy...records, not dimes. Dimes still exist)to the WIZ (which I adored and ahem...may have allegedly seen at the drive-in-"Ease On Down The Road")...Michael left a white glove-shaped mark on my young life. His was the first face(via poster) to grace my bedroom wall and his was my first big concert. Creatively...he was a gift to us all. And then? Patrick Swayze left us too. And even though The Outsiders was not musical (It was still Brat-Packed with teen angst and tear drops)-Dirty Dancing most certainly was. I will never be able to hear "Stay," "Cry to Me." "Do You Love Me?"...or anything else from that soundtrack without being instantaneously pulled into summer-recalling in living color being a long-legged gawky tween in cut offs and a tied white button down (just like Baby) and dreaming of a Johnny all my own. One that MOST assuredly would disallow anyone to "put me in the corner"...and would log dance with me on a whim. For a gazillion reasons-sentimental and otherwise-I am thankful for music-and the memories with which they enrich our lives.

4. There is an outdoor ice rink near my house. One that I have never set skate on. But there is something so Norman Rockwell about it- that it (like Tom Cruise when he was more Maverick-than Maniac) simply takes my breath away. Encircled in icy-blue twinkle lights in a courtyard dressed up to its' mistletoe in Christmas. Tucked into a side street decked in wreaths, garland and holly. There is even a shiny silver Airstream vending steamy hot cocoa. This wintry wonderland could not be more magical, well...if it were magical...Oh and it reeks (in a caramel-apply goodness kind of way)...of Serendipity. You can't go wrong there. If you haven't seen the movie? Don't admit it out loud. Order it from Amazon, don't bother renting.Merry Christmas from John Cusack to you.

5. Finally...I am thankful for laughter. The loud unchecked kind that shakes my babies' bellies. Because there is no other such example of pure, unabashed joy as the giggles that run rampant and take us over in waves. How frequently get entangled in the stresses and the troubles of the irrelevant trifles that we allow to occupy us...that we forget what it is to cut loose and laugh so hard that tears stream down our cheeks and the air escapes our lungs in jovial fits. What a delectable way to suffocate! Who couldn't use more laughter and whimsy? Serious is overrated. Silly is the new sophisticated...Or hadn't you heard? Regardless...

Alas, I find it quite pleasurable here in Randomville...so I am gonna' chill here...maybe get a little giggy wid' it...but you better be getting back. By all means, come and visit me here again. Consider it an open invitation...Next time? Bring your thank the thankless box and show me what ya' got in there. Deal?

Who Let The Wolves Out?

2009-11-22T09:05:00.065-07:00

Warning: If you plan to see New Moon and have not? The following blog is soaked in spoilers...marinated to my own personal taste...You may want to hold off until after the movie, novel, or both...Then? Please, consume it raw...haha...okay...enough vampire references...for a second or two at least.

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Like gaggles of other Cullen-Cravers ranging in age from twelve to sixty two,and dieing to take a bite out of the latest installment of the Twilight Saga, I saw New Moon this past weekend. Of course the flick was proceeded by sushi, sake and screaming girls, of which-shockingly,I was not one. This is not to say-mind you,that once the theater got dark-I didn't gasp involuntarily. Nor will I swear that a suppressed squeal,or two might not have sneaked through my parted lips.I will neither confirm nor deny that a few throaty vamp growls broke loose from my throat...but this? ALL of this...is COMPLETELY appropriate behavior in a world where vamps have hair so fantastic that it puts 90's super models to shame. Where they slink and crouch around like Barishnikov in couture that fits like a sparkly diamond encrusted Italian glove designed by Versace. Oh...and the growling thing? Even more acceptable in the high temperature, shape shifting, volatile and impassioned world where wolves pounce, snarl and savor the flava of crimson eyed blood suckers with dreads...Oh!...And they can't be troubled with shirts as they are far too restrictive for their switchity-split,fast paced lifestyle. Welcome to Forks Washington, the cloud shrouded moss covered place where the mythical mingles with the locals and camouflages its magic with the mundane monotony of small town life.

The long and the short of it is...I entered the theater with a cherry coke and a cup half full of expectation (also a twinkly Twilight Saga tee and Cullen necklace that although unplanned,matched my friend Jen's). You see, New Moon is my least favorite of the four books in the Twilight Saga. This has very little(if anything)to do with the actual writing of the novel and volumes to do with what occurs, or doesn't occur between its covers. Where the sudden, fate driven, angst-ridden, forbidden and fiery, all-consuming "young"love of Edward and Bella take center stage in Twilight...-in New Moon, with the prick of a finger, the stumble of Bella, the snap of an arm, and the jump of a Jasper(the newest and least practiced"Vegetarian Vampire" in the Cullen family),the story takes a darkly, don't-bother-getting-out-of-bed anytime soon- dramatic turn for the depressing...With the words,

I promise that this will be the last time you’ll see me. I won’t come back. I won’t put you through anything like this again. You can go on with your life without any more interference from me. It will be as if I’d never existed.
Edward Cullen, New Moon, Chapter 3, p.71

Edward abandons Bella to grasp feebly at the mere vapor of what she had believed to be her destiny. She is left shrouded in a pain riddled, doubt evoking darkness without an escape plan, a Snuggie to warm her,or so much as a pen light,to illuminate her path tangled with brush. Still she stumbles ahead, blindly, in search of her Edward.

With shaky legs, ignoring the fact that my action was useless, I followed him into the forest. The evidence of his path had disappeared instantly. There were no footprints, the leaves were still again, but I walked forward without thinking. I could not do anything else. I had to keep moving. If I stopped looking for him, it was over. Love, life, meaning… over.
Bella Swan, New Moon, Chapter 3, p.73

When she finally allows the realization that Edward has gone and taken with him, her hope and her need for air, Bella lets the deep, suffocating, darkness engulf her.

The waves of pain that had only lapped at me before now reared high up and washed over my head, pulling me under. I did not resurface.
Bella Swan, New Moon, Chapter 3, p.84

Edward has decided for Bella, that she is better off without him. Providing her with only a few cryptic clues of his plan the days proceeding his departure. He leaves her in a fetal heap of raw, broken pieces on the forest floor. This is where Sam Uley,(sorry but I expected him to be more commanding and ferocious in the film) who we later find out is the alpha dog in a pack of Native American shape shifting wolves...sweeps up her emotional remnants in his massive wolfy paws and lays her out cold and crazy on Charlie's couch. Now I am not sure if it is Edward's calloused delivery of his half cooked plan, his shortsighted lack of consideration for Bella who allegedly brought his cold-dead heart back to life, or his foolish notion that while he will carry this "burden" eternally,she is shallow enough to forget him when he takes her photos of him and of his family, a few material items and the CD of the song he wrote her. Regardless the reason,I spent the rest of New Moon cursing Edward as if it were me he left screaming out in torture in the dead of night, rather than Bella. So from this point forward, I read and viewed with a mammoth, pretend vampy chip on my shoulder. Because, HOW DARE HE???!!!!(BOO) Pretend Vamp-Charmings should be forced to behave as such.

Oh right! The movie. I loved it. The over all production quality was better than that of the first. Found the changing of the guard-or director, as it were, in Harry Potter-esque fashion- to be a wise move. Seemingly bringing a fresh perspective to each novel in the saga appears to be a positive. The film introduced the pack of wolves spiritedly.They are both menacing and playful,comforting in their refuge and disconcerting in the threat they pose to the Cullens-whom we still love in spite of ourselves.Taylor Lautner is perfectly cast as Jacob Black,his smile bright as the sunshine he brings to radiate its warmth through Bella's bleak barely there existence. He naturally embodies Jacob's charisma and warmheartedness handily taking on the role of Bella's best friend/wolfy,playful man child. (Whoop, whoop...quick shout out for the Team Jacob girls-to whom I identify, and with whom I hang, but of which I am not).There were some mumbled concerns that the barely legal Lautner would be able to show the physical transformation that Jacob begins in New Moon and continues through Breaking Dawn, but hand Taylor credit, because it is due. The audience never doubts Taylor as Jacob. In addition, Kristen Stewart does DESTROYED really well. I would go so far as to say that her performance in New Moon may have had more bite(pun completely intended) than her Twilight portrayal of Bella Swan. What little we see of Robert Pattinson as Edward and Ashley Greene as Alice... along with the mere glimpses we are permitted of the other Cullens-leave us appropriately, thirsty for more. I've read all of the books. Hang on...they're coming....finely threaded and juicy with surprises. So while it is not going to get a warm embrace from Oscar, New Moon is all that it promises to be; romantic, heart wrenching, thrilling and full of imaginary deliciousness.

My list of criticisms is short. With technology being what it is, I would have fathomed that the wolf transformation could have been more...say...um...Grinchish or Tolkien-esque (sorry don't do tons of sci-fi-horror) and by that, I mean..."believable"...and perhaps a bit less Never Ending Story or Land of the Lost (the original) quality in the technological department. Admittedly, I giggled a few times. Presumably,watching your friends shape shift into giant wolves, should be alarming and disconcerting and not so much laughable to an eye watering degree. That is an issue in the area of effects, not in the performance arena. Also in the effects department, the Volturi looked more to me like they should be doing the little Star Trek wave, than sweeping frightfully at light speed across the room to drain you of life. In the book the Volturi are lavish, regal and traditional, they strike fear but yet arouse your curiosity and fascination...They are vampire royalty and wrench your respect from you with their mere presence. I didn't so much get that. Aro was sort of wussy and that whole scene seemed rushed. Why bring in a name like Dakota Fanning and not give her time to bring the face of a cherub, grip of a demon-Jane to life? She IS capable of doing so. Finally, the ending? Have to reread...but I could have sworn that was an Eclipse thing. I am sure they had good reason for rushing that along, cliffhanging suspense perhaps? Again, these are creative decisions and I am being nit picky. None of these things, kept the movie from being a vamp-stravaganza, wolf-tacular success. New Moon the movie, successfully brought New moon the novel to living, breathing, bounding, venomous life in it's transference to the big screen.

In conclusion, since completing the saga, it has been my opinion that Bella is a bit too quick to forgive and forget. Crazy glue doesn't work on hearts. Still she is so utterly amazed by Edward's return that she just can't stop staring...understandably of course, but with the delivery of a few well-timed lines?

So I thought I’d explained it clearly before. Bella, I can’t live in a world where you don’t exist. (Edward)

and...

After all the thousand times I’ve told you I love you, how could you let one word break your faith in me? (Edward)

also...

My heart hasn’t beat in almost ninety years, but this was different. It was like my heart was gone—like I was hollow. Like I’d left everything that was inside me here with you. (Edward)

Bella is all too willing to let the whole..."Edward shredded my soul and left me for stupid or dead" thing go. I am not sure how sound this is...How dare I question the realism of a vampire, wolf, ordinary girl love triangle?...Still, Edward vows:

I’ll earn your trust back somehow. It’s my final act. (Edward)

and how could you NOT let him at least TRY to make it up to you? No faulting Bella there, however, he should at the very least be in the naughty corner until book 3.

That is just my humble opinion...

You Say I'm Spoiled Like It's A Bad Thing...

2009-11-11T14:28:00.013-07:00

At some point or another, we have all been accused of and/or have accused others of being spoiled.

Every single person that I know is at least a pinch spoiled. Naturally, we all like things to go the way that we desire for them to go...Where we want them to go, when and how we want them to go...It would be a tad strange in a "there might be a pill for that" or a "you look like you could use some rest" kind of way- if we savored inconvenience and relished discomfort...And so, in a sense,this "spoiled" thing is essentially in our hard wiring. Although, I am not sure that wanting things to go your way qualifies you as spoiled-or selfish even...I think that it may be the unbending expectation of getting our way in everything ranging from importante to minuscule,and our toddler-like reaction to that expectation not being met...that sends spoiled bubbling up (sometimes over) to various degrees. Hahaha...So...Do you sniff a mystery Scooby?...Not a mystery so much as a teensy confession that I have already justified...thank you very much.

In my super young, ultra-exciting, endlessly glamorous life (hahaha) I have known a lot of self absorbed, child-like, temper tantrum throwing, spoiled rotten people. Even if you have not known them personally, we all encounter these self serving little tyrants in our every day lives. Typically we find them waiting until the lane ends and cutting off a mile-long snake of cars who got over when they were instructed to...because their time is simply THAT much more valuable than the rest of ours. Perhaps they are pitching a fit at the Barista in the front of the line at Shmarshmucks because their "Why Bother" has half a percent of fat, or an ounce of caffeine, or perhaps their soy is not soy enough, or their vanilla not beany enough...Regardless, we stifle a laugh or cringe in discomfort for the object of their wrath...perhaps we pull up a chair and grab popcorn...and undoubtedly, we feel sorry for their mama...if they have one-that is...

Truly, thankfully...(I would do the cross thing and look to heaven if I were Catholic)... I am not that style of spoiled. I am spoiled in the sense that I have a difficult time denying myself or those that I love...the things that we want...Within reason of course...Not talking Italian sport cars, eight carat diamond earrings, or gazillion dollar entertainment systems...More along the lines of...a cherry coke, or a new lip gloss-maybe the Munchkins want an ice cream or the latest Disney movie...THOSE are the areas where my discipline is lacking and my resistance is futile. The smells good, tastes yummy, looks fabulous, sounds spectacular, feels oh-so nice...is hard to say no to...for me at least....And so I indulge myself and those around me...just a tad. Actually, that is not what I believe makes me spoiled so much as when I cannot for whatever reason- partake and share such things...I put on the sulk...Yep, a big ruby letter S on my sweater...unintentionally...and I don't wear it proudly at all-but still it slinks in and sticks around uninvited...just for a spell. Just until another opportunity for a little bliss pops up...and for that reason-I suppose, I am spoiled-I am just not so sure that I would have it any other way...except for the sulking. Maybe I should just go all gladiator and take what I want by brute force...then the sulk would have outlived its "usefulness"...If you knew me- you would be on the floor rolling in fits of laughter trying not to wet yourself...that visual is so laughably preposterous...

But? I know you are spoiled too...it's only fair. So, c'mon admit it-you can tell me. There are things in this world that turn you into Verruca Salt...What are they? Golden Gooses? Tell me already. Pretty please?

Surprise Me

2009-10-29T20:22:00.070-06:00

Life is full of surprises.

At least, that is what the quote says. Not to say that it isn't so.We have all been caught slightly off guard when something didn't go the way that we had anticipated. Possibly we received an extra fortune in our cookie, or we left home without an umbrella and the sky opened up and flooded us head to toe exploiting our unpreparedness...Occasionally,life bowls us over with a twelve ton ball of tragedy or heartbreak that knocks us out of our shoes and flat onto our backs...leaving us momentarily still while we wait for the wind to return to our storm bedraggled sails...THAT cannot help but be a surprise, as there is just no preparing for that...Clearly pain is not the shiny kind of surprise-not the kind we would wish for when we lean wistfully over our butter cream iced, fondant embellished birthday cake and blow out our candles aglow with promise.

To a certain point, we have the sweet,familiar comforts to look forward to... the violet colored bloom bursting through the crack in the muted pavement, the smilingly familiar face of an old friend, paying an unexpected visit...But we stop holding our breath in the anticipation of discovering anything that is truly unique. "There IS nothing new under the sun"...I am sure that I have quoted this before...it is one of those things that gnaws at my thoughts when I lie awake at night. Although it is true-it is definitely thunder stealing, in a why bother?-sort of way. Tainted with sadness-right? Because more or less,surprise-drags delicious mystery right out the door with it when it goes. Living causes a sort of amnesia that erases the breathtaking wonder of our childhood...where every new idea, each daily discovery...made life magical.We greeted each and every sun soaked morning-just KNOWING that the day was fat with surprises, bursting with undiscovered secrets. If we only kept our eyes wide open, our minds vigilant, our hands out- each of our fingers spread, our hearts stout...We...like super heroes or fairies, or explorers...or whatever we could dream up to be that day... would bust the day open like a pinata and the sweet delicious reward of victory would pour down on us from a candy filled sky.

Somewhere however, after the big lessons have been learned-after we take a few spills, after we have surrendered our youthful idealism to the oppressive, unavoidable presence of reality...Without giving it any conscious thought whatsoever-we give up on the hope that there are still any genuinely sugary sweet surprises in store. The blind faiths that we once clung to begin to lose their brilliance. We have learned the hard way that we have to ask questions, a lot of them, many of them difficult, deep and dark. If we accept and believe and pour ourselves into people, ideas, beliefs, hopes... without questions? We not only prove ourselves foolish, but our hearts get scratched and dented in the process. And the body work on a scratch and dent heart? Is costly in both tears and time...after which the weak point remains...just waiting to split at the weakened seam. And so...we disbelieve. We protect ourselves from disappointment by assuming that life has no more surprises in store for us. It is just safer that way.

That is...until one day when we, our tired feet on the trodden trail...our eyes on the destination, our minds locked in on our goals...trip over an obstacle in our path...and fall...SPLAT...hard...face planting...pleasantly into something that at first we do not recognize. Our initial reaction is to be cautious-our wall immediately starts to rise...but we reluctantly wiggle around in it a bit, spreading our toes. Then we try it on for size, move around in it...see how it feels against our skin. We allow it to convince us to lie still and let it's warmth spill thick and gooey all over our insides. And when we cease our brief struggle against the hope whose face we had forgotten, we remember how amazing it feels when our eyes twinkle and our laughter rolls out of us unchecked. We exhale the sweet breath of anticipation of what tomorrow may bring and embrace the familiar thrill of once again viewing the world through those rosy tinted shades.Pink is SO our color. And as we get reacquainted with our companion-Surprise in any of it's brilliant disguises or forms...we are suddenly sublimely aware that tomorrow, should it drop our hand that it now holds comfortingly...leaving us devastatingly desolate in the dark...with the splitting sound of our heart seam...tearing open once again...it would be worth the bliss that we experience in this moment.

And we hope...that we will remember this giddy, all consuming, powerfully inspiring feeling. That it will get us through the aching storm that will likely follow and that in spite of the rain, we will keep being surprised...because it is worth the cost.

So please...even if I kick and scream...occasionally reveal my fangs...

Surprise Me

Come Back Tomorrow

2009-10-25T19:42:00.013-06:00

Making our way through daily life is best accomplished with a strut, a bounce, a glide, a stomp...perhaps even a swagger-if you JUST can't help yourself...Pick your poison. But today? I was lucky to pull off a languid, slovenly,slide...That twinkly spark that keeps us all moving uniquely throughout the day leaving our stamp on our minor victories and minute interactions-was lost under the sluggish oppressive shuffle of the meager three and a half hours sleep I was able to squeeze in. Although it was a relaxing and generally lovely Sunday...from the time I opened my four hundred and forty nine pound eyelids on the inky bleak weather dripping in melty drizzle and blotted with the fallen leaves of summer...my lone motivation was to make it back to the comforting cradle of my beloved worn just right pillow and to be wrapped in the velvety embrace of my downy feather blanket that smells of lavender and yesterdays perfume-which was...Philosophy-Falling in Love-if you were wondering....or even if you weren't. Fair enough...but when I was staring at the wall as though it were a shiny slow swinging pendulum agleam with embedded emerald hued crystals and humming Summertime in the soul-soaked throaty voice of Billie Holiday...my sleepy mind drifted...heehee as it is prone to do...and landed on a caramel drizzled cloud of loftiness.

Actually I couldn't resist the word "loftiness"...but in reality- I was dwelling on sleep and the whisper from my weary body that she could very easily curl herself up and give the busied mind the strict instructions to pipe down and give my stubborn eyes the permission to blink just a little slower...lingering just a second or twenty two before throwing themselves back open in halfhearted protestation. Then like a feather on the gale of an aggressive autumn wind- my thoughts were carried to the endless opportunity of each day and the gift of the unknown and how it is our obligation to open the door when opportunity knocks at it. Be it the chance for a chocolaty, steamy latte on a chilly afternoon, or a new job opportunity, or a moment where a dream presents itself on a shiny silver dish and dresses up in crimson cherries, drizzling itself in hot fudge...handing you a sterling spoon...

Then? Whoosh-whisked away again-my mind surrendered to my current exhausted state and arrived at the necessary conclusion that just for today....should opportunity come knocking?

Rat-tat-tat..."Opportunity! Want me to fluff your pillows?"

I would hang the Do Not Disturb sign on the handle...with a handwritten note and a tip-politely requesting that Opportunity please come back tomorrow....

With that, I continued my struggle against the day and have now...completed the mission-which I had no choice but to accept...And with that Dear Reader...I can ignore the all consuming call of the bed no longer. Sweetest of dreams.

I need to rest up...I have a play date with Opportunity at two seventeen.

Foiled by the Fairy Tale

2009-09-03T16:06:00.064-06:00

Once upon a time, there lived a beautiful princess,or previously wealthy, lovely girl orphaned by her father or her mother-sometimes both...She lived in a castle, great house, high tower. She roomed with fairies,her wicked stepmother,evil step sisters,or all on her own. She was sad and lonely, cursed, over worked, under payed, never appreciated. Add a glass slipper,pumpkin coach,poison apple,spinning wheel.Enter fairy godmother,wicked witch,little singing men,friendly talking animals, fire-breathing dragon,fearsome sea hag...The previously mentioned are interchangeable,but always without fail...enters Handsome Prince. Who just when the poor little princess, with nothing but her kindness and physical splendor to aid her is about to meet her untimely and tragic demise...sweeps in-often singing,frequently atop his mighty steed and slays said dragon,tricks wicked witch and often wakes her with his kiss. Then there is a big white wedding and they all live happily ever after...
The End...?????

To make myself clear, my imagination has more colors than any rainbow, more hues than a Croyola box of 64 crayons-truly. And I firmly believe in positivity and promise, in hope, in beauty and in love...and SO...I hate rain on this highly logical, flattering and deeply philosophical imaginary parade- I do...but I just gotta'....

Because this illusion, this fluffy, pretend, never going to happen-sparkly wand induced,blush pink fantasy is what we feed our little girls. It is what we were fed as little girls. And as sweet and as fantastical as it all may be...it is a pretty lie that we encourage them to believe. Little girls grow into big girls, big girls grow into women. Women that eventually will fall in love and will possibly get married. And even though most of them will never admit it-the expectation,the blue print for their life is at it's core based on a Prince Charming...and Happily Ever After. As I have mentioned previously,I am an avid viewer and passionate enthusiast of Grey's Anatomy.If you don't understand,I really can't explain it-it just speaks to me. Anyway, the shows'writer Shonda Rhimes says EVERYTHING better than I could ever dream of saying it. In this case, she used Meredith Grey to reveal the following wisdom on this subject...

“You know how when you were a little kid and you believed in fairy tales, that fantasy of what your life would be, white dress, prince charming who would carry you away to a castle on a hill. You would lie in bed at night and close your eyes and you had complete and utter faith. Santa Claus, the Tooth Fairy, Prince Charming, they were so close you could taste them, but eventually you grow up, one day you open your eyes and the fairy tale disappears. Most people turn to the things and people they can trust. But the thing is its hard to let go of that fairy tale entirely cause almost everyone has that smallest bit of hope, of faith, that one day they will open their eyes and it will come true.

As a mother of a little girl, of course I want her to have hope and faith-to truly believe in the few things worthy of her unfailing devotion. I pray that she will appreciate inner beauty and find the goodness in the people that she encounters. Yet, when I hear her sing about beauty and princes and talk about weddings in her long, shiny princess dress-I am poignantly aware of the message these stories send. I am not the most modern of women. I am not bitter and jaded, this is not male bashing in the least. However, the issues with the fairy tale version of life are as follows; the princesses in fairy tales are limited to only their physical beauty, their lives are all miserable-lonely and sad until Prince Charming comes and rescues them from their desolate existence(even the name,Prince Charming,really?!?) Finally, the fairy tale-ends with the wedding...so about, two thirds of Princesses' life? Just....unaccounted for? Once she has achieved the lofty "goal" of marriage, she accomplishes nothing else worthy of mention? This is supposed to be a fairy tale not a tragedy.

How wrong it is for a woman to expect the man to build the world she wants, rather than to create it herself.
Anais Nin

At its core, this is what I hope to instill in my Baby Girl. She is beautiful and so is everyone else in their own unique way.It doesn't matter if the world agrees, or if she fits its mold. In fact, I prefer that she doesn't.Rarely does a true treasure fall from the sky...you have to dig for it.If she can find in herself and in others-a beautiful heart, a lovely soul, a thoughtful mind...her life will be rich. Inner beauty is the only beauty that truly counts. An ugly spirit,kills a pretty face-every time. No exceptions.I want her to use her head and her heart and not spend too much time worrying about her face, or her body. That said, I want her to take care of herself on every level, because it makes her feel fulfilled to be her best-to grow, experience, challenge, accomplish, and change.

She may not befriend dinner mint colored fairies or sing with musical animals, but I want her to discover for herself, that the world IS a magical, amazing place. I hope she greets it as such-her eyes wide, her arms open. And though she will inevitably encounter witches and dragons-I want her to muster the courage to battle and conquer them...and not wait for, nor rely upon someone else to do it for her. It is my wish that she waste not a moment waiting to be rescued by, or from anyone or anything. She is stronger than she thinks, she just won't know the power, strength, gifts and bravery she possesses until she dances through the fire. While trusting herself is crucial, trusting others is necessary to living a full life. Of course I want her to find love. First a love of herself-which requires that she first find out who that is, then a love of someone else. After which she should nurture a love of both-not losing one to the other. I hope she learns the difference between adapting and assimilating.May she take an active roll in her life and refuse to let it just "happen" to her. Life is made up of the little moments...let her find gladness in those and not wait at home for the "big" experiences to arrive.How much time is wasted in that way!I want her to know the bliss of a true surprise and I hope that she knows many-because it means that she has not become cynical. I hope she stumbles and falls sometimes-because if she doesn't, she is not spending enough time living on the edge.Above all else, I hope she is kind, forgiving, gracious,joyful and generous...with herself and with the world. Should she one day marry, I hope she realizes that is not where her story ends-but merely the start of another chapter in her book of life...there will be many more before her curtain closes. Speaking of stages-may she both take it and shine and give it up to someone else when she is not the best one for the part. I hope she asks for help when she truly needs it and offers assistance when others are in need. May she provide a crying shoulder to the saddened, much needed reassurance to the faint of heart,warmth to those left out in the cold, empathy to the misunderstood, strength to the weak, guidance to the lost, and a hand to hold onto to those reaching out. Let her surround herself with people who provide the same to her. Happiness is a choice-may it be what she chooses for herself. Finally, I hope Baby Girl has faith and never loses it-although it may seem to fail her at times...

That isn't too much to ask for her, is it? Never mind, I don't care. I want it for her just the same.

Back to Shonda Rhimes and Meredith Grey for a wrap up...

At the end of the day faith is a funny thing. It turns up when you don't really expect it. It's like one day you realize that the fairy tale may be slightly different than you dreamed. The castle, well, it may not be a castle. And it's not so important happy ever after, just that its happy right now. See once in a while, once in a blue moon, people will surprise you , and once in a while people may even take your breath away. -----

That said, I hope she takes her own breath away, writes her own story...and that it is rich with laughter, experiences, growth, love and, well...LIVING-in color and out loud. And that at the end of it all, she can look on it with a full heart and realize that she wrote it so much better than the shallow, short sighted fairy tales in which she once believed.

The End

Instinctively Impaired

2009-08-24T09:47:00.015-06:00

I have always considered myself to be a fairly instinctive person. Throughout my life, I have trusted and often acted on my instincts. For the most part, they have served me well. My instincts on character judgment especially, have been primarily spot on. Until now. Over the course of the past two years or so, my instincts have misfired completely. I am not sure if it is a failure of my instincts,a side effect of my stage in life, or that the people (and there are quite a few at this point) that I have misjudged (erring in their favor)are conniving and deceptive, OR if they changed drastically during the time that I knew them and my radar was blinded to the change because they had since endeared themselves to me causing me to view them at their best.You know, in the way that once you really know someone...you are no longer capable of seeing them with just your eyes. Regardless, the result is that I not only have lost faith in my instincts, but as a person who really loves people...I have begun to lose trust in mankind as a whole. It is not that I think there is no goodness in the world, because I know that there is...it just seems to be getting harder and harder to find and more difficult still to believe. And for whatever reason, my heart has become as blind as my eyes. And now, when I think I have come into contact with true goodness, I have admittedly become guarded and jaded-refusing to take anything as it appears, or even as it initially proves itself to be.

Herein lies the conundrum. This loss of faith...is it wisdom gained through experience or is it an emotional and spiritual pendulum sway toward pessimism? Is optimism blind faith? My outlook, is generally sunny...yet I have to question if my heart, my faith, my hope would be better served, more conscientiously cared for- by a step up in security...a significantly more closely guarded optimism. How many times do either your judgment, or others, or a combination of the two...have to fail you...before you are foolish not to take a scrutinizing inventory of the way you do life's business and do some serious, possibly drastic restructuring?

At this point, I don't have any answers. Just volumes of philosophical questions. As a Dreamer, I suppose maybe I was in need of some grounding. I just feel as if I am tight rope walking the wobbly rope of hope and beneath me is not a net...but a pit of clouded, bottomless, despair. Everything happens for a reason, even if we are too close to the situation to see what that reason is. Even if distance...miles and miles, years and years, nights of sobbing inconsolable distance are required to see what that reason is...My concern is this- if an open heart and open mind are required to truly love, to empathize with and to know people. If being receptive, arms outstretched to life's experiences-is key to successfully savoring life's journey...yet every time our judgment fails us,we fail ourselves, our hearts fail us, or others fail us. Every time a piece of our heart is broken off carelessly, sometimes viciously, and tossed aside...The open arms, the open door, the open heart closes-just a little-sometimes if the injury is deep enough, the door slams shut...If we force the door open-are we fools? If we allow it to close in on us-do we turn cold? Where is the harmonious medium? Is there one? Maybe this too...requires distance. But how much time is wasted waiting for that distance to evolve? Fools rush in,"...Elvis said so...so how much time is too much and how much-not enough? How do we know? Are we to trust our feelings? Our instincts? After all, they are what got us into this mess. Admittedly our minds are not skilled at subtlety or lack of fact. So then what?

It is often heard that your mind, should tell your heart how to feel...and for some that may suffice...but for the ruby red,gushy, overflowing, throbbing,passionate, soft yet strong-hearted...the deafening of Hearts' pounding drowns the shouts of our minds to a soft often incoherent whisper...

For now, I reserve judgment...ironic as that may be. Taking a breather (when I remember how) to see if my instincts are still under warranty. I am going to pause for a long moment to lick my metaphorical wounds.Time to teach my mind to articulate itself better...to project more. Finally to give my heart some time to repair itself...to reinforce the weakened areas and come back stronger than before and to teach it to count to ten before jumping. Not all questions have immediately clear answers and that too...is something we have no choice but to resign ourselves to and accept."No one said life was fair" and "No one said we had to like it"... Think I will embrace and accept the disillusionment that I am finding impossible to avoid and then, hopefully cast it aside. I am not ready to give up, I hope that I never am...the human spirit is nothing if not enduring...and this too shall pass. I'm sure of it...even if the when and the how are so obscure they may as well be a Stanley Kubrick film. But shame on me if it passes without some deep introspection, evaluation and alteration.

Trust, hope and faith...all equated with love, But love and instinct perhaps, need to check in with reason and experience before taking action...For now I look to patience, forgiveness-(how much harder I find it to forgive myself for vulnerability,failure to protect myself, mistakes, and lapses in judgment-than to forgive others almost anything) and grace. I have never been a tolerant waiter, who is? So, while I refuse to sit on the sideline and watch-think a time out is in order.

*In my absence of true answers I turned to some greats to see what light they had to shed on trust...

You may be deceived if you trust too much,but you will live in torment if you do not trust enough.-Frank Crane

As soon as you trust yourself,you will know how to live.-Goethe

It is better to suffer wrong than to do it, and happier to be sometimes cheated than not to trust-Samuel Johnson

Just Because You Can...

2009-08-06T12:31:00.061-06:00

"Nothing in life is free"...is a statement that we hear frequently. Perhaps it should be revised to state that "Nothing of true, deep, substantial, lasting value comes without a price"...Such is the case with freedom.

Freedom is this unblemished, indescribable,ungraspable,incomprehensible gift...it is vast,intangible and without boundaries. Contrary to the accepted meaning of "free" however, freedom is ANYTHING but. It has been and continues to be paid for with precious life, valiant sacrifice and truer honor than most of us have been in the presence of or could possibly appreciate in full. For Americans,our freedom is a birthright. Like most things that we don't personally have to toil to get, or strive to keep, or give of ourselves to earn-freedom is a "right" that most of us take for granted. Primarily because we don't know any different.Freedom surrounds us like the air that we breathe. Constant and unfailing as the sun that brightens our sky, smiling down on us as it drenches our skin and whose setting marks the passing of our days.The United States has come to represent and occasionally to be resented for our freedom(or at least for the perceived recklessness with which we utilize that freedom). The symbolic soar of the majestic eagle's wings spread wide,the right to vote for the man (and hopefully one day soon,the woman) who will have the final say on the all important decisions that eventually effect us all. The freedom to DO,and to SAY,and to BE as we please. How we adore ranting about the freedom we have to say this, or to do that! Free to read a controversial book, to burn our Country's flag in protest,the liberty to worship (or not) at the altar of our own choosing. Our freedom has been paid for and continues to be preserved...and to us it IS free for the experiencing and all too often, for abusing.

In actuality however, the freedom we relish-came at great cost. Seemingly,out of respect,out of appreciation and gratitude to those that paid the price of our freedom. Isn't there an unspoken meager price tag dangling from the torch of Liberty that reads simply, "Responsibility"? Is respect-in the form of tact and general taste too much to ask for in return for human sacrifice? Seemingly, it should go without saying that as American citizens each of us has a responsibility to conduct ourselves with some fragment of dignity. We have a responsibility to educate ourselves on the issues and to vote knowledgeably-to do what we can to make America a place worth fighting and all too often...worth dying for. Doesn't each of us bare an obligatory moral burden to not exploit the freedoms that others have won for us-to see to it that the blood of so many courageous men and women was not shed in vain? In the name of our FREEDOM-there are Mothers without Sons,Husbands without Wives, Children growing up without their Mommys and/or Daddys. I believe a treasure so precious and a sacrifice so profound is not to be accepted carelessly,or handled thoughtlessly. What little is asked from us in return for our lives as we know them. The lives that other people in distant places can only covet out of their starvation, deprivation and oppression.

Taking freedom for granted is not only relevant with regards to patriotism, but it seeps into our personal lives as well. There is a world of things that we CAN do-things that we have the ability and the resolve and the permission to do, but does having the right, make it RIGHT? In life, when we abuse our freedoms-allow them to run rampant and without discretion or regard for others...we typically have those freedoms revoked. Whether it be trust, or love, or the right to drive a car that is stripped from us...If we fail to regard the freedoms we have been given, there are always consequences- often life altering consequences.Though seemingly contradictory, having FREEDOM to do as we will...is a weighty thing. Just because you CAN (are free to) do something...doesn't mean that you SHOULD do it. I said it...I am AWARE than I am implying a degree of accountability here. If that is too much for you-this would be a perfect point for you to stop reading.I (of course) say that in the greatest love...just slip out the back.I will pretend not to notice...

Just because you have the liberty to say or to do something-doesn't make it worth voicing, or desirable or worthy for others to hear,to see,or to experience. Just because you have the ability and the "right" to insult your boss's poorly selected toupee, doesn't make it a sound choice for you to do so. As a grown up(hopefully) you know better. I assume that you have not arrived at this point in life without obtaining SOME sense of judgment. Not only would mocking his Trump-like coif dent his ego and possibly hurt his feelings, but he in turn, has the "right" to immediately dis-employ and kill the professional reputation of you and your unfiltered, now unemployed mouth.Similarly,when our Founding Fathers established that we should all have "freedom of speech,"I somehow don't think they had t-shirts with profanity and President bashing bumper stickers in mind. OKAY-so those things didn't exist then, but the point is there and somewhat valid, buried someplace underneath my poorly executed example. Furthermore, on a global,national and personal level-at what point does exploiting our freedoms infringe on the liberties of others? Of course, we are free to wear these things and plaster them on the back of our vehicles,to speak out against what we believe to be injustice. But for those that drive behind us or pass us on the street-reading said shirts/stickers is an involuntary act-it just happens. If that person is offended by explatives or harsh language, aren't their rights then, being disregarded? Naturally, we all have opinions on almost everything, well founded or not.Thankfully, we have the ability to voice those opinions in practically any manner that we see fit. Do we HAVE to be told as grownups that if you can't say, do, wear, apply something "nice"-worthwhile, or edifying...that it is often best not to say anything at all? If faced with the hesitant eyes of a young soldier headed to war, or the grief stricken face of a child from a third world country who is raising her siblings because her parents were ripped from her by disease...would our priorities be altered? Would our harsh manner soften, would the worthiness of our statements be reevaluated? I would like to think so...I know mine would.

As an reminder of Freedom's richness and our role in celebrating it,let us use Presidential elections as another example because it is still somewhat relevant.This past election and the two proceeding it, were fairly heated ones. Granted,if your candidate didn't win-you are entitled to disappointment-perhaps a week or two of verbal griping and possibly even pouting. You are free to voice that opinion however you choose.But when the campaign hangover comes to an end,let us not lose sight of the fact that even in our personal defeat-we are still victorious. There is some dignity maintained by the Presidential office. Shouldn't we support the Individual occupying that office because they were elected by our fellow Americans,in this Country where we are so blessed/lucky(depending on your perspective)to have been born.A place where every vote counts.Whether we agree or disagree,shouldn't we be happy to have choices when so many others do not? Even if OUR personal voice is not the one that rings loudest in this round, are we not still fathomless bounds ahead of numerous countries worldwide...to be able to speak at all? We speak loudly and often without fear of our safety, or the safety of our loved ones being placed in jeopardy...we have been granted a voice.

Certainly, we will not be pleased with every move an Elected Official makes and we have the liberty to say as much. Still, it seems that with regard to our political views,perspective often goes flying out the window at Andretti-speed.Every Flesh and Bone Individual is bound to do something we do not approve of, and yes...to make mistakes. Each of us fails habitually, sometimes miserably. Why should a Politician be any different? Does the title of "President" somehow render the Possessor infallible? Obviously,the accountability of our Elected Officials is much greater on a national level, than our own because of the deep ramifications their actions and behavior hold for so many. There are no small errors when one achieves that level of power. But before we don that uncouth shirt, or mount that hate inspired sticker...perhaps we should stop and think for a millisecond. Are we ranting and lashing out simply because we can? What is the PURPOSE of placing that sticker, or wearing that shirt? Are we truly hoping to enlighten someone? It has been my experience, that offending others and putting them on the defensive, is not conducive to opening their minds to a new perspective,or their hearts to possibilities. We are each free to say anything that we please, yes...but at what point does it become the din of the spoiled and the rantings of the ungrateful? How far do we go, before we are insulting those who paid our debt? Have we become so jaded, childlike and arrogant that we can no longer feel the need to act as adults and be accountable for our actions and our words? Think of all the wasted, empty, hurtful words we banter in the name of entitlement. By no means, am I suggesting that we keep silent...just that we practice tact and exercise maturity when using the voice that most of us have not earned for ourselves.

Yes, freedom is ours for the taking. But if a Stranger knowingly throws himself in front of a bus to save our lives- do we not then OWE it to our Benefactor to not only be responsible with our own life, but to live it in gratitude and with inspiration. It would be careless and insulting for us to achieve anything less than greatness with our new lease on life-purchased at the greatest cost for us(although unsolicited)by another.

I realize this one is a bit soap boxy, it is not my intention to preach, lecture or chastise. It is merely that daily I encounter situations and individuals (including myself) doing and saying things JUST because they can...and it makes me wonder if this behavior is not only frivolous but irresponsible. I am uncertain when qualities such as purpose,forethought,and accountability went out of fashion. I don't know when the tantrums of the few, began overshadowing the ambitions and principles of the many. I am at a loss as to why in order to be considered progressive and forward thinking, one has to have extremist positions and possess a touch of ex-patriotism. I somehow missed when screaming, red-faced and venomously...became an effective method of communicating anything. Truly neither left, right or in between is innocent of behaving a bit like a petulant three your old...screaming shrilly, fists flailing...JUST because you have a voice. Yelling is rarely the best way to be heard. None of us gravitates toward the obnoxiously loud person in life...the one constantly ranting and raving because s/he seemingly loves the sound of her or his own voice. Instead we are moved by the calm melodic tones of wisdom and of assurance. How much more receptive is each of us to truth no matter how harsh, when it is spoken to us in kindness, in whispers, in song, with respect...?

What this looks like to me personally? I am not exactly sure.I desire and aspire to live a gracious, intentional life. A life that brings joy and fulfillment,empathy, richness and assistance...laughter and love to those around me. If for no other reason, than because countless sacrifices have been made in the name of my freedom to do, say, and be the person-live the life that I choose. It is my wish that when life's-door is closed upon me-that I have celebrated, appreciated and put my liberty to good use...Not just because I can- but because I believe it to by my obligation and I accept it gratefully.

*To clarify these are often nothing more than lofty ambitions of mine. I am not in any way claiming to possess any, nevertheless all of these noble characteristics.*

Change We Must

2009-07-30T11:56:00.012-06:00

This week has been an introspective one for me. I now find myself in the melancholy, soul searching haze that comes as an all inclusive deal with a confident and persistent intuition. At the risk of sounding like an under thought and over used political campaign...CHANGE is on the smog polluted horizon. There is a pungent crisp to the air, a vibration the sun gives off that runs through my skin, seeps through my bones, marinades my soul, and masters my mind. With the touch of a calculated Midas,the gift of golden reflection and the keen perception bestowed upon me by my just awakened senses-alert my being to the core that my jaded hibernation is drawing to a close. Squinting as I stride languidly from the shrouded fortress that has provided me with misguided comfort and a false sense of security for longer than I care to identify. I crouch-ears up, tail twitching-cautious, yet exhilarated by the hunt and nearly frozen in place by the shadowed unknown that lays in wait. Fight or flight instinct at full alert. My mind searching for the doors marked EXIT...my spirit digging it's claws down deep-prepared to be the last one standing.

As creatures of habit-often of bad habit,we tend to resist change. Uncertainty often carries the terror of the dream...the falling one. The one where without notice we are plummeted parachute and safety net free into the vast infinite air of the unknown. Never do we fall feather like with zen-like surrender...floating like an ivory feather dancing harmoniously with a warm spring breeze...waltz 2-3, waltz 2-3 until it fairy kisses the grassy green with its' billowy softness. No. We flail and grasp for any reachable stronghold. Groping blindly, at any vestige of familiarity. Nevertheless,gravity grips us in its' gnarled fist and yanks us toward what we believe to be certain calamity. Eyes showing nothing but white, we bolt upright, cold sweat beading our brow- into our reality. Still terrorized by the fear of the unknown that nearly swallowed us whole.

Still...change we must. The world doesn't care about your cold sweats and horror churned stomach...every moment things change...and if you attempt to stand still against it, you will blink one slow heavy lidded, burden wearied blink...and life will have skillfully stolen your queen and your game will be over.

Eleanor Roosevelt said "Do one thing every day that scares you." Change-frightens us all.Yet,there is no hiding from its' presence. I guess my final assessment is this, so often we cling, embrace, cleave to our current state-not because it is working for us, but because we are engulfed by the horror of the unforeseen. Still when you really give that anemic feeble theory the thought it deserves- We are all blind little cane-less, tail-less mice...all the more lost because we believe we know where we stand. Not to say that there are no certainties. How empty and bleak our existence would be without the steadfast belief, the innate hunger for that which is real and substantial and unchanging because in It is defined by It's perfection. But rather to say that stubborn, foolish resistance to change, or to be changed, or to cause change will inevitably result in regret,wasted time and a life unworthy of so much as an honorary mention.

Trembling in my new found steadfastness...senses heightened...courage puffing it's chest...Not only do I wait, but inwardly I search for the changes I have resisted. Those that I need to wrap myself around and those I need to be a force in (the kind to be reckoned with) ...Of course, being the uncontainable spirit, faintly couraged girl that I am...this won't be easily defined,acquired, accomplished or maintained. But then, what of substance is?

Change...When we are stirred from the safety blanket comfort we have hibernated in for far too long-roused by the aroma of what may, can and will be. As we fall toward the black pooled ground below, rather than being paralyzed by our lack of control-let's take a proactive, strategic view. Have our kicks on so we can hit the ground we will inevitably reach-running, our shields out and our swords drawn in preparation for the fight...and our arms thrown wide open in acceptance for the only certainty in life...

"Resistance is futile"

Because I Said So...

2009-07-20T11:46:00.035-06:00

Even now, I cringe in remembrance..of asking my parents the unauthorized "Why?"

My inquiry being met with the vaguely ungratifying and final response:

"Because I Said So."

That was my signal that the conversation was over, that there would be no further debating or discussing. Finis...

Like a King's Decree...(the ones that were forever altering the measurement of a foot-ever consider the ramifications of that process? hahaha...No?!? Ahem-Me neither.)

" BECAUSE I SAID SO"
It WAS...it just HAD to be enough...even if an explanation or conversation would have received a heartier welcome-perhaps taught reason and mutual respect Even now,I wonder which of us was less justified in their actions,or lack there of. Was the conversation over because there was no reasoning with my child-like and later, my hormone-riddled logic? Or were my Parents so caught up in their authority that they couldn't see fit to provide what would likely have been a validating explanation. As I have previously stated, most reality lies someplace between the perceptions of our memories and the opposing extreme. Regardless, as an adult-I often think about how much smoother my life would be...if the universe took MY "I said so" as the final judgment. The result would be a bit bumpy, certainly splashed in vivid studio quality technicolor, a bit thrillingly and unpredictably risky...but smoother...At least for me.

If only I had the veto power of the definitive and masterful "Because I Said So"...I would use it sparingly...Mostly to better the world (solving conflicts, barbarism,dictatorships,illness,starvation,poverty,ending pain and suffering, curing disease...Items of consequence.Point made) but also to better my personal existence...just being honest. I would be a little selfish-but just a minuscule, nearly imperceptible pinch.

Starting with the obvious. After one clear, definitive line of explanation...(and an insinuated-Because I Said So)...ALL arguments would cease. Simple enough. Just imagine all the valuable time and energy that could be conserved that way...Enough time to sort and trash months worth of junk mail and suffer through two Springs worth of cleaning...OR to kick back and drink in the peace with the current issue of ELLE in one hand, sweet victory-tini in the other...I am most apt to select option B.(I am simply OVERFLOWING with surprise and mystery).

Also shush-ness on demand...*Imagining a little signal-like a sideways glance and dainty imaginary key toss-tink-as it falls into the depths of disappearance*

More problems solved by a Because I Said So...

The acceptance and embracing of fashionable lateness-up to thirty seven minutes...alright, let's call it forty two.

The increase of green lights en route to the location of my choice...Should go without saying, but this would ALSO necessitate the temporary absence of the men and women in blue- the ones with flashy-lights and sirens- not the rain or shine variety,uniformed in polyester shorts and white door-less Jeeps.Um...have you seen the white bee-keeper inspired hats? That is just cruel.

Coffee delivered to my door...scalding-steamy latte/or icy dew-kissed chilled frappuccino. Frothy,smooth- hot-or cold and made to order...via text.

Sinfully savory items like chips and salsa,Coca-Cola, pinot noir, fillet mignon, crispy,salty french fries,bubbly decadent chocolate souffles and pasta would be calorie and fat free...Why else? Um...Because I said so.

Money would not grow on trees, but rather-bushes...in the shape of roses and would smell as sweet (thanks Will.)Again, just in the effort of simplification. Economy catastrophe, rectified...lemon squeezy...

It would be against the law to charge more than fifty dollars for a pair of pouty pumps,sassy stilettos, strappy sandals, or brilliantly beautiful boots...to give a reason here, would be insulting your intelligence.

Bi-monthly Girls Night Out would be mandated. Bi-monthly shopping excursions, book store browses/mani-pedis definitely included in the mix -without necessity of official mention...BECAUSE...I sai-... don't really need to finish it, do I?

Music, art, theatre appreciation would be required. There would be a national media campaign...Culture-Get Some!...Basic sport knowledge is a given.

Chores like laundry,bathrooms,dishes,cooking,organization...anything considered a hardship for the Domestically Challenged...would only need to be done once...And then? Self-maintained...like...I can't think of anything...why must life be so high maintenance? Then I could focus my,attentions on more deserving endeavors like shiny, cushy, plush, savory and smelly,(in a good way..)

Dress code enforced. Regardless of where you live-sandals/flip-flops and jeans/shorts do not constitute Evening Attire. Sorry...

Closet space and vanities would expand as if maintained by adept carpenter man-pixies to fit my ever-changing needs...Also ANY mention of how many eyes I have to shadow, lips I have to gloss, bodies I have to moisturize/perfum and wardrobe, tootsies to shoe...Would be punishable by one week of chick flicks/Bravo/Style channel without complaint...Any sign of chagrin would result in an additional week of SHE-VO.

Boys worth keeping would sparkle with Cullen-like flair when bathed in the shiny canary iridescence of the noon day sun...("hideous" and shiny monster-like)and their sorry, ill-equipped opposition would show cloudy brown like the doody that fills them to their ears and sooner or later will spill out through their words and actions.

Every eating establishment would be required to have at least three decent red wines in house...reasonably priced. Oh and the home pour would be the national norm.

Naps and sleeping in would be worked seamlessly into the daily routine.

Complaining and whining will be tolerated under no condition and met with muted deafness and the arm...because talking to the hand is insufficient in this case...

Thinking outside the building-like the one that Elvis has left(not just out of the box)would be a decadent actuality.

Each of us would take for granted that we need to clean up after ourselves, both literally and metaphorically.

Only educated voters would be allowed to vote for the winners of political elections and reality shows...certified via online test? Can't be bothered with logistics now.

Kindness would be law...sarcasm taught,generosity and thoughtfulness innate, creativity,silliness/laughter and empathy not optional.

Dancing it out...would become the new national pastime.

Harry Connick Junior would tour monthly and my seat would be front, center and free of charge.

SERIOUS Fashion Violators would go to Style School (like traffic school) as their community service and would be aided by an expert glam squad...or Stacy and Clinton...whomever is on call that day.

Indulgence within reason would be encouraged.

Each individual would be committed to identify and share their gifts with those around them. And those who took more than their fare share of talent and ability would be forced to ration out the extra to the Gifted Impaired. Fair is fair...

As long as work was completed, vacation time and location potential would be infinite.

Everyone would have to read an average of a book a month and would need to select something not recommended by Oprah, Regis and Kelly,or the Ladies of the VIEW (anyone still watching that? Because...who's view,exactly? Also an assault to my sensibilities.)

Birthdays would be celebrated like they are in Katroo (via Seuss) with the addition of a Nordstrom Cosmetic/Fragrance counter and open bar...for partaking of and dancing on...of course...oh and live music by the band of my choosing.

Hair days would OBVIOUSLY be fantastic...so there would no longer be any need for the Good/Bad adjectives before "hair"...they would just be Hair Days.

Grey's would be on year round with only nine reruns allowed-to be aired on nights when I have other plans. Also, October Road would be brought back in the place of one of the 17 Crime Investigation Shows.

Sunny would not only be the constant weather forecast, but the only acceptable disposition.

If people lives come crashing down around them...cameras would not be permitted to catch the action for millions to view and judge in the name of sad and sadistic rubber necking...sorry, "entertainment"...?!?!

"Vegetarian Vampires" would actually exist-and live on my street...

List of Because I Said So's can be altered by me at any time without advance warning or outside permissions.

That was frivolously fun for me...hopefully amazingly amusing for you.

What would be on your list...Think about it.

Because I Said So...

Note to CJ:

This was merely the bouncy brain baby of your imagination-no one is required to take your whims(shiny as they may be) as law...

FINE!

So here goes-back to the dull monotony of reality and responsibility...and the "Because I Said So's" of the real world. Made and enforced (unfortunately) without my consent or approval...*Sigh*

Cool School...Frustration Lends Itself to Ridiculousness

2009-07-09T08:54:00.026-06:00

We all like to delude ourselves into thinking that we are ultra cool. I am not sure that the word cool is still...well, cool...but whateva...We tell ourselves that at the very least we have moments of such profound coolness that they redeem our less-than-Stefani* moments. That is what we tell ourselves, but mostly we lie...

*Gwen Stefani is the female poster child for Cool. Mostly because she is a rocker chick, she always wears a flawless ruby pout and can femme it up in tube socks...As if that is not enough, she is a designer of not one-but two fabu clothing lines: LAMB and Harajuku Lovers. The fact that she is married to a fellow rock star really doesn't even make her cool-tribute list-like royalty marrying royalty-it is as it SHOULD be. Gwen is indubitably original, she is definitely shiny. Also she smells like bubble gum,or cotton candy-I am not sure which.(Alright,admittedly-I have never had the opportunity to smell her,and well...THAT would make for an odd introduction...but Gwen smelling like candy is simply a given)...

Other pillars of coolness include: Vince Vaughn,obviously Bogart,Harry,Elvis, Brando, Grant, Jack Johnson, Fitzgerald,JT,Hemingway,Sheryl Crow,SJP(Sarah Jessica Parker),Johnny Cash,Lauren Bacall, Coco Chanel,Elway,Vin Diesel,Lincoln,Katherine Hepburn,John Wayne,Pacino,Neruda,Bruce Willis,Plath, Scorcese (have to be cool to pull off hairy caterpillars for eyebrows), Nicholson,R.Pat(in his Edward-ness),Sakic,Bond (James-not Barry),Depp, Dillinger, Kat Von D,...- my list changes regularly, sure that comes as a shock.*Handing you a paper bag and a popsickle stick so you don't swallow your tongue.* You'll recover,I believe in you...because you are THAT cool. Right?

Which brings me to my point. There are always pesky naysayers out to chink our coolness armor...Frustration being one of the craftiest culprits...because well, there is NOTHING less cool than losing your cool...haha I am going to need a new word. Redundancy is uncool...I mean...unsavory..ish.

So here is the unsightly truth. Irritation leads to frustration, frustration runs head on into anger and anger is NOT at all pretty, it is definitely not um...chill(?).Hopefully you seldom get angry and when you do,you keep your ultra smooth composure. Ideally your blood only boils over noble causes and grave injustice as it should. For the rest of us-the spitefully flawed.Those of us belonging to the achingly human variety-who sometimes get angry over pointless, senseless things that are really not the reason we are angry at all...but we don't have time to delve into Freshman Psych right now, so moving on...But for those of us who breathe, live and feel...

When collective-ness and serenity check out -(and I hope for your sake that you only part with your unruffled exterior in the privacy of your own home,in a sound proof windowless room-where there are no witnesses)...and miffed-ness ensues. At that moment when we are fully aware of our ridiculousness but all reason and sound judgment have made a Starbucks run ...Like an out of body experience where your Gwen/Vince Self watches (nonfat, sugar-free peppermint mocha in hand)in stifled horror as your Emotional and Ill Composed Self shamelessly and undemurely unravels.

Personally, my Little Red Monster (or Courtney Love) staggers out dirty blond-HOLE-style in search of blood...crack...whatever Courtney hungers for. Havoc? It is at this precise moment,that my inner Gwen leaps from the shadows. Deftly, she takes Love down exhibiting her great skill. Calmly,Gwen drags her back inside by the roots of her platinum, over-processed hair-while Courtney kicks and bites...(nothing to see here.)But not before Courtney makes herself heard in a lightening fast tantrum type outburst.Torn couture and all...

Blink-Hopefully you will miss it.

Usually little stacks of mishaps and irritations bring Red (Cort) out to play/battle depending on your demeanor..The refuse burning stench of things I chose to overlook but secretly and unintentionally held onto*...pile up and eventually pour over...

*Boys-fairly sure your kind is generally not guilty of this brand of behavior...but if you haven't yet worked out the figures...Womankind is infamous for it. We inwardly hang on to the little things we outwardly let slide. Which is why when you give us a grunt to a question or a request that we make of you, or leave your glass in the sink...we occasionally unleash a laundry list of every minuscule thing that you may have done to perturb us over the course of our other wise Reagan-esque lives together...We know it's not COMPLETELY fair per-se...it's a wiring thing. Just give Glam Gwen a sec to bind and gag Crazy Courtney. Then tread softly and keep a low but tempered /attentive profile for a day or so-(think Noah,Edward or Lloyd)Your welcome...got that down?*Knuckles* Got your back. For now...I may turn-so always best to sleep with one eye open. Heehee*

Okay so I am going to come out of my Secret Ridiculous Chamber and let you take a quick peek at Courtney (looking like about seventy three bucks)...So...over the course of two days post holiday (which just seems to make everything tougher to take)...

1. Boy5 locked my Baby Girl in his room..."just because". Let's just say that the extent of my tool knowledge is lefty lucy, right tighty...Luckily she was calm and I was channeling my inner Stefani-because it took maybe thirty minutes to get her out. After trying cards, knives, jimmying the lock with a meat thermometer (of course trying futilely to walk her through the unlocking process)...I took the doorknob off with my itty-bitty set of screw drivers. Felt just like MacGyvr... only with better hair-and no flannel.That was a beautiful thing because the next recourse was to kick the door down Stalone-style...in strappy sandals.
2.I picked up the same toys from the same spot (front and center of the house for the twenty-second time in the same day. The Monkeys only think it is funny because they don't know that next time-Miss Love is busting out a Hefty for the job. Problem solved.
3.The cleaning and sanitizing of mystery puddles (spare you the gaggy details)
4. Having to file a restraining order with the Bully Police to keep my kids from bringing one another to a premature close...think Eminem and Sasha Baron Cohen-minus profanity
5. The swamp cooler went out on one of the first 95+ degree days of summer we have had...the VERY one when my daughter was held captive in Spidey's hideout...

I will stop there...Not crazy about complaining,(fully aware that the human race has ACTUAL problems) but suffice it to say that Courtney was clawing her way out-minus a shoe of course.

So at the exact moment that I escape downstairs and close the door to the laundry room to give Miss Love a brief moment of riotous misbehavior with her name written all over it in smeary hot-pink lipstick...I yank clothes out of the washing machine (not as therapeutic as one would hope), hurl them at the open door of the dryer and repeat...then I went to stand and banged my head hard and fast on the wood shelf placed maliciously over the washing machine...*Vision blurred* Final score:Gwen 10-Courtney 1...hahahaha...See? Anger invites and encourages ridiculousness and sometimes results in a big, fat,throbbing headache.

According to the Tao of Gwen/Vince...(insert name of chosen Cool Guy/Girl here)...

Coolness is a virtue...Perspective, fresh air,counting to 10 or 10,000 whatever it takes, cardio, stomping/dancing/running/jumping/kicking it out...

SMILE (ruby red pout in place) in the face of Life's day to day mocking of your existence...

It all helps...and anytime your Inner Stefani is able to keep your Inner Love locked quietly up in solitary rehab(Fellas sub inner Vaughn keep inner Bale/Crowe from bail, community service, fine and assault charges)...you have won one in the name of COOLOSITY...

Allow your cool head and even cooler hair-to prevail.

"Blessed are those who laugh at themselves, they will never cease to be amused." Author Unknown

Ten Indulgences... aka, Pretty,Guilty, Little Pleasures

2009-06-23T16:40:00.030-06:00

The word "indulgences" reminds me of History class and Martin Luther...but lets not so much explore the purchasing of souls from purgatory via the Catholic church BECAUSE well, that would be an odd, boring, uninformed topic of convo. Also, I am not Catholic...Rather let's explore the guilty pleasures we allow ourselves that add sweetness (dulce, si?) or shine to our daily existence. I imagine this is probably what would typically come to a person's mind when "indulgence" is mentioned...but I wouldn't know much about that. CLEARLY. Perhaps you indulge in certain foods or beverages,activities,behaviors,movies...the company of shady or adventurous friends possibly?...Could really be any myriad of things.Indulgence could also be depicted as SSB (Secret Single Behavior- via Sex and the City= rituals you engage in when flying solo). So in the spirit of indulgence...here is my top ten. I apologize as some of these are redundant. Admittedly I am all about the small luxuries...not the picture of discipline and deprivation.Yadda, yadda- well covered territory...Could be another reason for my lack of Catholicism.

1. Lip Gloss...let me just add here-eye shadow and mascara. Lip gloss is the only one that I refuse to face my public without(that's a joke-laugh)...but what makes it an indulgence is the fact that it is a small item that brings me infinite bliss...I kid you not...I am not overstating (for once)What else smells decadent, often tastes like frosting, plumps, tingles and comes in endless shades from radiant ruby to pouty plum? Twenty dollars or less is a small price to pay for uninhibited lip bliss. Eye shadow satisfies my undiagnosed bipolar make up moods and mascara in blackest black is a glam necessity. Yet every time I think I am in love with my mascara-a new brush,brand or formula comes along. Tiresome, really. Sorry,but I have to give a quick shout out to lotions and potions... as they fit here as well..."Can't Get Enough of You Baby" (Now I am quoting Smash Mouth lyrics..WHAT happened to them? Hangin' in a bar somewhere with Sugar Ray and Spin Doctors-eatin' fish tacos, drinkin Mexican beer? I like to think so...oh-add Robert VanWinkle to the equation).

2. Reality Television- Everyone claims to hate it, but I (not so)secretly think you're all in the RTV closet...IF I WERE the only one watching- it wouldn't be all that's on the tube...From Idol, to DWTS, Project Runway to ANTM...I am mildly addicted. And I find the lack of mental commitment intoxicating. Keep Fox and CNN for yourself - my TV brings me shallow uninformed joy. I can catch the news in two minutes on the Google homepage and not feel like poking myself in the eye with the remote. To clarify: I am not celebrating ignorance. I just think that it is possible to stay informed without delving in the depressing and sinister ...

3. Coca Cola and if I REALLY want to indulge? Cherry Coke with real cherries...there are strict rules involved. Maybe rules is wrong. Standards? Will spare you the details. This is a controlled habit because I gave up diet years ago. Too many chemicals. So I reward myself periodically for things like Wednesday or making out of the house on time(or within seventeen minutes of on time). *I have to tag on red wine and martinis-extra dirty,extra olives here...namely because I am not a lush and don't want my occasional liquor indulgence to have it's own entry.* Definitely guilty pleasures as well-taken in moderation. Not to be savored together. Strongly, truly ill-advised. Never tried it-just CAN'T be a good thing...

4. Dancing it Out- I say this all the time...just makes me feel better about almost anything. If you have questions on the Cathartic Funk movement sweeping the nation- you can peep at my Dancing it Out(courtesy of Grey's) blog.

5. Two hour baths. These are much harder to come by...but when I have uninterrupted ME time...this is what calls my name the loudest. Favorite music, alternating bubble gum, classic or historical fiction/biography novel, fig scented candle and scenty bubbles...quite possibly my favorite guilty pleasure...One or two steamy hot water refills necessary. Plus I can indulge in other listed items simultaneously...multitasking at it's prune toed best (such an odd phenomenon-really).

6. Music,books and stationary. I worked for a short time at Barnes and Noble...but I had to give it up because my book addiction was swallowing my already meager paychecks whole. (Employment by Sephora, MAC, or Nordstrom would be even less lucrative. I would have to pay THEM every two weeks to support my habit). Ideally I want a cozy library in my house at some point (preferably with huge windows and a fireplace). Comfort and assurance in being surrounded by literary greatness. Also, Cd's. Have to giggle at this...I am mocked regularly for hanging on to the whole disc thing. Call it nostalgia, call it distrust of technology- but if my I-Pod is stolen and my computer crashes...(and knowing me, both are possibilities if not likelihoods)- I will still have my music, backed up with the original disc for insurance purposes. And you, Smarty Pants? Play your cards right- and if you beg and do the "You were right-I was wrong" dance (in cute boots of course)- I just MIGHT let you borrow my CD's.

7. Pathetic how much I talk about this...but Coffee HAS to make the list. I guess the guilty part of it is the five assorted flavored creamers I have to dress it up. You know,accessorize. Coffee's destiny is not only to coat your spirit in a liquid fountain of soothing, melty warmth...there IS that. But it also has to taste delish and look fantastic. I have a team of coffee mugs ranging from polka dotted to retro Central Perk to ensure my coffee looks its java-y best. Like a glam-squad for Joe. Where did that name come from? I just like to say that...oh just me and joe...doin' our thing. Chillin'. How we roll...ANYWAY...

8. Chick Flicks...that makes me so unique (just like EVERY other girl) Among my current favorites? Anything by Cameron Crowe, starring John Cusak or Johnny Depp, Audrey Hepburn...musicals...Steel Magnolias,When Harry Met Sally, P.S.- I Love You, About Last Night, Before Sunrise,Singles, Twilight, Definitely, Maybe...and now Notebook is edging it's way onto the list...I just saw it this year for the first time. Haven't met a lot of dramas or romantic comedies I didn't like. Insert knowing nod here. I am aware *hanging head in sad disillusioned generic shame*. I will be purchasing my PREDICTABLE tee tomorrow...at least I can get it in red with sparkle in an effort to redeem myself from a lifetime of sameness.

9. Have to follow that with something that not EVERYONE does... aside from the obvious chips and salsa, hot and sour soup addiction...I season and spice everything. I am a chef's worse nightmare. I blame my mother's flair for the ordinary when it came to cooking...but I adore Taco Bell hot sauce,(ESPECIALLY now that the little packets resemble comical fortune cookies)green Tobasco, Cholula, that spicy Asian chili sauce with the squeezy bottle and green top...you name it...I have applied it to something unexpected. One of my favs? Popcorn with Frank's Red Hot...just drizzled and shaken. Soggy anything is unshiny. I am just saying...

10. Accessories...shoes, earrings,bracelets, necklaces, scarves, hats, sunglasses, belts...the list is endless...There are limitless possibilities! Reinvention, mood enhancement, glamourization...I am a strong believer in the theory (that I think I just generated) that you could wear a potato sack (not that there would be ANY point in that) if you dress it up (in my love...kudos Madonna without an inexplicable British accent) razzle dazzle it...with a little bling...even if you bought it at Target...or GAP (no one has to know and so what if they did?;)).

Thanks for indulging me (another bad joke)-

When I started this list I thought that it would be pure drudgery coming up with ten indulgences...but I could have gone on...lucky for you I am operating under preset parameters. Regardless, guilty pleasures...we all have them, whether they be behaviors, interests, edible, musical...tiny tingly indulgences we steal away for ourselves. Simple pleasures that keep us energized. Markers that keep us from losing our flair (and our sanity) to the daily hustle and bustle...let's start a petition to lose the "guilty" from the "pleasure"...seems undeserved.

So...that is my list.Hopefully it was slightly more fascinating than a dissertation on the nailing of the 95 Theses. Share yours? May make my next list...

Had a CRAZY Dream...

2009-06-19T11:28:00.008-06:00

Dream-sperts (I am not certain there is their official title-but why Google it when you can just make it up your own self...how educated am I?) say that we dream every single night...and that if we want to search for relevance in our dreams we should document them and then consult "reputable" dream resources. It is said that our dreams utilize a portion of the brain-subconscious that we do not use during our waking hours (some say as much of 90% of our brains lie dormant-there are days when we could all use that brain mass-Yes? Not just speaking for myself here am I?Is this not a democracy...). Dreamologists (I did it again) also say that a chunk of what we dream about is something we came into contact with over the past forty-eight hours of living...So there is that as well. As a non-expert seems to me that a lot of that IS relevant- but also what you consumed before bed-be it pinot noir, vitamins or chicken wings...and waking up mid sleep=crazy(ER) train dreams.

Keeping all of that in mind...take out your notebooks...oh Freuds in training. Analysis required please.

So last night- I nodded off at one a.m.- and then was awakened at 2:30 a.m. for spider check...(periodic part time position-inquire within) after which, I went back to sleep on the couch this time-should the creepy crawlies return. It was then, nestled uncomfortably against the remote that I had said CRAZY dream...

The sun was just reaching it's mark in the morning sky ...the birds were sing-squawking outside my window...let me just add here that for whatever reason- the birds 'round here are in insane abundance...a bit more Hitchcockesque than Snow White animated blue birds. Taking my set queue I drag myself from the embrace of my cloud-like sinky bed and face the day utterly against my will.

Coffee in hand I shuffle to the bathroom and make the usual preparations

...you know the drill...shower-lotion-potion-dress-
Apply my NATURALlook with the skilled stealth of a liner brush wielding ninja...nothing too exciting so far...

Anyway donned in a technicolor off the shoulder moss green sun dress I don't own but should- I dry my hair and style it...Here it is...are you ready? *hands shaking*

I look my reflection over for final approval reacting with chagrin at the end result...

and so- I pull out an electric shaver and proceed to buzz cut the offending side of my hair at the temple. Imagine Edward Scissorhands with razors for fingers...

That's the end...

I didn't LIKE my hair so I said "What the heck-I will SHAVE it OFF"...(Not recommended even if conducted by trained professionals)

ME- baffled and shaken (not stirred)...you...giving me answers to my CRAZY dream?

Ready, set...analyze.

Heart for RENT-It's Musically Delicious

2009-06-11T00:10:00.025-06:00

~Sigh~ I just got back from RENT.

Aside from the living I have yet to do the dreams to fulfill, the goodbyes to say, the mistakes to correct, the babies t raise...and... well anyway-ASIDE from ALL that I could die now...

I could pass from this life as a shiny, enraptured, tingly, big kneed girl (Serious dancing injury. Not professional- but EVERY bit as well deserved. I tried to help JT bring sexy back...instead I ended up with elephantitus of the knee...pretty AND typical.. haha...MOST importantly-TEMPORARY. Please let the Doc be right on that one thing- I am not partial to the unsightly-especially in the center of one of my longest limbs).

I LOVE RENT!-the musical...( not real life rent. Promoted (?) to a mortgage...don't so much love that). I JUST DO...let me lay it out as simply as I can for those of you who don't speak musical. RENT is to musicals what that first turn your head, twist your tongue, day your dreams crush was to your freshman year. RENT is that high school boy or girl that filled the lunchroom with coolness (Edward style) and your tummy with butterflies. The one that didn't make much sense upon the first encounter(which didn't matter cause they glam'd you with their you don't know any better than to turn and run-ness) but then once you start to hear the tick and watch the tock...you realize that it is too late. You're hooked.

Similarity ENDS there- because at least for me (sophomore year) it was a quick painful fall from that point to where I could actually see the void through the creep.

But not RENT it goes from razzle dazzling (that is from Chicago-more musical lingo. Taking notes?) to singing your soul...(we ALL want that- even if noone told you yet. Oprah will get around to enlightening you. Give her a chance. Um...I am lying. Don't listen...)and as a result liquifying you into melty idealistic romanticness and submitting you into the ugly cry. Which you can hide (not at all) discreetly by smothering your mouth daintily with your hands...the rest is why God gave us MAC and Dior...

Tiny bit of background. RENT is a Pulitzer prize, multi Tony award winning rock opera (including Best Musical) based on the friendships and romances of a group of twenty-something Bohemians set on Avenue B in New York City's lower east side in the late 1980's.These young artists must not only face the harshly difficult reality of being relevant as artists and sacrificing adult comfort and luxury for their art, but they must also learn to survive and succeed at life and love under the crushing oppression of AIDS (as if there wasn't enough existing adversity!) The music and lyrics were written by Jonathan Larson who sadly, suddenly and poetically passed as the new bloom of his efforts was just beginning to open. The concept of the play was adapted from Giacomo Puccini's opera La Boheme about a group of young artists who must find their place in the face of Tuberculosis...there are numerous plot parallels to the opera. Musetta's Waltz, a song from La Boheme is mentioned directly and Goodbye Love is closely paralleled to the opera as well. In the song-La Vie Boheme- Bohemia is the daughter of Mother Earth and the song celebrates full out catchy rocker style- the contributions in the form of poignancy and flavor that artists and their work have brought to living. Imagine lots of costuming, MTV style choreography (pre stupid non reality-reality shows) high kicks and flash. Heaps of catchy yet deep lyrics- guitars and drums,...romance in every form imaginable and SO much sassy it makes your head spin. I must apologize for failing RENT miserably at this point.

Oh oh oh! but I have to shout out here that in addition to clearly knowing the craft part of his work- Larson knew his setting. He wrote about New York...it doesn't get better! He incorporated real locations like the Life Cafe from his own life in NYC. Mark and Roger's living conditions closely mirrored Larson's own with the fire in the trash can, bathtub in the middle of a large one room apartment etc. Oh and like Mark, Larson's girlfriend also left him for a woman. All this mayhem and chaos is fun and fabulously rocklicious and soulful. If RENT tours your city (it closed as the eighth longest running show on Broadway after a treasured twelve year run)see it! RENT is currently touring with the two original leads playing the roles of Mark(Anthony Rapp)and Roger(Adam Pascal)one of the best bromances in history. Pinkie swear...Before you go-do a little research and buy and learn the soundtrack.

This is stellar advice;) (attained through personal experience) for any musical goer (novice or otherwise)-for any show. This eliminates catch up and when the plot is expressed in song because REALLY- what in life isn't? Your culture cash will be better spent and you will appreciate and relish the performance indescribably more. Especially with regards to RENT...You will still catch the gist of Damn Yankees even if you never google or download it...you just won't fully appreciate Whatever Lola Wants...RANDOM! Call my name and I shall appear!

I leave you with this...RENT is best known for Seasons of Love. All the songs are fantastic! My personal play-list:
One Song Glory
Light My Candle
Out Tonight
Another Day
La Vie Boheme A and B
I Should Tell You
Take Me or Leave Me
Without You
Goodbye Love
Halloween
I'll Cover You (reprise) I ESPECIALLY love this SAD-BEAUTIFUL one makes the heart on my sleep drip love...it JUST does...
Your Eyes

Mmmmmm...so instead of dying in my Bohemian musical ecstasy enhanced daze just now...I think I will just drift off now with visions of the RENT cast rocking in my head. Wishing you the same. Share the LOVE!

I Don't Want To Do List

2009-06-01T10:50:00.018-06:00

Today is a gloomy summer Monday. Those should be forbidden. Anyway in the spirit of the weather...I am disgruntled...heehee...just like the way that word sounds and I don't even work for the post office. But still, I'm a tad disgruntled. I have been living life on the slacker side as of late so I have an untidy pile or two of undesirable tasks piled up in the corner...shrieking for my attention. I don't do well with shrieking...unless I am a party to it and it is in celebration of something shriek-worthy. Under less desirable circumstances,I would typically just avoid/flee from the shrieker (source of the insidious shrieking). In this case,I am risking getting my grown up card yanked... so I guess I will have to go with option two. Rather than avoidance I will beat it down Ali style (which means I get to mock, taunt and curse at it until it is down for the count...while remaining shiny. I'm Gonna'Knock You Out. Huah! Sparkle... Things are starting to look up.) So here is my list of victims...

1. Stripping. *buckabuckawowow*...(wait for it, wait for it...) The Beds...Not a huge deal, but just like the laundry I am far more skilled at the washing and drying part...Not a Martha at folding, hanging and hospital corners...Think her cellmate had potpourri made of orange peels and cinnamon from Tuesday's prison lunch? Just wondering...White collar crimes are bizarre that way...Remember the Sesame Street song? "One of these prisoners is doing her own thing...one of these inmates doesn't belong"...and poor Martha is in the bottom right quadrant attempting to crease her jump suit with the side of a laceless shoe...next to Maude the homicidal trucker under Yasmin the Black widow...diagonal from Butchy the mulleted woman who keeps chewing her face. Anyway...the beds. Platform free. Reserve those for Wednesday afternoons when it's hailing. Allegedly...

2. Packing...as in send myself packing. to the left, to the left...everything I own in a (suitcase) to the left. Love that song- but flick me if I ever attempt to purchase another Beyonce Cd (in the spirit of J-Lo's-three quality song limit per cd)hooray for single song purchase on I-Tunes and the movie crossover thingy for saving their careers...Think I have mentioned this all important life lesson previusly...Actually I am packing for a wedding(for which I will indubitably pack the wrong shoes or the wrong underwear...cursed by the Lack of Options Plague) and my Munchkins are staying with family so I have to pack them too. I abhor packing...I am so bashing the mommas of the smurf sized travel bottles while throwing elbows at the garment bag and sucker punching my army style rolled wrinkle free clothing (if there is such a thing I don't think I would own it because it probably also includes an adjustable waist...things clothes shouldn't posess for $500 please Alec. Btw...that rolly trick doesn't work for me either)...In the same spirit I need to go through all the kiddos clothes and pack up everything that they have outgrown. That one is going to have to shriek in my ear a bit longer...both monotonous and sad...sniff sniff- they grow like adorable little mutants at lightening speed. Or in New Moon speak- like werewolves. If it's not a vampire though, it's JUST not worth it...just ask Bella. Forget it what does she know? Ask me! Teehee.

3. Start my intensive Summer Workout Program. I really DO need to get going on this...my fascinating,alluring and tempting options are get up at the plumber's crack of dawn armed with taser to ward off the coyotes and walk REALLY far (and probably get lost) because I don't run unless I am being chased or challenged. Even then my she-go still only does sprints. Gutsy not stupid. Even I am not crazy enough to marathon...OR I can stay up extra late and work out then...this is much more likely to occur. Rather than walking fast and fighting wildlife at midnight I will engage in yoga and cardio training in the form of the twenty or so various dance related workout DVDs (Curse of the Grown Up Cheerleader)in my possession-ranging from Carmen Electra to the Core Dance Training set I got conned into by Len Goodman and insomnia...Regardless...I may lose the "intensive" part...but the Summer Workout must go on...I am apologizing in advance to my hair which I will soon be sleeping on directly after washing...I will make it up to you somehow. New hat? New do? New product? We'll work out the details later...

This is just the tip of my To Do iceberg. But I have to start somewhere..."Never put off until tomorrow what you can do the day after tomorrow?" Mark Twain. A procrastinator after my own heart.

*Deep breath- in through the nose, out through the mouth. Sniff...hooooo*
Okay! Ready..."Fly like a butterfly, sting like a bee-ish"

Just as soon as I finish my second cup of coffee...

For the Gilles??? Like 'For the Real" Get it?

2009-05-23T23:47:00.033-06:00

Okay one more reality show blog and I will have it out of my system-temporarily. From music to mirror balls. Of course I watch Dancing With the Stars as well as American Idol...the list goes on, but for all intents and purposes the mention of these two will suffice. How could I NOT watch it? Just think of all those sequins and glitter AND COSTUMES!!! OOOOhhhhhhhh! Hold me back...almost as alluring as vampires. Almost. Actually that has only a teensy bit to do with my addiction. For a Broadway show/musical loving girl such as my self- I just feel comfy-cozy with over the top glitz and jazz hands. I do have one complaint however-the show's definition of the word "Star" is very loosely interpreted. In fact if it gets any looser I would like to be considered for season twenty one. Not because I have a false sense of my own importance, but because at least a third of the show's contestants are met with a "WHO?" much as the reaction to the announcement of my name would be. For all anyone knows I too am an "F" list pseudo-celebrity of a cable reality show nobody watches. Potato-Potawto...(hopefully phonetic spelling makes that more sensical.)Sort of like the Circus of the Stars definition of "star"...Remember that one? (Welcome to my random, make yourself comfortable let me get you a Shirley Temple).Regardless, the Dancing With the Stars winner was announced this week and alas-America's view of the "best" is on the same level of the shows definition of "star"...to such an nth degree that I had to wonder (once again) if the voters have been watching the same show I have watched all season.

Just in case you were basket weaving or basket balling, working out,washing your hair, travelling, gardening,riding your bike in traffic sporting spandex, tweeting or cleaning your bathroom grout with a toothbrush instead of watching DWTS (gasp)- I will provide you with a few highlights. First Jewel (LOVE her)was supposed to be on the show, but was injured before the show premiered-boo! (Entertainment news personality Nancy O'Dell was also unable to compete due to injury-sort of like the upgraded version of Leeza Gibbons) Although Jewel is so earthy,unplugged, unfussed and flowery I don't imagine she would have been especially fabulous at the whole production of ballroom dancing. A garden fairy dancing the rumba is hard to get a clear picture on...She was replaced by Holly Madison of Girls Next Door and Playboy fame...Holly stepped in at the last minute so she deserved to be cut some slack. Bless her pretty bleach blond silicone enhanced little heart though, no amount of training was going to save her from her lack of musicality and two left feet. Maybe her not being able to see her feet proved a bit of an obstacle? I am not being intentionally catty but she was almost Monica Seles bad... Jewel's husband Ty Murray who is a bull rider was also on the show. Ty was as if from another line dancing planet-out of his element and I found this utterly endearing. He reminded me of a little boy at church on Easter that looks so adorably uncomfortable in the suit and tie his mommy forced him to wear. I believe he made it to the final four for different interpretations of that same reason. Other notable contestants include: Steve-O (Jackass-danced with Lacey. Find her unique and refreshing),Lil'Kim who was impressively capable and like a African-American ex-con, rapper style version of Betty Boop (she danced with Ricky Shroeder-I mean...Derek Hough), Cute as puppies real life couple, fellow country singers and dance partners Chuck Wicks and Julianne Hough, David Alan Greir (In Living Color- and pretty good in an old time movie suave kind of way...just lacked flair. He danced with Kym Johnson), Belinda Carlisle (The Bangles. She danced with Jonathan Roberts-apparently teaching women over forty is his forte), Denise Richards(Wild Things and Starship Troopers. Former wife to Charlie Sheen- Poor baby. Were they EXPECTING her to be good at THIS? She danced with Maksim Chmerkovskiy), Lawrence Taylor (NY Giants Hall of Famer- sorry but as a football fan- even I am getting tired of the football guys on the show. As you shall soon see- ALL athletes seem to inaccurately skew the votes and throw the results. Ability has little to do with it. He danced with Edyta Sliwinska...lucky Lawrence!)and Steve Wozniak (Apple Computer fame-I know as much about him as he knows about dancing but he was somewhere close to Brave heart courageous to take that on. Cheers to that! His partner was Karina Smirnoff. Thankfully she is engaged to Max now, we wouldn't want her to be tempted to hook up with
Steve. He understandably seemed QUITE smitten with her). Then there were the top three...

Would you like these in order of ability or would you prefer them in order of American likability (mainstream America has different taste than I do-WHAT?!?) haha Never mind, I will go with order of elimination...so that would be the second option.

3.In third place was Melissa Rycroft of Bachelor fame. She is the girl that Jason Mesnick picked and then unpicked. Fickle much? Unbelievably I ACTUALLY did not watch this one. I got too far behind and gave it up. Anyway she was a Dallas Cowboy Cheerleader and had some balletic background. Not EXACTLY a novice, but neither are members of boy bands (Joey Mac- we are cool like that, Joey Fatone and Lance Bass)...I don't mind that so much I guess. She stepped in for Nancy O'Dell post injury, her partner was Tony Dovalani. Melissa should have had Shawn's spot in the top two. Her scores and judges comments were consistently superior and based on her abilities that spot was rightfully hers. Melissa is pretty,classy and relatable- all she needed was a little vavavoom which Shawn as a baby of seventeen rightly doesn't have either. Melissa may very well have a back up career in toothpaste adverts due to her ultra white shiny teeth. Almost like the FRIENDS where Ross whitens his teeth and they glow in the dark (I really should watch more TV...)Now that Melissa has two reality based shows under her belt, she could also become a professional "R"Lister ('R' for Reality) like Rob and Amber and the numerous Road Rules/Real World MTV Challenge-Gauntlet peeps that have made a career of non-famed fame. OR her fifteen minutes are up...

2. Gilles Marini of Sex and the City the movie fame. He was Samantha's blatantly sexcapadey neighbor-who I was flabbergasted that she didn't hook up with before returning to New York. We ARE talking Samantha here. Think the point was that she and Smith were the real deal even though it didn't work out...you don't care...Right, so I would be lying as would the rest of the women in the world if I said Gilles wasn't easy on the eyes or failed to admit that he is not a renowned celebrity either. For Nip/Tuck viewers, you will be verklempt to know that Gilles will be playing Vanessa Redgrave's husband in the upcoming season. There is another show I don't watch...See? There ARE a few-Oh he has also appeared on Ugly Betty. Fab show-sadly I couldn't keep up with that one either...ANYWAY...Gilles was the partner of Cheryl Burke. I haven't been a fan of Cheryl's since Drew Lachey- those two were FANTASTIC together. Gilles and Cheryl though...they were explosive on the dance floor. They had this jaw dropping, temperature rising,unbelievably unarguable chemistry like Edward and Bella, like Carrie and Big, like Derek and Meredith, like Scarlet and Rhett, like Noah and Allie...times seven. Gilles made Cheryl look SENSATIONAL! EVERY girl needs a frame that compliments her picture THAT way (like my dance speak? fancy!) AND they were CRAZY good...I can't recall seeing so many tens. Even from Len! The fact that Gilles was a virtual unknown going into the competition and made it to the final two is a testament to his abilities. I am going to mention here that he is French...will be more clearly relevant shortly...stay with me-know it's difficult. Like following the "logic" of Bill Mahr. Sorry for that...

1. Enter the Winner of the DWTS Mirror Ball Trophy and Olympic Gold Medalist, seventeen year old Shawn Johnson. Shawn's partner was Mark Ballas. Mark is a charismatic dancer and his choreography is phenomenal. He is extremely skilled at showcasing the abilities of his various partners. No complaints there. Shawn is a gold medal winning gymnast. She is cute, young and flippy (irrepressibly cheerable) and improved a great deal throughout the season. Progress IS always a factor, as it should be...but in a competition-the end result HAS to be the key. Shawn was clearly not as skilled a dancer at the end of DWTS as either Gilles or Melissa. Her scores are proof of that. But yet she won...the whole enchilada. Her undeserved win points to a serious flaw in the system.

Unlike Idol, my opinion on the Dancing With the Stars results are less subjective. There are ACTUAL expert judges scores to use as evidence...Bruno (the small, foreign, ultra-expressive and excitable one), Len (the traditional British one) and Carrie Ann's (the saucy Fly Girl one...)scores all reveal the winner as Gilles. Without fail. Hands (paddles) down. It almost appears as though the voter judging was based more on some twisted view of patriotism, rather than on physical dance skill and performance. Plotting the American as Apple Pie Gold Medalist against the Unknown Frenchman (Let's face it- outside of french fries, the french kiss, Chanel,wine, french twist, bread, perfume and French-Canadian hockey players...that's a stretch-there is no love loss on the part of the the United States toward France). There may have been a bit of consolation voting for Mark in the trend of the Academy Awards where voters attempted to make it up to Mark that he and Cheetah Girl-Sabrina Bryan got sent home outrageously early in spite of their high scores. Regardless the reasoning, the end result was preposterous. DWTS fans are up in stilettos? chiffon?(arms). Producers are going to have to reevaluate the process or lose viewership. As with Emitt Smith's controversial win and that of Apolo Anton Ohno-both wins have been chalked up to their outside athletic achievements, rather than their dancing. There should be a subtle way to adjust the way the winner is chosen that still allows the home voters to feel heard- but gives the ultimate decision to the judges. If left as it is...I think Dancing With the Stars will leap (sashay?) the shark shortly...

*Sigh* If that happens I will be forced to look for illegal lifts and abuse of spray tanner in the streets...

Sorry Gilles -that you were robbed of your gaudy trophy that you so steamily...I mean RIGHTFULLY deserved!!!

Argentine tango before you go?

And the American Idol is...What the..?!?!

2009-05-23T07:57:00.029-06:00

I am not sure about you- but I take in a shameful amount of Reality Television-even though I am not at all shamed by it as you will see by my unapologetic carrying on...

It all began with Real World-which I haven't seen in the past few seasons.I didn't even watch Real World Denver(The house they lived in was a converted bar-B-52's where I used to sip occasionally,back in the day). Then there was Survivor(I would vote myself off just to get away from the snakes and bugs) and America's Next Top Model (Fierceness, smiley eyes, two Jay's and a rotating retired Supermodel Judge). I even did Trading Spaces for awhile and always wondered how long it took the spray painted furniture and and super glued quick fixes to fall apart and how happy the homeowners were about their big transformation THEN? Technicalities. As fascinating as this all is-there is a point and I will get to it NOW...

The American Idol winner (from now on AI) was announced this week and as a self proclaimed expert of the reality genre (believe me-I am not bragging about my lack of life-ness-but I WOULD like to take this moment to send some love in the direction of my beloved dvr for allowing me to have what I want when I want it which includes the option to pause, rewind and delay reality. Muahahaha insert evil, powerful laugh here... You are the cat's pajamas...kudos) I can't help but feel a TAD let down-or bitterly disappointed the focus on the BITTER part.

This season of American Idol was upgraded in a lot of ways...

1. This season introduced a fourth judge Song Writer and Producer, Kara Dioguardi. Over all this seemed to be a positive, although by mid-season the show only allowed for three judges to comment on performances. It was usually Simon and Paula and then EITHER Randy OR Kara who got to speak. Sure that was good for their egos. I am not sure which would be harder to take: Taking turns OR knowing that viewers would rather hear what Paula had to rant than hear your assessment...? When Randy didn't get to speak, viewers missed out on repetitious valuable input like "Dawg that was hot," "I don't know dawg...," and "You can sing your face off." I like to play Predict What Randy Will Say...I am right 91.8% of the time...

*I am going to take two seconds here to give a shout out to one of my favorite moments in the finale: Kara and Bikini Girl. Fight bimbosity!!! Way to razzle dazzle Kara! You rock! Especially in the T-Bird get up you sported during Rock Week. Like spirit week in high school... I suggest for next season Pajama, Backward, Hawaiian and Crazy Hair Music weeks.

2.The addition of the mirrored stage, glittery mics and falling pillars. Next season let's think of even more ways to frighten and disorient the already terrified young contestants. Shall we?

3. This downgrade is an upgrade in my book...Ryan Secrest was toned WAY down. I now find him only nails on the chalk board abrasive. Much better than needles under my fingernails painful. Secrest out? Why, YES. PLEASE...Ever seen Kathy Griffin's bit about him? PRICELESS.

4. Paula was definitely soberfied. Like a whole new Paula sans train wreck reality show, with the addition of a jewelry collection and a new album. She knew how many times the contestants had performed in a night and everything!(not like with Jason Castro last season) She even used big eleventh grade words and although her comments weren't always directly relevant, she was at least watching the same performance as the rest of us. Her comments still read a bit like the "You're a star stickers" you got on your papers in second grade. Also, I am not in a position to question the relevance of others...

5. First blind/vision impaired contestant Scott MacIntyre was on the show this season. Scott amazed me. Not because he is blind, or because he plays the piano or
EVEN that he managed to get through the cheesy group dance numbers-but a combination and sometimes synchronization of the three. Impressive Scott! Sorry they feathered your hair and dressed you like a member of the original Miami Vice cast. Your style was better before the Stylist Intervention. I smell a lawsuit or at the very least a ticket bestowed upon your Stylist on behalf of the Fashion Police. I kept wondering if you were nasty to your Stylist? Revenge perhaps?

6. This season's final five may very well be the best in Idol history. I REALLY did put that in print. I have no pride-clearly. Regardless, I think with the proper management and image consultation each of the top five can and will be successful in their respective nichey music genre cliques. Especially Allison and Danny.

7. The background singers were brought out of the dark onto center stage for various performances. I am not sure why...I found them distracting. Like having sports commentators on the fifty yard line. By definition-thought the background singers belonged in the background. Just saying...Also something about it brought the Real Men of Genius commercials to mind, I have not yet uncovered the connection there.

*Still love Simon. He is consistently the most credible judge in the World Defined by Carla. Sometimes WAY TOO harsh-that is his shtick though. Lots of little play acting/Caricature fulfillment involving and between the AI judges. He NEVER gives undeserved praise and when he gives glowing comments- They are sincere, thought out and heartfelt and are appreciated as such. Go Simon! But PLEASE stop parting your hair like that...I am not sure how you even do that since it is only about an eighteenth of an inch long...but it is like bad hair black magic.

Simon Isn't COMPLETELY Heartless Reminder- he called a girl's boss when she quit to audition for AI (she was horrendous) and got her job back for her. Fox's effort to give Simon a heart= SUCCESS!!!

Wizard of Fox? Do you think that the Wizard of Fox can help Ryan find his way back home and give Randy a vocabulary and a fashion sense that makes him look less like Louis Farrakhan or a member of Outkast rather than an ex band member of Journey. Think Steve Perry is confused by Randy's exploration of bow ties, stripes and prints? (To the tune of Oh Sherrie..."Oh Randy can THAT be you?!") I know I find it disorienting...The Wizard already gave Kara her "swagger"-her favorite word after "honey, baby, sweetie"...and gave Paula clouded clarity-which is the best any of us can hope for. LALA land sort of like the Emerald City. Only with silicone and botox where the munchkins should be. However, "that's a horse of another color..."

Now for the BIG let down.

Kris Allen is the American Idol. KRIS ALLEN!- the itty one that I expected to go home weeks ago before Matt the Hat Donning-Duelling Piano Bar Guy. Kris most definitely stepped it up in the end...but BEFORE that he was the Young Newly Wed Guy because I found him utterly undefined. Literally forgettable. That said-he IS talented. He plays the guitar and takes some creative liberties and most of them add new flava'...he seems nice (not always or typically a prerequisite for talent but whatever)and he is cute-ish in an Elijah Wood, Lord of the Rings hobbit sort of way. That movie made me want a hobbit for a pet- then I could carry it with me in a pink leopard print cage...Well if the whole Idol thing doesn't work out for Kris, then I can provide him with an attractive "plan b". I see him being in the Gavin Degraw, Jason Mraz genre- albeit less original...and miniature. I like those guys too. I will purchase his music, who am I kidding? Not even myself. And it is not so much that KRIS is the American Idol, so much as who he had to "beat" to take the crown...tiara? I am not sure which it is-considering this is a pop competition. Your call. Also...who spells "Chris" like that? "Kris" Allen-that's who! No judgement...ish.

Enter(in strobes and smoke on a spiral staircase) runner up Adam Lambert. RUNNER UP?!? Adam ENTERED Idol an unknown ROCK STAR!!! I think that only David Cook and Daughtry can come close to making that claim legitimately and Adam required less polish than those two as he was already SUPER shiny. Adam has this theatrical, fireworks stage presence. He was BORN to perform and be wild no doubt-but we won't delve into that because he is fifteen (not really) and plays for the other team. Clad in leather guy liner and hip-gloss, glam-rock,club kid style. EVERY single week he performed all out and got rave comments from the judges. EVERY SINGLE WEEK!!!!... (By the way- when and where can I get my Adam doll that sings-yells Satisfaction at the push of a button?...I will be waiting. Impatiently as always). He and Danny were the only names people remembered for the first few weeks of the show. For excellent reason! They were the best!!!That said,Danny's music started to sound the same week in and week out-I am still a BIG fan. Danny is so humble and sweet and he has that throaty, smoker, sore throat voice thing going for him. He dresses himself well (even before they qualified for help from professionals) and resembles Robert Downey Junior..Oh and his young wife died of illness something like three weeks before auditions and encouraged him to go for Idol...*sniff**sniff*...Who can compete with THAT?!?!

Clearly not Adam...

So this is the theory. Not MY original theory...but according to various official and unofficial web sources. Like in political elections, the elimination of a popular contestant (Danny) swung his votes to the next most similar contestant (Kris)...that and the Southern vote (I think Adam made some Southerners a touch uncomfortable...bless their hearts, God love em'-I ACTUALLY do love Southerners but they DO have their own rules and are very proud of them- don't expect that to change soon, or EVER) made Kris the winner. Consolation votes...

Consolation Idol.

Yadda, yadda, yadda...

Doesn't mean anything.

It is ALL irrelevant in the grand scheme of things-

Adam's star will shimmer regardless. Irrepressible. NOT being THE American Idol may cramp his too-cool-for-the-planet style less anyway. Think he got what he came for...

Hahaha Since he is probably over it- I guess that just leaves me...

Just Like Bambi

2009-05-16T16:47:00.009-06:00

Spring has sprung and you know what that means? I have been dancing around the May pole in my rumba panties (those are the burlesquey ones with the ruffles on the toosh)...Enjoy the sun. Take heart-"get your hands up-baby get your hands up..."

Your welcome.

I love you too.

Anyway I am not sure if it is the coming of Spring, or my renewed lack of direction...but this past week I did nothing but drink coffee (too much coffee and I got playful with it too a little bit of cinnamon in the grounds, a little bit of 'nilla for the sound. A little bit Of Splenda makes it sweet, a little creamer what a treat..WHAT?!? Imagine it to the tune of Mambo Number Five...I apologize), read (finished Breaking Dawn. Sniff, sniff- farewell mi amore you know where to find me if you ever decide to be unfictional- I will be sparkling in the soul quenching sun. Throat fully exposed in anticipation...) chauffeur (preschool, parks and play dates-I am only in it for the hat and the Monkey kisses), do dishes (necessary evil-beats bathrooms), watch reality television(so sorry Danny I cried too, but it is only the difference of a week apparently a little Kanye gets you to the final two...a little Kanye goes a long way with me as well...#crazy, unstable gangsters make me nervous. Breakdowns=shooting sprees and the hoes (I am not ashamed that I don't know how to spell that) better watch their backs...(I don't know what I am saying either?!?...) take care of the bare bones minimum of my duties (the dressing, the washing, the feeding the wiping) and bask in the tremendous, toasty, earth waking sun... Roll down the windows, let the wind Bridgette Bardot my hair and listen to my favorite music louder than I have right to. It's not my fault you still don't know who Billy Pilgrim is...think Harry Connick Junior is JUST the guy from Will and Grace and you don't know all the lyrics to Rent and Mama Mia...Catch up. Oh and if you are still mocking my New Kids on the Block-You're still wrong, Live a little.Be a Cover Girl, get Full Service and Twisted-Teehee...I listen to almost everything-except techno because WHAT IS THAT? Think you have to have been born after '85 or be neckless, wearing high tops and neon spandex shorts to fully appreciate...Right. So...Spring

I can't remember when I have been so giddily happy to see "someone". Sad or refreshing?...One of those.

Like the second Spring in Bambi when all the little Bambis, Thumpers, Flowers, etc... come out and find love and twitterpation...so did I. In love with green grass, long days, the scent of lilac in the air...okay sundresses sandals and mango body butter may have SOMETHING to do with my euphoria...and the hunter better step off my mom. Oops got a little excited with all the Kanye talk...

Aside from that UTTERLY euphoric.

but I may need to reign it in and try to focus just a little bit...

Where was I? You would be not at all surprised at how many times I utter those words daily...

That's right...Hooray for Spring! Come to Momma. Toe touch, triple back handspring splits, spirit hands...

My bare feet and I adore you.

Club Rules

2009-05-07T12:10:00.008-06:00

Do you remember when we were kids how we went through a clubhouse phase?

I THINK clubs and club houses are a gateway to childhood. Not all of us were blessed with a Handy Daddy who whipped us up Bob Villa/Trading Spaces Ty/Andrew/Carson-esque clubhouses out of the spare timber in the garage. Some of us had the kind of Daddy's that sent the car out to have the oil changed, called AAA to change flat tires and used the garage to park the car in and little else. For THOSE of us- the ones that were gifted instead with an obligatory imagination-the "clubhouse" was little more than a large refrigerator box with haphazardly cut windows and doors (due to our horrendous cutting skills- hypothetically.) I mustn't forget to mention the finger painted exterior modelling every hue of pink and red one could devise by mixing, blending and shaking the basically non-fancy four provided options. Add the finishing touch of ten dollars worth of mirrored, sparkly and scratch and sniff stickers purchased from the sticker store (NOT Things Remembered. WAY before scrap-booking was "invented" Think...Units and Merry Go Round, two scrunchies and the Go-gos and if you don't get these allusions-I STILL think you're pretty, just shake your head and say yes). Final addition crusty "grass-like" indoor-outdoor rug from under the garage steps that was dragged to the "door" that busted off shortly after it's creation, as well as every blanket a girl had to her name. Enough about the decor- the key to the club house was the rules.

As every Club Member is well aware, the Club Founder gets to make the rules. There was somewhat of a Democratic process involved. That is if by "Democratic", we are referring to the Club Founder feigning interest in what the CM's have to say and then continuing the vigorous crayola marker scribbling on poster board of what she is CERTAIN are the perfect rules. Things like:

1. The clubhouse is reserved for Club Members.
2. Club Members may only be in the clubhouse when the Club Founder is present.
3. Nothing may be added to/taken from the clubhouse decor without the permission of the Club Founder. This includes Club Members.
4. Play nice-and by nice I mean play what the Club Founder wants to play-when and how she wants it played.
5. Club meets everyday after school that we don't have anything better to do and certainly you wouldn't have ANYTHING better to do.
6. All final decisions on the addition of new Club Members are to be decided by the Club Founder.
7. The Club Founder may singly vote you out of the club for any reason without explanation.
8. The Club Founder may (and often will) alter the club rules at any time without notifying other Club Members. Obviously no vote is necessary. Creative interpretation of any and all rules by the Club Founder is to be expected.

Sounds fun! Right?

There was a little pink am/fm radio that only tuned stations halfway, dancing, bike adventures, the occasional crap (I mean craft) and cookies...so membership had it's privileges...That and the Club Founder was pretty spectacular...(insert evil delusional laugh here).

Suffice to say that the Club House phase of my life was short lived. I have always thought boys were better at this teensy weensy aspect of childhood because of that carefree attitude that so charming in boyhood often translates to cluelessness in adulthood.

Our femininity that radiates silky smooth, shimmery and vulnerable- reacts warrior princessy to our club rules and boundaries being violated. This is due to our deep seeded belief that there IS a right way to do things. Our way.

Think about your old club house rules...

Have any of them changed?

Most of mine remained the same although my club house offers better accommodations/perks smells enrapturingly delicious and my rule delivery has perfected with practice. I SO have them knocking down the door to get in.

Reasons Why Coffee is More Satisfying Than Boys...Sometimes

2009-04-27T10:57:00.005-06:00

Okay so I am sitting at the table today with my three year old daughter. We are both "reading..." you know about princesses, talking animals and vampires. Note to self. Branch out...Me a cup of coffee in hand, her a Dora cup with that savory juice water mix that I give her so her teeth don't rot. Ewww! (The backwoods teeth theme to Deliverance being strummed in the background...not the juice concoction). Anyway, I notice her eying my coffee which she does a couple of times a week. At which point I generally remind her that caffeine is for grown ups... Blah blah blah. You know, in that way we copy our parents in a vain attempt to explain that as adults we can do things that are bad for us if we want to. I am quite certain that during such speeches I am transformed into Charlie Brown's teacher. Droning on in my daughter's head .You know, Wahwahwahwwhwahwah....

So she is looking at my coffee the wistful way she looks at my lip gloss collection and says in a voice much like that of Cindy Lou Who's..."Maybe when I am big as you ( one of her favorite games to play)- then I can drink coffee WITH you sometimes.. Not now though because little kids can't have caffeine." When she says things like this it is with that longing tone kids say "I wish I knew what that tastes like -" say when a stranger dares to partake of a cookie in their presence. Precious right? So we have a date, when she is old enough that caffeine won't stunt her growth, she and I will go for coffee- for now she has to settle for watery juice or a milk steamer.

Anyway- this of course brought to mind my coffee passion. Which gave me this idea, which I probably should have given it back. Y'know- "thanks but no thanks.." BUT I didn't. So here it is. Reasons Why Coffee is (Sometimes) More Lovable Than Boys... ( the grown variety) This is not a man hating thing at all... Just that- coffee completes me. Heehee. Atleast before two p.m. After that I complete myself.

1. Coffee is Predictable - in the BEST way.- Made to order. Served steamy hot OR icy cold. Sweet or bitter,smoothe or straightforward. Sophisticated or simple. Haha European, Brazilian, Jamaican...take your pick. Regardless- you know exactly what you're getting because you ordered it that way.

2. Coffee mixes well with your girlfriends and shopping. Need I say more? Also it doesn't remind you that you have fifty MAC shadows at home already and only two eyes to apply it to. Coffee understands.

3. Coffee only wakes you up when you want it to.

4. You can find the perfect cup of joe on the first attempt. No fuss. And at a drive-through no less. Talk about instant gratification.

5. Coffee warms you up whenever asked and doesn't complain that your feet are too cold. And REALLY? Man up. Hypothetically...

6. You give your coffee lip all the time and you never have to worry about starting a nonsensical argument. In fact, it gives you a melty kiss in return. Now if only we could teach it the hair tug.

7. Coffee doesn't interrupt you when you're reading to ask if it has clean socks. Coffee appreciates that while being a woman is a glorious, beautiful, complex and fabulous thing that comes with inmeasurable benefits-being utilized as a tracking device is not one of them. Why can boys NEVER find things again? :) Maybe the Myth Buster team should try to defunct that one- good luck.

8. Coffee is eager to please you...in a Jane Austen Victorian romance kind of way- not in a fetch you your paper kind of way. Awww... When the Internet finishes it's serial slayings of printed media, will puppies fetch I- Macs? Sad visual. What about the Times famous crossword- what will become of that?

9. Coffee is flexible. It doesn't care that you change your mind all the time. Craves it even. It also doesn't balk at being covered in cream, splenda and sugar free syrup. Nothing wrong with that.

10. Java only passes steam and then it smells like peppermint, vanilla or caramel. It doesn't have fingers or laugh afterward. Enough said. Hhmmm.. Coffee really IS fabulous, right?

My Poor Little Bug. Perhaps hot cocoa with pink mashmallows will suffice until she is " big as me." But now... Time for another cup. Mmmmm...;) ;).

Elizabethtown...My Dearest Mr. Crowe

2009-04-26T12:02:00.017-06:00

My Dearest Mr.Crowe,

Let me begin by throwing my own personal celebration in honor of your immeasurable genius. The muses have bestowed upon you more than your fair share of creative gifts. I am certainly not complaining, I am grateful, in fact. Grateful that you use your powers for good and share them with the masses. Myself of course, being a humbly awed member of the masses.

That said, in spite of our being complete strangers, I have something to ask of you. Sorry- it's this thing I do and I won't forgive myself for not at least making the attempt. I have placed my request in a diamond dish, doused it in pearly whipped cream, showered it in pretty please and cascaded it in rubied cherries. Mmmmm...Yummy...(holding spoon out) hear TASTE it...Okay...while your mouth is full...let me verbalize my teeny little wish for you...(kneeling down and gazing hopefully into his eccentrically electrified eyes)...

Write me...I mean, make my movie?

please, Please, PLEASE....I am not in the habit of begging. I mean I never, EVER do. But THIS could be monumentally significant. At least to me.

Don't answer right away- let it percolate. Play with those cherries for a bit- roll them around on your tongue- (I TOTALLY laced them with "There Is No Saying No To Me Serum")staining your lips with their pungent red deliciousness...

Here is my end of the deal. If you see fit to grace me with your gifts, I promise to continue my quirky quest of all things fascinating, real and inspiring. And you can cast me and enhance me and make me endearingly and irresistibly captivating. Something everyone strives for-but hoping I am the most convincing and possibly the first to think to ask this of you.

Anyway, that IS what you do best. So obviously what you were placed on this earth to do. Work your magic. You paint your subject with such intuitiveness that their humanity glows under the tender mastered stroke of your tempered brush. Each canvas reveals the bewitching complexities and alluring vulnerabilities of every subject that you are commissioned to COMPLETE (like that shameless Jerry McGuire reference?). Let ME sit for you. Make me SPARKLE...I vow to do my best to return the favor.

So Cam', ahem... I mean... Mr.Crowe. You relax and savor every last drop of the bejewelled sundae I prepared for you and consider my proposal. I will rub your neck and gush shamelessly and unabashedly about how much I ADORED Elizabethtown. Yes, I know that it was released a few years ago. See how um...provocative and multi faceted I could be? Riveting even. Typically movies are reviewed upon release-but I was saving it...in order to savor every nuance...to be untarnished by the unsolicited opinions of the less worldly, less perceptive mass members. And I am overjoyed that I did because I got to discover it on my own. Much more fulfilling that way. But now, after a second viewing- I cannot hoard it awayin secrecy any longer. Time to share it with the class.

Elizabethtown opens with a shipment of recalled athletic shoes being returned to a warehouse. Cut to Drew Baylor (played intuitively by the well coiffed and impressively non accented Orlando Bloom) reticently boarding a helicopter- lumbering under the world weight he removed from Atlas' shoulders- staring wistfully out the window at the ground below him...beckoning him to jump.

Drew's voice over...

"As somebody once said, there is a difference between a failure and a fiasco. A failure is simply the non presence of success. Any fool can accomplish failure. But a FIASCO- a fiasco is a disaster of mythic proportions. A fiasco is a folk tale told to others that make other people feel more alive because it DIDN'T HAPPEN TO THEM..."

We learn that Drew has sacrificed family social and other professional endeavors in his single goal to create the perfect trainer shoe. Before it is officially released however, the shoe is recalled. Drew is held personally responsible by his boss (played humorously by Alec Baldwin- wonder why he plays a tool so well. Hmmm?) for the company's loss of nearly one BILLION dollars and is asked to publicly take responsibility in an interview to a National Publication that will not be leaked/released for one week. Aware of his own impending doom before the rest of the world is made aware.Time to prepare oneself? Or torment oneself?

As a result of his failure, Drew has lost not only the seven years he has invested in the development of Spasmodica (Said recalled shoe) but he loses everything. His Job, his dreams, his ambition, his hope, his office girlfriend (who just so happens to be Jessica Biel . I think that having and losing her would have been reason enough to propel most men deprived of parachutes from the helicopter window. To me she will always be Mary Camden). Life as Drew knows it is over.

So Drew drags himself back home and purges his worldly possessions, leaving them on the street to be taken by celebratory looters. He then attempts to end himself by means of duct taping a very sharp knife onto the moving arm of his workout equipment. Like a slasher film gone awry...death by knife wielding elliptical seems like harsh and bizarre punishment. Just as Drew is about to unceremoniously bid the cruel world goodbye...his cell phone rings out" I can turn your grey skies blue" ...After ignoring it once and getting an immediate callback, " I can turn your grey skies blue"....Drew finally picks up. His distraught sister, Heather Baylor (played by Judy Greer) is on the other end of the line. tearfully breaking the news that their father passed when visiting Elizabethtown and the family needs him to go there to bring his body back home.

Hesitantly, Drew delays what he considers his imminent date with destiny and flies home to console his mother and sister and to retrieve his father's favorite blue suit. He then heads out on an empty red eye flight to Elizabethtown and carry out his reconnaissance mission so he can return home to cease his existence. Enter flight attendant Claire Colburn. Interestingly casted as Kirsten Dunst- Let me take a moment here Mr. Crowe (mouth gaping at your infinite skill) marvelling that you even manage to make her believable and LOVABLE. (Ready for another sundae? EXTRA cherries. Yes? That's my Good Genius)

I also need to take a pause for redirection as the winds have changed and shifted my focus yet again. Hahaha...In appreciation of the subtle greatness and the intricate balance of subtle nuance and raw emotion of this film. To model a pinch of the absolute artistry of thematic and character development shaped so precisely in your capable hands, Mr. Crowe...Because of this film's depth...its' relevancy-I now realize that the mere description of this film would be like reading the Cliff's Notes to Hamlet-and expecting the same cathartic result. Or listening to the muzak version of American Pie, or humming Jimmy Hendrix, sketching The Kiss...There simply is no doing it justice.

Allow me instead to share some of my favorite lines...No one alive today speaks truth like you. In no particular order I present you with your own AWESOMENESS: Quoting the movie is the only way to do shed any kind of light on it's glory.

Go ahead marvel at your own craft. Impossible not to. (Wiping gooey cherry juice from his chin...)

Drew Baylor: And I thought I was so mysterious...

Claire Colburn: Trust me. Everybody is less mysterious than they think they are.

Ellen Kishmore: Drew, it was real, and it was great, and it was really great.

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Bill Banyon: Is there such a thing as partial cremation?

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Claire Colburn: Do you ever just think I'm fooling everybody?
Drew Baylor: You have no idea.

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Claire Colburn: Men see things in a box, and women see them in a round room.

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Claire Colburn: I think I've been asleep most of my life.
Drew Baylor: Me too.

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Claire Colburn: What they say is, it *will* hit you, it could be ten minutes or it could be ten years from now.

Claire Colburn: [voiceover] Don't get lost!
Drew Baylor: You know, there is nothing greater than deciding in your life that things maybe really are black and white! And this guy Ben, who clearly takes you for granted, who serially takes advantage of you, is bad! And what I'm saying is good! See what I mean? You shouldn't be the substitute for anybody. This guy should be right here, right now, doing this
[kisses Claire]

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Drew Baylor: What is that word...? Whimsical!

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Claire Colburn: I am wearing these clothes- I mean, have you ever had unlucky clothes? This dress that you like-good things have not happened to me in this dress. But I saw it tonight and said "I am going to give you one more chance." and I REFUSE to be let down by this dress again."

Drew Baylor: Ben's very lucky, all we did was kiss.
Claire Colburn: Most of the sex I've had in my life was not as personal as that kiss.
Drew Baylor: And don't worry. Because as great as you look tonight, you are safe with me.

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Claire Colburn: [voice over] Some music *needs* air. Roll down your window.

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Claire Colburn: I don't know a lot about everything, but I do know a lot about the part of everything that I know, which is people.

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Drew Baylor: I've just recently decided that the things we know aren't black and white.

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Claire Colburn: And so we all became helpers, which I *so* can't help. I can't help helping.

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Claire Colburn: I've spent so much time thinking about all the answers to the problem, that I forget what the problem *actually* was.

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Drew Baylor: You're smart, you'll just wear your shoes and *never* ask any questions. Just enjoy your footwear.

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Claire Colburn: To have never taken a solitary road trip across country? I mean every body's got to take a road trip, at least once in their lives. Just you and some music.

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Chuck Hasboro: Death and life. And death and life. Right *next door* to each other! There's like, there's a hair between them.

Drew Baylor: Because we have a moment here, let me tell you that I have recently become a secret connoisseur of 'last looks'. You know the way people look at you when they believe it's for the last time? I've started collecting these looks.

Drew Baylor: I'm not used to girl's like you.
Claire Colburn: That's because I am one of a kind.

Claire Colburn: You have five minutes to wallow in the delicious misery. Enjoy it. Embrace it. Discard it and proceed.

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Drew Baylor: Can you imagine an entire life wrapped up in a shoe?

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Hollie Baylor: All forward motion counts.

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Claire Colburn: I want you to get into the deep beautiful melancholy of everything that's happened.

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Hollie Baylor: It takes time to be funny. It takes time to extract joy from life.

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Claire Colburn: I'm walking out the door... in last night's clothes.

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Claire Colburn: Hey, now we actually have a shot at being friends for the rest of our lives.
Drew Baylor: The rest of our lives... hmmmm...

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Claire Colburn: Welcome to the annual meeting of people who annually meet, and we'll see ya'll next year.

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Claire Colburn: Sadness is easier because its surrender. I say make time to dance alone with one hand waving free.

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Claire Colburn: So you failed. Alright you really failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You failed. You think I care about that? I do understand. You wanna be really great? Then have the courage to fail big and stick around. Make them wonder why you're still smiling.

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Hollie Baylor: We were complete opposites and it worked. And something happened between us that was not part of the plan... we were in love.

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Drew Baylor: In that moment, I knew success, not greatness, was the only god the world served.

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Hollie Baylor: I was still waiting for everything to start, and now it's over.

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Claire Colburn: I'm going to miss your lips. And everything attached to them.

I have this unique thing for you...

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Claire Colburn: You know, You're always trying to break up with me, and we're not even together.
Drew Baylor: I know... We're not?

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Drew Baylor: I'm fine.

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Jessie Baylor: This loss will be met with a hurricane of love.

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Jessie Baylor: I teach my kids about the things that really matter. I will teach them about Abraham Lincoln and Ronnie Van Zandt, because they are equally important in my house.

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Drew Baylor: You're great, Claire. Actually, you're kinda amazing.

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Claire Colburn: [after learning that Drew's father is Mitch] Ah, so you're a son of a Mitch.

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Claire Colburn: Never met a Mitch I didn't like. Fun, full of life. Like... everyone wants to be a part of Mitch's club.

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Drew Baylor: We should've taken this trip years ago.
Look at us- you with your many almost great projects and me with my fiasco. Oh God! Both of us working SO hard. For what? We should have taken this trip years ago...and the fact that I am going home to kill myself, is really not your fault." Spoken to his father's urn as he drives it across country spreading his ashes.

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Hollie Baylor: [looking at a picture of Mitch] I love you. This is for you. Your favorite song on a Saturday night.
[Moon River plays] Then Susan Sarandon tap dances...she is made for this type of role.

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(text written on a cloth above the stage): If it wasn't this... it'd be something else.

Drew Baylor: And who says we have to listen to 'them'?
Claire Colburn: *They* do!

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Claire Colburn: Just tell me you love me and get it over with!

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Phil DeVoss: I am ill-equipped in the philosophies of failure.

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Claire Colburn: Life cannot be so cruel that we don't deserve to be together... to eat.

Drew Baylor: As a specialist in the field of last looks- this one- was pretty iconically- Claire.

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Drew Baylor: By the way, I didn't say 'million,' I said 'billion.' A billion dollars; that's a lot of million.
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Claire Colburn: Or look for a girl in a red had who is waiting for you with an alternate plan.

Drew Baylor closes with: No true fiasco ever began as a quest for mere adequacy. The motto of the British Special Service Airforce is:

Those who risk, win.

A single vine chute is able to grow through cement.

The Pacific Northwestern Salmon beats itself bloody on it's quest to travel hundreds of miles upstream against the current with a single purpose- (sex of course), but also...

LIFE...
*******

Heeheehee...There it is! NEARLY all that I love about Elizabethtown. Think I quoted the entire screenplay. UNBELIEVABLE! The entire script is unbelievable and unforgettable. WOW...the way you bring love to vivid technicolor cinematic life.

You spoil girls for the real boys. They can't all be Lloyds and Drews.

So...Mr. Crowe. Cameron- I appreciate your work too much to use such formality...what do you say?

In the words of Claire,

"I know- I'm impossible to forget, but I am hard to remember."

If you would see fit to toss in one of those killer soundtracks and unbelievable American landscapes...Put some Crowe-wise words into my mouth...(I don't LET anyone speak for me)... I am ACTUALLY pleading with you to...

I just thought you might help me remedy the "hard to remember part"

There is no forgetting your own masterpiece.

Of course...you can answer after your cherry drunkenness allows you to speak...

Oh Those Things...That Don't Make Sense

2009-04-18T14:19:00.005-06:00

As adults we are prone to try to make sense of things. It gives us comfort to know that the people and the duties and the living of life can be straightened and tidied, explained and compartmentalized. We desperately desire for the elements of our chaotic universe to add up-to fit together.

Life is messy and sometimes the numbers don't equate no matter how many times we carry the one. And the colors won't blend-they clash no matter how we try to scheme them. Occasionally the pieces that make us up refuse to fit- And then what? Do we abandon them or take the trip?

If you have experienced faith in a Higher Power-you have by now come to terms with the fact that while your brain feels the need to sift through the information, you certainly cannot explain faith using solely logic. Faith is a well rounded experience. Solid because it engages your mind and your soul. Just like you can't adequately explain a timeless piece of music that plays your pain note for note- word for word. Or describe the play or the book that effortlessly brought you to life and gave yourself back to you. The painting that is so flawlessly beautiful that you gasp in awe and tear even now as it's essence haunts you. Certainly you can attempt to describe any of these with logic and words, but without the experience the definition falls pathetically and unjustly short.

If you have ever been unfathomably, unfalteringly, heart over head in love or have been genuinely, unselfishly adored and cherished by another- then you could not be more keenly aware that the initial attraction passes through the eyes and spreads to the brain and depends on the mental challenge and engagement to sustain the intrigue. At some point however, the heart takes over and puts the brain on auto pilot. Enter the overwhelming, the ravenous inexplicable... The kind of unanswerable question that keeps you hanging on even if the object of your desire and affection tears your heart out so you can watch them slowly squash it in their seemingly faultless hands. Or maybe- if your lucky...let's not mince words- if you happen to have won the eternal lottery...love has indefinably inspired another to SEE you. Allow you to lay yourself down on them with all your faults and simple complexities-in the brutal light of honesty and still you see nothing but radiant, infallible acceptance and desire reflected in their eyes. Explanation would destroy something so utterly undeserved.

True gifts should just be accepted. Without our vain attempts for clarification.

Hope. Love. Compassion, Faith. Passion. Forgiveness. Beauty. All inexplicable. Yet how foolish would we be to abandon these things the mind cannot explain. Aren't we giving our brains too much credit? I mean...I cannot seem to recall what year it was that Columbus sailed the ocean blue... rhymes with two...and how do you discover a place that has inhabitants? Or square roots...or Spanish verb conjugations. I could fill a library with the things that I don't know.

The tastiest, deepest, most poignant experiences in life are inexplicable.

Maybe...there are times when we should stop questioning the unanswerable.

And just, EXPERIENCE, ABSORB, GIVE, RELISH...

LIVE.

Just might be worth getting our hands dirty and putting our thoughts to bed.

Five Things That I Can Successfully Accomplish in Five Minutes

2009-04-16T11:00:00.005-06:00

Like so many others, I find myself jobless in these trying, uncertain, turbulent, listless, unsettled times. Really, for the first time. For the first time since I have had an actual necessity for a job.

I have observed that my unemployed days go by in a general blur. Officially unemployed, it is not as though I nothing to otherwise employ my time, occupy my mind. Or should it be employ my mind and occupy my time?

Days are marked by my son's school schedule and whatever meager social plans are on the books. Shopping is out. No job- no new shoes. Not that I NEED new shoes. Is it about needing. Really? Haha I am okay with it- truly. Changing old habits is all. Staying home more.

Actuality isn't all it's cracked up to be. On a sunshiny day though-I find a new perspective refreshing. A motivation for reevaluating- sometimes reinventing. Strange as it may be however, this unexpected free time leaves me much more restless, than bored. There is always something captivating and distracting to ward off boredom. This restlessness finds me constantly trying to find innovative, interesting, yet constructive ways to break up the day.

So meet the brain baby of Restlessness...For now I am calling her...Eva- as in am I Eva going to figure it all out? Deep down, I hope not... But sometimes it seems that uncomplicated is pleasant albeit personally unattainable.

And so I try to be constructive.. Clean a little-cook (even I am laughing) and maybe even organize. Hahaha..,( laughing uncontrollably now- tears rolling down my face...)TRY is the operative word. Actually I have refined skills at alphabetizing, color coding... Organizing by style- it is the steps leading up to that point that I don't adore- correction- chemically resist.

Without further adieu ( or blah, blah, blah) here are five tasks that I can successfully accomplish in five minutes. Little micro- increments of day. Keep in mind that I am not speedy by any means. I am a take it in, take my sweet time savorer. I am a strong believer in anything worthwhile is worth waiting for and unless you are the actual boss of me- that you are not the boss of me.

I am banking on being worthwhile. Cross your fingers for me and hope that works out.

1. Decisions are tricky for me. Especially the insignificant ones. Also I thrive on variety... Does that make me fickle? Noncommittal? Indecisive? Whatever. Really doesn't matter. It is what it is. So- In five minutes... I can successfully select an outfit, choose a lip gloss, coordinate the shoes, grab a scarf and dig out a matching pair of earrings. This time constraint does not obviously include putting them into place. Be reasonable. I do of course realize that this is not particularly impressive, but it is practically a festivus miracle for me that developed with years of practice and fine tuning. Keep in mind that this involves two flights of stairs and some serious selective skills.

2. I can choose and discard action verbs for my resume like no body's business. Resumes seem so hokey to me. Understand why they are necessary. I just find them... restrictive. The process makes me feel like I am talking about myself in the third person...btw I hate when people do that. How significant can you really be?!- Did you see the Seinfeld about that? Think the guy's name was Jimmy. And "Jimmy liked Elaine"-only she thought he was talking about someone else- not himself. So anyway-here is my current top five action verbs that describe me... Heehee. You be the judge. Thirty second impression. Ready? Here goes...
1. Challenging 2. Innovative 3.Accessorizing? 4. Um... Mildly entertaining
5.Whimsical?-Creative.
I am hardworking and dedicated... But that is so cliche.

How marketable am I? Really?
Not very- true story. I have this unbridled optimism that allows me to believe that perfect fits exist in every aspect of life. Realistically however, I know that our humanity and selfish ambitions often blind us to and separate us from the serendipitous, coveted hand in glove relationships in life.

I can use the same five minutes on a different day to make up jobs and titles for which I am perfectly suited. Many of them don't ACTUALLY exist- but if they did- I would be the PERFECT girl for them. Minor technicalities. I will save that for another blog.

3. I can think of twenty seemingly unrelated things that are linkable in my own interpretation of reality. I take great pride in being able to trace the connection should I be thinking out loud and should anyone be listening and call me on the seeming randomness- ramdomitity? of my thought processes. Sometimes I trace the mind journey for myself. I know there is a connection- but it is not always immediately traceable. A bit of a self indulgent challenge... This cyclical process that is occasionally responsible for keeping my weary eyes open when my heavy head is cradled soothingly by my vanilla lavender infused pillow. One thought begets another, befriends another, embraces yet another, tempts another, screams in fury at one- contradicts another, interprets the next...chases the monstrous ones back under the brain bed..I find that I write a lot about my busied mind. Sorry...analytical- maybe. Inquisitive- more likely. Unsettled- mostly. I can remember early on in school wishing I could zone out- mind nowhere- like the kids with their heads leaning on their arm eyes glazed over. Temporarily vacant.

4. I can make the perfect cup of coffee. My perfect cup. Something rich and dark- maybe flavored. Had cherry coffee recently. Steamy, dreamy deliciousness. Splenda and enough flavored creamer to turn it the color of the Statue of David. You can tell me how to make your perfect cup one day. Confident I can craft it with my own two little hands in five minutes or less. Not a barista, but I have the soul of an artist nonetheless.

I think that personal preference, coffee, tea- iced or hot... What you take in yours- be it naked (meaning your coffee wears nothing- I.e. black) vanilla, cinnamon, honey, raw sugar, splenda, pink stuff- no matter...I think it is interesting- revealing even. I DO find people fascinating. I like learning new things, experiencing new people. Some more than others. Another blog, another day- I know...

5. Dance it out or sing it out. Preferably a concoction of the two. Temporarily therapeutic and cleansing. I already inflicted a whole blog on you describing the art of dancing it out. I am not particularly discerning when it comes to the music that inspires this process...whatever is on the radio will do. It helps if the song is familiar- comforting- like a favorite perfectly worn sweater. Even better if you know at least eighty percent of the words. Mandatory to the process though, is that you fully commit. Go all out- put some heart into it. No rules as long as you feel it. Otherwise it doesn't work it's magic- will leave you feeling more pent up and repressed than liberated and cleansed. That is a bad thing. SO not what we are going for here.

So that's pretty much it... I can make much more out of ten minutes. I realized while I was coming up with this list that my day is comprised of long spaces and short bursts of energy and productivity broken up by lulls of nothing special.

What can you successfully accomplish in a mere five minutes?

Greatness?

Take my breath away...

Fast and Furious...Worth it's Weight in Diesel

2009-04-05T10:39:00.007-06:00

Gentlemen Start My Engine...

Vvrrrooommmm, Vrrroooommmm, Vrrroooooommmmmm...

Heehee-Sorry, that simply was NOT to be resisted. Too obvious. I would be a lesser girl for passing it up.

Went to see Fast and Furious yesterday...I have been chomping at the bit to see it (or I would have been, had I been a horse-Why DO I use these expressions anyway?) since I saw the preview for it and witnessed first hand that Vin Diesel WOULD (round off, cartwheel into splits) in fact be in this one...COMPLETELY the most persuasive element for me. I sat the two sequels following the original out because they did not include the original cast. There was a little nod to the Tokyo one at the beginning of Fast and Furious that I caught without having seen it-very impressed with my skills of observation. So, I am easily impressed...at least with myself. Why I like Ellen and John Stewart...feel clever when I get their jokes in real time. Other than that little reference,this F&F pretended the other cheap impersonation knock-off movies never happened. Well played since nobody saw them. Okay so Vin Diesel, Paul Walker, Michelle Rodriguez and the girl who plays Vin's sister and will make a career of looking a bit like Demi Moore-I mean, Jordana Brewster- all back for Fast and Furious. Do you like how they removed the "The's" and pretended it was an all new title? Action movies are by definition uncomplicated. They would lose seventy percent of their audience if they started throwing in fifty cent words and sub plots. This movie was exactly what the title promises however, Fast and Furious. Ca-ching! Triple cherries.

Let me just say that previous to yesterday, I had given up action movies (for a minimum of five years). Not for lent- I am not Catholic- (can you give action movies up for lent? Pretend you ACTUALLY like them...) but for the following reasons...I feel myself drifting into a cliche tinted de ja vous coma every time I witness the same five or so actors deliver the same predictable lines ( I predicted at least five in F&F before they were uttered -correction...Vin purrs them-like an engine. SO MUCH BETTER x-)) All the same "plot" lines...for example- heroes girlfriend, wife, or endearing family member is killed or kidnapped by villain. Hero is wrongly accused of a crime by a corrupt police force. Hero from the wrong side of the tracks get tangled with the wrong kind of crowd...Hero is a bad guy with a heart of gold...bad guy gone good...blah, blah, blah. Bank robberies ,car chases, plane crashes, jail breaks, heists. Loss of a partner or good friend at the hands of the foe to provoke the hero. Obvious guilt on the part of the hero...giving him a renewed hunger for justice. Gratuitous skin shots thrown in for flavor..Followed by shoot shoot-grisly offing of assistant bad guy boom kabaam...Hero gets his revenge when coming face to face with his disturbingly corrupt nemesis (these are of the crooked police chief, foreign drug lord, hero partner gone to the dark side...handsome Bond type villain...or devily gorgeous leather clad villainess variety. Frequently however, villains have deep facial scarring or are albino, or have some other bizarre identifying manifestation of their inner turmoil.)...drop, punch, slam, sirens, bang, fiery explosion...

Insert memorable three to five line catch phrase that with any luck will be badly impersonated for years to come and you have yourself an action hit. If your action movie stars Nicholas Cage- add horribly executed southern dialect...why do they add that when it is irrelevant and the actor can't pull it off? Why? They just don't care-people with see it anyway. Irrelevant. Who needs quality when you have fast cars, muscly heroes, hot scantily clad chicks, grizzly villains, fabulous scenery, lots of fire and violence...a few well choreographed fist fights, a story line and script that could be written by an eighth grader with a limitless major studio budget? I guess no one,...except me- I usually opt for the Action Films mature and oh so much more enticing older brother- the Epic Film. That way I get my cake and eat it too...only the butter cream icing...

I am not even going to delve into the earthly disaster films. Why pay money to see that...Got CNN? Pretty sure sensationalizing news and impersonating disaster films is the soul purpose of Anderson Cooper...Toss in Geraldo Rivera for the spontaneous, comedic element and voile obliterates any inexplicable need for disaster movies.

So the point. Fast and Furious. Dom and his gang- with some new additions as many of the original group met an untimely end in THE Fast and THE Furious- not to cause any confusion- are not only stealing cars, they are stealing gasoline. Way to bring theft relevance into the year 2009... Dom eventually leaves Letty, his friends and his family to protect them because the feds are on his tail...and why wouldn't they be? Right? We ARE talking Vin Diesel...admirable tail. Sorry! Focusing... Paul Walkers character is still the loose canon, driven man in blue...sorta' sometimes donning a blue Donna Karan or Boss suit- does that count?...Btw- even in man size-Paul Walker (as Brian O'Conner) brings forth visions of Ricky Shroeder when he was on Silver Spoons, Zach from Saved by the Bell and Justin Timberlake in his curly long hair like the boy in the creepy adolescent Brooke Shield island movie N'Sync days...I think it is an age thing. That- or he is made to look like the JV squad bench sitter in the glory of Vin's machismo gladiator grease stained mechanic type shadow. I don't want to give too much away. Obviously the two are reunited...they race against each other in an illegal street race scene and of course true to the name- lots of sizzling driving scenes with brightly colored, revvy, purry, hummy, noisy,turny,jumpy,crashy,super shiny,ultra fast cars doing all sorts of unbelievable tricks and stunts that made me shiver. Things that I have no inclination to do behind the wheel of a Honda Pilot, but I would gladly hand over the keys to Dom...as long as he promised to keep talking in that voice that sounds like he ate gravel and broken glass for breakfast followed by a carton or two of Camels...unfiltered. He can recite the preamble if he wishes...but if I had my druthers...(another funny word) I think I would pick Prince lyrics...pre symbol...or Neruda, or Crash by Dave Matthews, something by Jay-Z...Maybe Fast Car by Tracy Chapman...and wear a white ribbed wife beater...Pure-strike that- drizzled...in Deisel-iciousness...That's not asking too much. Just the cat's pajamas- told you I was bringing it back. Hear me roar...

Anyway a must see- in a purely entertainment and thrills kind of way.

Get your engine revved.

One Word...five minutes

2009-03-31T16:48:00.011-06:00

Okay so in my senior year of high school I had this teacher, Mr. Taylor. Mr. Taylor taught English and had a multitude of unorthodox teaching techniques and unique viewpoints. He definitely left an impression on all of us...

Anyway, Mr. Taylor used to have us journal for the first five minutes of every class. He would provide us with a word or a quote (sometimes from literature) and we had to free write on whatever came to mind with regards to his provided subject for five minutes. The one rule was that we were not allowed to pick up our pen from our paper until the five minutes were up. So...I am going to give it a try...I am a bit rusty and I am using a keyboard rather than a pen...but Mr. Taylor- this is for you...sort of. Oh this is for you...anti-perspirant is your friend, go into the Shower Clean scented light...it will be okay. Promise.

Here are the rules according to Mr. Taylor and revised by me...I am going to open a book, choose the first word that jumps out and set the timer on my I-Devil...here goes nothin'...

The word is frustrated...Haha funny that should be the word that I see first. I get frustrated much more frequently and easily than I should. Not angry-frustrated per se- just generally frustrated. When things don't go my way-when I can't have what I want, when and how I want it...Did I just admit to being a spoiled brat? I think that I did...which I knew about myself. Work REALLY hard to hide/change that aspect of myself, but I don't often admit to it... ESPECIALLY when called out on it...oh well. Haha I am most guilty of this because I guess I get frustrated when I fail to meet my own undefined expectations. Frustrated by my own inadequacies... and shortsightedness...at my numerous imperfections...Why I have to be flaming scarlet hot or icy blue frozen and can't just wade around in the lukewarm pool of indifference...like everybody else. Seems so much easier. I find myself exhausting. That is frustrating too. Frustrated that I care too much, think too much, say too much...but not in that order- the thinking usually comes in last place. Makes me weary.

Also I get frustrated that I get frustrated because it is a total waste of time and emotion and hard to work out, but that doesn't keep me from rolling around in it like a mud wrestler taking down a worthy adversary from time to time...haha stretch for a metaphor-I know...but
I don't want to be a pig in mud...thanks for indulging me that...

Let me think of some things that frustrate me about myself...lack of vision, lack of patience...I am the absolute worst judge of time to ever roam this crazy earth... As in how long it will take to get ready to go somewhere. Shower, makeup, hair, clothes, shoes, accessories...repeat most of these steps for the kiddos...minus the make up...Although I do this most days, I often do not have to do this on a schedule...which according to me should be a four letter word...never to be uttered in my presence.Did I mention how long it takes to find my keys? ESPECIALLY if they are where the are SUPPOSED to be. How long it will take to get loaded up and into the car, how long it will take to drive to the desired location and how much longer it will take if there is traffic, an empty gas tank or an accident...If I get lost...even with the aid of Gretchen Pearl Steinbacher-my GPS with the British accent that I changed accidentally and now she just sounds so much better informed and seems more capable of directing me to my desired location...Or if the Monkeys fight the whole way and I have to try to stunt drive while I referee and THEN I have to try to put back the hair I pulled out of my scalp before I can go anywhere publicly... How long I will be in a place once I finally arrive...forget about if I see anything shiny, or run into anyone I want to speak with...or have to ask for help... and how long it will take me to get back home again...You see my predicament? The clock is not my friend. If I set my stubborn mind- not to be late it is only successful because I have literally allowed an hour more than should be reasonably necessary...Let's not talk of being reasonable. A whole 'nother can of worms...or olives...that sounds better.

I get frustrated at my sensitivity, my vulnerability. I get frustrated that I am not only a poor judge of time...but of situations...and restrictions...hmmm...I get frustrated at my lack of parenting skills...that I am too big of a child myself to be the example that I would like to be .All mature and responsible...Wise... I get frustrated that I have no desire to do things that I believe I should WANT to do like cook...and sometimes communicate effectively. I get frustrated that I do not have enough room in my closet to hang all my clothes effectively...I get frustrated at my adorable but noisy puggle...because sometimes he becomes too much for me with the scratching and the whining and the crying...grrr...he has the worst habits I have ever seen in a dog and it is due to total lack of training...Where is the Dog Whisperer when I need him?...tsk...tsk...submit... HELP...how can he do that anyway? I get frustrated that life never quite meets up to my expectations, nor I to it's- I am sure...

Saved by the bell. hahaha...Added the paragraphing after the fact.

Now I am frustrated by my inability to adequately describe my thoughts on frustration in five minutes...Heehee

I Don't Like Mondays...

2009-03-30T10:37:00.007-06:00

Tell Me Why...I don't like Mondays...I DON'T LIKE MONDAYS....

Not enough that it is true. Now we have to dwell on it because the song works it's way into our head and just sticks there...like toilet paper to our shoe. Ewww...

You know that one, right? Shooting it down seems a bit drastic...maybe just a smidge...

Who really does? Like Mondays, that is... Look at what music alone has to say about it...Manic Monday- kissing Valentino by the crystal blue Italian stream being the only real redeeming qualities to the entire day and that is only because her alarm hasn't roused her out of the fantasy and shattered her illusion to the harsh reality of Monday and what little-it has to offer her.

Monday, Monday...Can't Trust That Day......not looking so good.

I Don't Like Mondays...couldn't be more clear...Not a fan to be found.

What is it about Monday exactly-that makes it so difficult to endure...Like a Full House marathon...it seems to roll on and on- all up hill...in sweltering heat and you're wearing those pointy shoes that make that unbearable circular blister on your little toe that takes days to heal...

I will start with the obvious...

Going to Bed Early: Coming off of the weekend high, going to bed early Sunday so that we can drag ourselves out of bed on Monday begins the cycle of resentment that repeats every seven days. ...Preemptive as our attempts may be...going to bed early-Never DOES work anyway...because our brains and our bodies don't care that the boss expects us in at seven sharp- We have inadvertently altered our sleep cycle. Might as well face it...those eyes aren't shutting until 11:17pm. The more we stare at the clock- the more likely that we will be watching vacuum, work out DVD, mineral make up and multi level marketing commercials at one a.m.- with four hours left to sleep. Resist the urge to stare at those digital numbers...silently recite the lyrics to 80's rock ballads instead- much more conducive to sleep...

We both lie silently still
In the dead of night
Although we both lie close together
We're still miles apart inside
Was it somethin' I said, or somethin' I did-
did my words not come out right..."

Sleepy...right?

When I had a regular job...I would lay out my clothes,pack my bag, put everything into my car... Set my coffee on the timer to brew all by itself...best creature feature known to man...that and heated seats-which I no longer have. Sniff, sniff... Anything I could do to get me out of the house on time Monday...because I knew that my curled up snuggliness would be victorious over the drone of my alarm at five a.m. and that the chill of the bedroom floor could not compete for my affections with the perfect dent my head had worn into my feather pillow.

It also never fails that on the days I know that I have to rise early...I spend a half hour searching aimlessly for my emerald Too Face foil liner, my left vintage silver earring, or the lid to my pink coffee travel mug. Any item that hasn't been relevant enough to recall in the last month-suddenly becomes an urgent need. This defies explanation. Curse that Murphy and his blasted laws...heehee

Okay...so reason one for dreading Monday-Getting up early and not being able to sleep at a decent hour Sunday night...

Two- Ineffective use of preparation-getting ready time...often resulting in waves in the back of my hair and that sense that I have forgotten something that stays with me all day long.

Three -Surrendering the weekend...Think Surrendering the weekend is a the biggest deterrent to showing Monday some love...Underlying reason: the weekend allows us to cut loose- stay up late, play a little, do something simply because we FEEL like it.

Returning to the grind reminds us of our numerous responsibilities...Our grown up-ness...I hate to admit it, but my first REAL sign of optimism comes on Thursday. I don't know if this started when Friends used to run on Thursday night, or now because it is Grey's, Private Practice night...or if it has not a thing to do with Must See Tv (heehee) and it is simply because Thursday nestles at the bosom of Friday...but Thursday has been filled with the twinkle of optimism for me-as long as I can recall. Glimmer of hope...end in sight...light at the end of the work week tunnel. You know the bit.

Poor Monday- should be viewed as a new beginning. Fresh...invigorating...full of new challenges to be conquered... Not so much...Perhaps though, if we could change our perspective, tweak it here and there...we could do that whole "Accentuate the positive" thing...think how many Mondays we drag ourselves through in general distaste. Maybe they could be useful for something...Since the entire country is being moved by the spirit of conservation and all...maybe we could have a green view on Monday...not sure how that translates, but...

There has to be something redeeming about it...right?

We do HAVE to suffer through Monday in order to embrace Friday.

That's something...

Best not shoot Monday down just yet. Does serve it's purpose...

How about- I don't completely and utterly detest Mondays with every ounce f my composition...?

Dance It Out

2009-03-29T19:14:00.012-06:00

I feel the need to "dance it out" today.

Purge my soul...empty my brain...set my body free.

For those non-Grey watchers...Meredith and Christina...best friends and Resident Surgeons on the show (sometimes other female characters on the show join in-you know, common bond and all)...when they suffer the inevitable man troubles, have hearts on the mend, are crushed by the weight of troubled minds, suffering guilt from mistakes they have made (in their case-often life altering errors), or merely need to release aggression,frustration, aggravation or burn off stress... Jeans/scrubs off...whatever could be deemed constricting...Freedom of restriction is completely mandatory to the process...

and then, they "dance it out."

In full out pajama party fashion-they turn up the music loud...louder...right there perfect. Screaming thoughts drowned out by impassioned lyrics and penetrating rhythms.

Feet start out tapping, then stepping...as the momentum in the music builds and swells...jumping in time...Stomping guilt out under the pound pounding of their feet. Aching heart eased by the beloved distraction as it's busted free from it's mournful, rhythmic beat and it speeds with the building movement. Boom, boom, boomity boom...

Weary body gives itself over to the music as the melody washes straight through. Baptism by bass. Hips swaying, then shaking, pumping-circling...Shoulders roll, arms raised in surrender. Swaying, Hands grasping, punching, circling as dictated by the pulsating beat. Sadness seeps...anger works it's way out- frustration releasing in the form of energy spilling through every pores...Back snake like and writhing...releasing pain with each rolling motion. Hair moving with every sway and shake of the head...Feeling anything but the music becomes impossible...

Move it, rock it, feel it, twirl it, kick it, roll it, heal it, groove it, get it, round and round... move it up, take it down... sway and swing. Jump, bounce-shout... spin and turn until it sorts itself out.

Beat gets louder, faster, building...higher... keep momentum. Climbing... Maintain at full speed as long as you possibly can...it's the only way.. Whatever it takes. .one song, two, seven...ten...

Crescendo.. panting...harder-until all that is left to do is gasp...

Collapse.

Either in exhaustion, laughter filled tears or tear filled laughter.

Possibly blissful release.

"Dancing it out" is reserved for high low and in between...

For the thrilling, exhilarating, can't get any higher... filled to the rim and over flowing. Bubbling over with bliss. This moment could not be richer...I am so full I could burst- exploding in a exulted state of unadulterated joy...

For the stuck in the middle...got to do something to make me EXIST... be it exultation, anguish, rage or gratification. Splash vivid color on my canvas, speed my pulse...depart from this nothing redundancy that slumps us all from time to time. Breeding the hunt for the FEEL.

and...

For what I call "no air moments"...when the one thing I need is the sweet cleanse of deep breathing...but instead my lungs clench up...my nostrils paralyzed...panic sets in...Prayer seems mandatory...but I am suffocated by the neediness of my humanity... Like the fear so deep that all you can do is scream out but irony has yanked your voice. , For those dark moments when I feel like breaking... giving myself-soul, mind and body-over to the million tiny cuts I spend my life trying to mend with band aids of futility...only to find a deeper one when the bandage is lifted for inspection...When I want to lay in a ball on the floor and let the darkness set in because there aren't arms big enough to encompass me...

Those are my "dance it out moments"...

Girls have been dancing it out for years...to slightly alter the words of Edward (my favorite vampire and yours)...

Dancing "is exactly my brand of heroin"...

of which I have never partaken...

but I get the drift. If it provides a release that is anything like dancing.

Who needs therapy when you have music?...Haha- and a blog.

Don't believe me?

I'll show you how this works...turn up the music...

I could teach a class...call it Cathartic Funk.

A Peek at the Cat's Pajamas

2009-03-26T18:42:00.014-06:00

Dinner mint colored prom dresses and finger curls...bobby socks and soda fountains...Poodle skirts and rebels with greased back hair...

Although I am quite certain that being a teenager in any decade is /was a challenge-think it would have been pretty fab to be a teenager back in the fifties so that I could be an extra in Blue Hawaii or some old Franky and Annette movie...dance in a harem behind Elvis while he played his guitar in his Hawaiian shirt and swim trunks. Afterward I could utter some amazingly cheesy lingo in the background like "boss, backseat bingo, cherry, big daddy, dream boat, swell...and the cat's pajamas" Mostly, I would say "the cat's pajamas". (Actually I think that originated in the 20's but let's fast forward it to the fifties...)

On second thought, I AM going to bring that back... Why not?

The cat's pajamas is defined by the Urban Dictionary as:

Lingo describing someone (something) who is great, incredible or special. Usually indicating stylishness or innovation. Pajamas were a relatively new fashion in the 1920s. The term "cat" was beginning to be used as a term to describe the out going and unconventional jazz-age flappers.

The cat's pajamas will be cozy right up to my eclectic group of adjectives such as: dreamy-which I use regularly and -tall glass of water...which I reserve for special occasions. Heehee... Oh and I of course turn non words into adjectives by adding "y" and I am NOT the only one. Admit it, you do it too. The English language as it currently exists...need a little flair from time to time. And I am just the girl for the job. So...I didn't want to engage you in another extended kitty metaphor. So I spare you. Just this once. You're welcome.

Instead...dadadada.... picture me unveiling my grand scheme in a sequined Price is Right Girl gown...smiling my best bimbo smile...now...(removing the red velvet curtain) Viola....

Since I like cats and pajamas...and Elvis movies and fifties beach movies starring people from the mickey mouse club and peanut butter commercials... and I worked for a year in a fifties theme restaurant called Angel's (really...it was a family restaurant-sounds like adult entertainment. With juke boxes on the table, pictures of Elvis, James Dean, Marilyn and Bogart all over and Looney Tunes-which I never figured out how those fit in to the theme. I made a million milk shakes and served ridiculously giant pieces of cake- oh I had to wear a red bow tie which I detested and a red apron-yyyuuuuccckkkkk!) when I was in college and I still indulge in vanilla cokes and cherry cokes and vanilla cherry cokes...all with extra cherries and even though I don't know much about them, I have an appreciation of old cars- really LOVE them! Anyway, hopefully you see my point, I think I had one.

Oh there it is, Sit up please- your head fell on it and you leaked a little drool on it during my long drawn out monolog. RUDE! Hahaha abut understandable. Moving on...I am going to give you a peek at the cat's pajamas... According to the definition, let us just pretend I am a hipster. Let's talk pajama talk and I will give you a peek at some of my favs. Some silky, some sassy, some silly, all soft...all mine.

This all came upon me the other day when I was sadistically attempting to put all of my clean clothes away. Like clowns in a circus car. Cramped-not creepy as all get out. Had chick flicks running in the back ground-so it was slightly better than community service. The picking up trash from the side of the highway in a florescent vest kind-but only slightly...Other than clean and dirty- there is no methodology to my "system." So mixed in with suits and dresses, jeans and sweaters-were pajamas...loads of them. More than I remember purchasing...was mesmerizing really...all the fabrics and colors and silhouettes...They distracted me long enough from my drudgery that I will give you a peek- I'm a sharer...sometimes. Right now I am...

So I have a thing for pajamas. The matching kind. There are a few reasons for this. First, I am matching obsessed. Not matchy, matchy...but everything has to "go". Even when I am only going to bed. Have you ever seen the poster for Pajama Game? The male lead is wearing the bottoms of men's pajamas with no shirt and the female lead is wearing the coordinating pajama top with no pants. Two piece Dick Van Dyke style pj's are my among my favorites (but the femme version...in girly prints, colors and fabrics) and for basically the reason that the poster conveys. No-not so I can share half of them with anyone -although Harry is wearing the pants on the most recent poster. He can share my jammies he wants. Haha......hmmm....

NO! BECAUSE you can wear just the top and no bottoms, you can wear the bottoms with a tank or a bra or you can wear the two pieces together. Versatility. right? Of this variety, I have mint green plush ones, red silky polka dot ones, winter blue polka dots with satin trim, hot pink with cup cakes, white with cherries and blue birds and pies... (I have a cherry love too-so I have all kinds of cherry wear.), blue with strawberries , plaids and florals and two pair with sock monkeys on them..not really sure how THAT happened. One pair is summer and one winter-BOTH with sock monkeys some on the beach, some on sleds...Both blue-different shades. Moving on. The half brother to the Van Dyke jams are the pajama pants- not sweat pants. Pajama pants. Boxer style shorts or hipsters. Worn with a tank. Another good mix. Oh and the half sister is the cami and matching panties ideal in summer. Short sets cute too.

Once I sorted out all the two piece pj's and had caught about 7 minutes of the Holiday- I hung a hundred tanks on those little hangers with the hooks for the straps-the ones they always fall off of..I moved on to the nighties...all baby dolls. All of them. Lace and floral, eyelet and satin, silk,chemise, cotton, polka dots and ribbon ...and one Betsy Johnson black ribbed slip style with pink trim and pink ribbon straps and ruffled bottom. Probably Kitten's favorite pajamas...but too cold for them in the winter. I could wear them, but I would never set foot out of the toasty refuge of my over pillowed over blanketed bed.

Will spare you the robe chat. In short- robes allow for the bra and panty as pj's combo... The robe that matches the cute sets...and allow you to have your curtains open and not die a horrible hacking death of pneumonia- all be it in fetching attire.

So those are this cat's pajamas...

Also googled a company called The Cats Pajamas... Obvious what they make...clever-right? I miss pajama parties. Going to bring those back too-while I am at it. Just as soon as I finish pressing my petti-coat.,,the one that won't fit into my closet with all these pajamas.

I bet Gidget could help. Maybe Wally Cleaver.

The Way That I Remember It

2009-03-24T11:35:00.010-06:00

Life is colored with experiences-like a kaleidoscope with brilliant shades of stained glass in varying hues of violet, jade, emerald, azure, amber, crimson, sienna, and marigold. A myriad of shapes that form a fresh and unique design when shifted and turned by the slightest twist of fate. Shapes formed by the experiences that we race to the edge and dive into their icy cool surface shattering with it all of our inhibitions- and the ones we hide away from under the warm, lavendar fluffy blanket of familiarity and security. Those that I have shied from or the choices I made in the name of comfort- I have lived to regret. I view them as unsightly scars of weakness and fear forever marring my life's masterpiece...curses though, still researching the subject...

Our lives are shaded by individuals who have left their mark on us. Those we remember with tangible tenderness and those whose recollection causes the air to escape our lungs and brings to our cheeks the pallor of a corpse. Triangle shaped memories of the places we can't help but envision when we close our eyes' curtains on the troubled day and lie in bed waiting for the illusive Slumber Angel to whisper the peace thick secrets that lull and numb our heavy minds and caress our restless hearts leaving them still.

Words leave their vibrant hues on our life's canvas as well. Recorded by our memory-often without our permission .For posterity. Words that I forgot to remember. Those that I felt certain I had adequately buried or forgotten come flooding down on me at the first sign of frailty-like the scene in Magnolia when frogs rain down from the heavens-because how do you prepare yourself for something like that? Weighing down your existence with all the vengeance of an Egyptian plague.

Hahaha...that was a lot of set up for what I have to share. Playing with my words today. Like play dough in my fingers-rolling, tearing, smoothing, folding rubbing, twisting...seeing what I can form with them. Also like the play dough, I may place the tiniest bit of my words on my tongue to make sure they taste as good as they smell.Metaphor gone awry. TMPI...heehee....

So my life has taken this unplanned detour... Not that I was ever on my best day, a planner. I let things happen to me- much more than I should. I just get taken in by the visual and soulful spectacle of it all and sometimes I forget to take the stage in full command of my character, deliver my lines with conviction and take a well deserved bow. Partially this is due to the reliance on my belief that it is only fifty percent up to me anyway. I will let that one hang in the clouds of pondering for another day's musings.

Anyway- this detour...this rest stop...is referred to by Theodore Geisel (aka Doctor Seuss) as the Waiting Place in the book we all got as a high school graduation gift-The Places You Will Go. In the waiting place, my being...and all it's complicated, damaged, dangerous, turbulent,raw, tortured, naive,inquisitive, hungry, insatiable, soul searching and glorious pieces...those- and the ones I don't have names for yet...multiple personality disorder is a full time position. Hahaha .

Each of these over crowded conflicted internal siblings- they keep stacking on top of each other and tearing themselves down and rebuilding-taking on a new form. Making curious concoctions ranging from despondence and apathy to unguarded vulnerability and unabashed glee. When the doubtful brother takes over as chemist...and the memorex of my mind feels generous...she starts to play back words that soothe me- defending me against him. Stroking my uncertainty. So-when I was hovering in doubt and utterly undefined yesterday-She played back this memory to me in an effort to drown out Doubt.

When I was about fourteen or so, phasing out of the gawky all limbs caterpillar phase and coming out more wavy than straight. I felt a bit like I do now. Waffling between fascination and reluctance...and so naturally, I started to behave differently. I have never been scholastically brilliant, but have always had a gentle grasp on most things educational. Anyway this particular memory is set at church. I arrived with my new butterfly wings...but had not yet learned how to spread them and fly-the result- was general confusion and moodiness. Details here are sketchy. Basically our teacher who was a college student asked me a few questions that I evaded or laughed off-or something like that...and I was apparently behaving in a flighty manner-because he asked me to see him outside of the classroom. Again- not too clear here, but knowing myself at that age, I probably rolled my eyes and said "Sure, Whatever..." Once in the hall...His end of the conversation went something like this:

"I am not sure what you are doing in there or why, but I want to make something clear to you. You are not a dumb girl and you shouldn't pretend to be.Not ever. I don't know if this is about boys- or what, but you don't need to act that way to get attention. Don't compromise who you are for anyone. If someone doesn't appreciate you for what you have to offer, then you don't need them. Now I expect you to go back in there and be the bright girl I have come to expect you to be. Are we clear?"

I think I was flabbergasted. Shocked that he had so accurately identified something that I wasn't conscious that I was doing...for reasons that were being shaken up with my insane hormones like a soda bottle on a hot summer day. I am still oblivious to my entire self-often-if not always. My ever changing view of myself leaves me utterly blind to what others see in me. I may be physically blind one day and if I am-I hope to posses an iota of the inner beauty that Andrea Bocelli has that he so generously bestows on the rest of us...won't be singing.;0)

He probably wouldn't remember this and honestly-I didn't know that I had retained it until recently. I think my memory played this back to me now-not because I am playing dumb for anyone-but because I am feeling insecure and conflicted, much like then. Funny how having somebody care about you enough to just take the time and tell the truth can stay with you.

So for today, this memory of a teacher who cared enough about me to take my hand and lead me toward the exit of the Waiting Place is pacifying me until I get up the strength to lick my wounds, shake off doubt and injury, head for the fire exit and take another turn on the kaleidoscope in hopes of a more idyllic shape the next time fate takes a turn at my wheel.

The Sounds of Summer

2009-03-17T13:10:00.022-06:00

March is SUPPOSED to be the snowiest month in Colorado. Today is March the seventeenth. St. Patrick's Day. Hooray! I believe in celebrating every day...ESPECIALLY the seemingly random selection of days we have coined, "holidays." Plus I love green....just not in my beer. Overly techno-colored foods look unnaturally vibrant and taste weird. Sorta' creep me out. But here, I'll pour you one. Just brush your teeth right after or they'll stay that color.

Not the point.

So this unseasonably warm weather fills my head with Summer, even though it isn't even Spring. Spring in Colorado is a complete and utter tease. She whets your appetite with the sweet promise of unclouded days and wavy,navy nights...then runs away-leaving you with the extreme chill of an April blizzard.

But summer! Summer is the union of yin and yang, fire and ice relationship that melts to warmth in the gooey center blurring the line that separates the two-forming a perfect whole. The blend of severe and mild. That rarity of finding someone that has the innate sense of knowing precisely what you need and gives it to you before the desire reaches your own consciousness. By far the most seductive of all the seasons. The heat, the bronzed, glistening skin, the sweet fruit and powdery floral scents that fill your nostrils. Summer possesses an effortless sensuality, the frivolity, the water, the sand...there is just no competing with Summer. Winter hibernates the senses and Summer heightens them...breathe it in with me....close your eyes, throw your head back in reckless abandon..that's right...now!mmmmmmmmmmmmm... And the sounds! splashing, crashing, humming, purring,pulsating, rhythmic, sizzling... that sensation when the sun mingled wind-tugs your hair, the sun spilling out over your skin...and the music! It always comes back to the music. Doesn't it? At least it does for me. So...before I get too, too carried away. Here is my soundtrack of Summer.

Top 10 Summer songs, artists, sound tracks...

1. Anything from Dirty Dancing, Grease, Footloose,Stand by Me or Top Gun

To this day when Sylvia and Mickey (the song Johnny and Baby reenact in Johnny's studio-apartment on that sweltering summer day-Come hear Lover Boy...oh Lover Boy...? That's the one) , Hungry Eyes,the Time of My Life, She's Like the Wind, Stay, Will You Still Love Me Tomorrow- or anything else from the Dirty Dancing soundtrack (either of them) drowns me in summer's essence...Oh, oh, oh and makes me wish Patrick Swayze would have taught me to dance...on a log over a river. The only time I will EVER wish I was Jennifer Gray.
Grease- Summer Lovin' and You're the One That I Want... Still think of myself as a Pink Lady...bababumba...and at seven after seeing Grease, I started 'smoking" those skinny little pretzels and saying, "Tell me about it- stud"...My parents LOVED that one- especially when I did it at the church picnic.
Foot Loose- theme song and Let's Hear it for the Boy-still would like to try that car trick where she has one foot in each car...not sure insurance covers idiocy though...and the barn dancing was memorable too.
Stand by Me...If you don't love this movie, stop reading now. This movie captures youth and summer more than any other that I can bring to mind...and my mind is over flowing with useless information. Keep reading if you don't believe me. River Phoenix, Will Wheaton, Corey Feldman, and Vern (always forget his name-the guy who is married to John Stamos' ex-wife Rebecca Romaine-no longer Stamos)...also Shawn Astin(sp?) (whom I met at a cheer competition in ninth grade- post Goonies, pre Rudy-super sweet) and Keifer Sutherland... for whatever reason I have thought of him as uber cool for the past...twenty years. Anyway the sound track is oldies...like Let the Good Times Roll, Lollipop and duh...Stand by Me.
Don't let me forget-
Top Gun-Take My Breathe Away, Danger Zone and Playing With the Boys...Great Balls of Fire...and the guitar theme with no words... puts me on the back of Maverick's motorcycle in my aviator Ray Bans and a white tank...Cocktail movie and soundtrack summery too...WHAT happened to Tom Cruise?!? Guess after Top Gun, he had nowhere to go but down. Bless his heart, God Love Him...

Think I could still quote most of the lines to ALL these movies.

I SO cheated. Counting those all as one. My game, my rules. Deal...;0)

2. Jimmy Buffet...OBVIOUSLY his shtick-right. Parrot heads, pina colada's, island paradises and margaritas...My favorites are Margaritaville, Cheeseburger in Paradise, Volcano,Fins, He Went to Paris, Come Monday and Son of a Son of a Sailor...I feel freckled and hungover just thinking about it. I am the "woman to blame"...heehee. Gonna' get the hat that says so, just cuz' I think it's cute.

3. Bob Marley...No Woman, No Cry,Stir it Up... nothing like reggae-it reeks of Summer in the best way.Steel drum bands,coconut oil, Jamaican beaches, palm trees swaying in the tropical breeze..When in Jamaica...I lay on a hammock strung between two palm trees sipping on a frozen drink called a hummingbird.I drifted to the whispered lullaby of the blue topaz ocean and read some bubble gum novel- I can't remember which..I have never been so shimmery, coppery brown in my life, nor will I probably allow myself to be again...safe sun and-not wanting my face to look like a leather handbag in fifteen years. Oh and at night! The resort had this club where they played old school rap and Shaggy... and drinks were always full...So to this day, I can't resist It Wasn't Me...or Ricky Martin...La Vida Loca or Shake Your Bon- Bon...It's no wonder why Stella went there to Get Her Groove Back.

4. Again- kind of his soul purpose...Kenny Chesney embodies the sizzle of summer. Not saying HE is hot...LOVE his music, some of it is irresistibly sultry... but he does nothing else for me. Sure the feeling is mutual...hahaha. Think I have everything he has ever done, including the Christmas CD. When the Sun Goes Down, There's Something Sexy About the Rain, Anything but Mine, She Comes From Boston, Old Blue Chair, She Thinks My Tractor's Sexy and Being Drunk is a lot Like Loving You -are just a few of my gazillion Kenny Chesney favorites. Think he is the heir to Jimmy Buffet's throne, there may actually be a written agreement between the two of them.

5. Jack Johnson...perpetually barefoot on the beach with his guitar. He is a beach boy in the most literal sense...and his music is like liquid sunshine. Drink it, it's delectable. Probably BEST known for doing the soundtrack for Curious George. One of my favorite Jack Johnson songs is "Banana Pancakes." His music makes me want to live in a beach hut, barefoot and disheveled. Surfing all day-this part may require a lesson or two...hundred. But in my dream, I just know how.Have to stick a bonfire on here, only because fire, summer and salt water...all part of the beachy theme.

6. Billy Pilgrim. One of my favorite groups of all time. They are folky and soulful and I used to see them at summer festivals here. Lyrically they are unbelievable, but musically simple. Do yourself a favor and if you don't know Billy Pilgrim-get to know them. INCREDIBLE. They make my soul reverberate in ecstasy. Hoolahoop is an especially summery song of theirs. Obscure...but a buried treasure. I promise.

7. Seventies rock like The Eagles, CCR, Steve Miller Band...songs like Boys of Summer, Hotel California, Life's Been Good to Me so Far,Sweet Caroline,Sweet Home Alabama, Joker oh and anything by Van Morrison. Love Van Morrison...American Pie, the Pina Colada Song...make me want to joyride in a convertible on a sweltering summer night with the top down, tires melting into the fiery asphalt... hair blowing...devil may care -he has to catch me first...and all of that.

8. 80's and 90's Rock and Kid Rock- Anything from the Go-Go's...Vacation! Manic Monday and In Your Room by the Bangles, Think We're Alone Now by Tiffany, Prince, Little Red Corvette, Purple Rain, Let's go Crazy, Raspberry Beret...David Lee Roth's California Girls. Michael Jackson The Way You're Makin' Me Feel, Def Leopard, Billy Joel, "Only the Good Die Young", Cindy Lauper, Boy George,The Cars, The Police, "One Headlight " by the Wallflowers. Madonna,Poison,Motley Crew, Aerosmyth, Blondie and Pat Benetar...the Eddie and the Cruisers Soundtrack, Kid Rock's All Summer Long and Cowboy...Beastie Boys...Ice, Ice, Baby, Jessie's Girl...Salt n' Peppa...Raw Base. The Rhythm of the Night. Black Crows, Sheryl Crow, Counting Crows (see a theme?) Richard Marx-Endless Summer Nights...Turn the Radio Up, INXS...Mystify and Devil Inside...George Michael Faith cd, Spin Doctors- Bryan Adams, John Couger, Sonia Dada. I cannot neglect to mention NKOTB's new Summertime song. Love that too...so reminiscent. I am now jumping up and down on the couch with a n over sized man's button down and knee socks, sun glasses on and a hair brush for a microphone...Let the neighbor's look. Join me? We'll give em' a show.

9. The fifties stuff...Under the Boardwalk, Save the Last Dance,And Then He Kissed Me, Do Wa Ditty, Summertime, What a Night, Surfer Girl, Fun, Fun, Fun...Elvis, Beach Boys, Beatles...and more musicals...Mama Mia! Which btw I rolled my windows down and raced at top speed down the highway to just yesterday. Told you I had spring fever. Oh and... A-Know this isn't fifties, IS before my time...B-If you have not seen the movie-check it out. Music and scenery alone are worth the price of admission and C-you can blame me when you have ABBA stuck in your head for a week. "Don't go wasting your emo-tion. Lay all your love on me..."

10. This is a song thing...my favorite summer song of all time...Summertime by Jazzy Jeff and the Fresh Prince. LOVE IT!!! ADORE IT...Summer, summer summer time...time to sit back and unwind... I will never get tired of this song. Something about Will Smith and my age...haha...makes me feel like we grew up together. Plus everything he touches seems to have some sort of redeeming quality to it... "Now this is a story all about how, my life got flip-turned upside down..." Oh and just ask my mom- everything she did that was to my disliking at age twelve, was met with my poorly adapted rendition of "Parents Just Don't Understand"...Subtlety comes with experience. Haha...it is true though...they still don't understand.
Also love Will Smith's Switch

That's my summer hit list. Love it or leave it... make up your own. Regardless- ooey, gooey, drippy, sandy, sweaty, salty, liquefied, gritty, edible, tangible, caramel, alluring, steamy, dreamy Summer-is on it's way. Embrace it. I will...

"Hello Lover..."

A Day Like Today

2009-03-08T16:54:00.004-06:00

On a day like today-

I would take over the world. On second thought, I really don't want much of the world. I have no need, nor desire for it's multiple issues that seem to reproduce like Ferrel cats. The thousands of years worth of baggage and complications pose a significant deterrent to me. But on a day like today I believe that I could conquer this damaged place- if I so chose. I would just take over the most desirable parts- Of course I would be queen...but the figure head kind. The one that gets her way all the time and is adorned with robes crafted by the most skilled hands and wears timeless jewels so naturally they would be as my own skin. I would have no real responsibility- other than to make people feel better about their lives, smile-wave and kiss babies.

On a day like today...

I would dive into a blue topaz ocean curled comfortably beside the pearlized sand-asparkle with iridescent vastness. There would be just the right amount of frothy waves -so I would take up surfing in a matter of moments-dancing over the surface of the water- exhilarated with the perfect blend of ecstasy and adrenaline...Without so much as a fear of sharks. The sharks would leave me be -because I would be embodying THAT much ferocity. Even though I am teasing them with my tastiness, sharks don't engage in battles that don't promise certain victory.

When I get tired I would bathe myself in nothing but sun- the kind that emblazoned the Incan empire like a celestial kingdom. Its' majestic rays would dry every inch of my flesh with its' delightfully fiery kiss . I would bask there on the deck of a white yacht that doesn't belong to me until the precise moment when my skin was sufficiently bronzed...and the scent of coconut was oozing from my every pore. I would then dip back through the cool diamond clear surface of the water and channeling my inner mermaid, would rendezvous with the myriad members of ocean life I would encounter there. In and out of currents we would glide, stopping briefly to explore pirate ships buried miles below the surface and mingling around the edges of uninhabited islands.

I would then swim effortlessly back to the unblemished beach. Dress in my island cotton sundress and winged sandals borrowed from Hermes (Messenger of the gods)and take flght.

On a day like today...

I would spend years living in all the most fascinating locations-but consuming just hours of reality time...Exotic beaches, tranquil castles, untamed jungles, exuberant cities...I would meet brilliant people with colorful lives and gulp every drop of what they held to my thirsty lips. I would fill on the tempting taste of their endeavors, escapes, achievements, conquests, passions, journeys, wars, escapades, treasures, mysteries...philosophies and religions...I would wander home drunk from my experience-utterly satisfied.

On a day like today

I would shimmer with the alabaster cold ones and we would light the day with our incandescent glory. Together like crimson tainted angels we would race with packs of wild wolves in the velvety blanket of night and howl with abandon at whatever aroused our instincts. -And we would scuffle and soar, waltz and hunt. I would be utterly invincible.(Thanks to Miss Meyer for my vampire obsession)...

Weary from this display of power-

On a day like today I would summon my personal unicorn who on powerful silver-white crinoline wings would sink me into my very own plump, supple cloud glistening with sticky sugar drops and lulling me with the sweet smell of vanilla and I would be ferried through a sea of stars on fairy guided wing into my bed and dream...

about another day like today.

The Ppuuurrrrr that Drives the Kitten

2009-03-05T09:20:00.008-07:00

"The tail that wags the dog". A well known expression...a movie title even. We have all witnessed the reality of it-in business, in relationships, in life. Generally this imbalance (or ANY imbalance) is viewed as detrimental and often it is. Living it though, breathing it- defining it. This is something else completely. Not healthy to view your state of being as diseased. Hahaha-I would say it is more nature and instinct. I am not dismissing free will, not in the least-I am merely pointing out that when wrought with sensory and emotional sensitivity-self control and judgement occasionally are shoved into the backseat and told to shut up. Now!

Just to clarify, Wiktionary defines "the tail wagging the dog" as:

The reversal of a normal control-reaction relationship. Often used in reference to relationships of authority and subjugation. Normally a dog wags its tail, not the other way around. To have misplaced priorities, with the less important part controlling the main thing.

To start at the beginning...Your welcome, this will be much clearer than starting mid process -where I often like to begin. I firmly believe that woman-kind are much more feline, than canine in nature. Not an original notion, but again-cliches become such for a reason. A few basic characteristics qualify females as catlike. With the exception of tripping over our stilettos from time to time, we tend to be more graceful than lumbering. We also love with discretion and for those of us who are doing it right-we lounge just inside the bounds of blue ember hot and hypothermia cold. For a comparison of puppy love and kitty love I offer the following analogy: Exhibit A:

When dragging yourself through the front door after a tiresome day, your dog will rise without delay from his spot in the sun and saunter up, tail wagging gratefully and lick your face. He proceeds to grab your paper and lay his head in your lap before sacrificing his entire body on (not at) your feet where he will remain whether or not you reciprocate his attentions. On the other paw, your cat gazes sideways imperceptibly toward the door and continues preening at a calculated pace. She observes and assesses. Then when she is certain that she has your full attention, she stretches languidly and nonchalantly glides across the room. She acknowledges your presence by brushing her body slowly against your leg. If you do not reach down and stroke her, she struts away as if the whole ugly thing never happened. She will however, hold a grudge against you for this act of neglect and you will have to earn your way back into her good graces. Sound familiar?

Dogs make no qualms about their devotion. For this, I am quite certain is why they have earned their position as "Man's Best Friend" -they are adorably low maintenance and free if not reckless with their affections. They are sweetly simple. Cats although likely loyal, require daily attention in exchange for their affections-tit for tat, give and take. Literally each sunrise brings with it a new beginning-a gift to be opened-according to her feline timing. They keep their dedication to you on the down low and keep the relationship captivatingly subtle. A cat will allow herself to be held, even relish it-but she has to choose. When, where, how... A puppy, yours for life-no question...a cat(though likely not going anywhere as long as her needs are met) makes you wonder if she might exchange her life with you for a better one. Dogs and cats do share the excitability factor. There is a range of two definitive emotions in both...bliss and fury...these extremes are just manifested in different ways. I could go on, but I am straying from the point at hand...paw.

So I am FINALLY prepared to spin the tail wagging the dog, rather than the dog wagging the tail. In my felininity (new word- do you like it? Hang on, more where that came from)it is the purr, or rather the motivation for the purr that drives this Kitten. I am fully, achingly aware that as an allegedly mature woman...the kitten should have complete control of her purr. If I am honest (which I strive to be- there are definitely instances where I should be a smidge less honest), my purr is a lose canon. When and where and how my purr will break free is a often a mystery-even to me. This is a bit of a confession, which secretly I have always wanted to do- confess, that is. To unload all my spiritual and emotional secrets on some wise, darkened Listener who is forbidden to disclose a single tid-bit to another soul-ever. Very enticing-probably where the whole Thorn Birds mystique/attraction derived, Scarlet Letter too- although that didn't end so well.

Back to the point, I am a reticent slave to my impulses...I am able to escape my bonds occasionally-when my wardens are preoccupied, but my purr remains the underlying and ultimate goal of my every endeavor- conscious or unconscious. Overall, I am like an infant when it comes to my resistance,desires and passions. Thankfully I am much more cat-like in my tactics. This disclosure is not a boast, but an admission. It seems to be so much healthier, simper and zen to exist in a dependable, predictable balance...to be more dog like. As it is, I control my uncontrolability by avoiding certain places, people and things because it is easier than controlling my mouth, my actions, my thoughts...well you get the point. In short, I am really not a grown up at all...but a kitten...meow...

This unfortunate condition of mine is a fork in the road of reasonable existence. I have come to blame my senses (or in keeping with the cat metaphor-my instincts)for being forever frozen at an exceedingly heightened state. With one exception. I was born with a condition (hahaha not so fast, bet you were thinking "that explains a lot"). A condition that allows me to only see color and shrouded shape through one eye. Deep down I have always blamed this physical weakness for my mental, emotional and spiritual short sightedness. Makes sense if you are me. That's right, don't even try...

In compensation for my lack of foresight and literal sight...my ears pick up the slightest sound, hearing the hesitance, frustration or anticipation in something as basic as a breath. My fingers take in every texture, sensing exhilaration and resistance with a mere stroke...my favorite trick of all though, kneading my claws. Tongue tasting and exploring flavors ranging from delectable to bitter...Nose- inhaling the most subtle musk and faintest floral. All feeding my soul and causing the coordinating reaction in my body-twitching my tail and igniting my purr. It follows unfortunately, that my sensory system picks up the slightest trace of unpleansantry. Each sense has a penetrating, seemingly unreignable affect on me. My emotions and actions taking cues from my surroundings and are often set astray by changes in the climate. So this heightened sensual awareness- makes me more instinctive, more intuitive, causes me to gravitate eternally toward the things that indulge my senses and in so doing- soothe my soul. For those that do soothe my soul there are no limits, hence the purr factor. When multiple senses drink in too much, or receive too little input, I become unpredictable. Well...like a cat.

So the senses rule the purr...but the heart-the heart, rules the senses. Like a protective big sister, she relentlessly bullies her way into every situation. Imagine having a Chow, Pit-Bull mix for a Seeing Eye Dog- She has taken it upon herself to ...compensate for my lack of vision...often I see things through the eyes of my emotions rather than for what they are in reality because she has usurped power over my mind. She plays the role of the single eye the Graeae hags (the senses-and btw there are more than five, who knew?) of mythology share- her visions dictate my future actions and reactions. It is she that keeps my judgement pinned in the backseat, afraid to speak.

Felines indulge in bliss and fight discomfort with a vengeance...aka cat-fight. In the same way, Violators of my senses and spirit (and more so, of those that I hold dear) will be clawed and bitten in my fight to free myself (or them) from the factors of life that offend the system. You should hear me hiss. It is very impressive.

In short...I am a kitten hunting for the sensual experiences that make me purr... and using my nine lives to fight the villainous obstacles that threaten the ebb and flow of this existence. Like a cat, it is innate and instinctive-nature. Not what I have chosen, but who I am.

What this looks like is a not so subtly chaotic...A blur of shine and sparkle, bold colors in brilliant shades of Vincent proportions. Tainted on the edges with a fragrance that tickles my nostrils ranging from sultry sweet vanilla to fresh freesia, midnight pomegranate to summer lilac...mmmmmm and coconut! Tongue searching out the extreme flavors, in salt and spice and sugary sweet... The touch of luxurious textures...smoothe-granite...feathery light. Increasing and decreasing pressures-in the tempting tango of the tender tickle and the shiver evoking grasp. Heart longing for the comfort of a favorite blanket, the memories recaptured by a treasured trinket, the tears evoked by a beloved song, the purr brought forth by the tempered touch or those perfect words-delivered in the melodic tone at that one moment- filling my ears...mixed with a bottle of passion infused with the essence of emotion and a dash of thoughtfulness, perspective, introspectiveness and wisdom to taste. When baked in intense heat or frozen in frigid temperatures- the result is indubitably feline.

Hmmm...and there it is.

Oh well, at least I will always land on my feet...so I have that going for me, which is good...

Not hopeless or helpless...not justifiable or defensible...like everything, it has it's benefits and detriments...I have no choice but to embrace my inner kitty and make her purr whenever her requests are reasonable...Although I may not be the best judge of reason...he is still being held hostage by my tyrant of a heart. I am however an expert on instinct and intuition.

Here kitty kitty...

Neighbors in Barbie's Malibu Mansion

2009-03-03T19:49:00.020-07:00

As an inhabitant of a typical American suburban neighborhood, I am a member of a standard American family. Husband, wife, two kids, a puggle and three betas. An atomic family...right? I have not taken Economics in at least a decade, so my terminology may be antiquated. Something about the term atomic reminds me of that movie Blast From the Past where Brendon Frasier and his family live in their basement/bomb shelter...starts in the fifties and somehow they are preserved in time and exit the capsule/shelter forty years or so later to a completely unrecognizable current day America.. Don't worry, you didn't miss anything. Anyway, I live the stereotypical Warhol twist on Rockwell's interpretation of the American ideal.

While I consider myself to be a friendly neighbor: I have house sat, watered plants, fed cats, had neighborhood children over for play dates...I even participated in "boo-ing" my neighbors last Halloween. Although it was not my idea, I try to be a good sport. Sorry though, I don't do casseroles or cookies. If I am going to play out domestic goddess for a day, my family own should be the the beneficiaries. Anyway, different from the Reid, Cleaver, Cunningham days of yore, being a good neighbor (in my mind at least) means offering assistance when it looks like your neighbor is in need and minding your own business when they don't. A bit of truth to the whole Robert Frost's "Good Fences Make Good Neighbors" thing. The redundant existence of suburban life however, often leaves little for an active imagination to entertain itself.For this reason, on particularly dull days I imagine that we are all neighbors in Barbie's Malibu mansion...you know, the big pink one with the violet deck and fuchsia swimming pool complete with floral decal adorned water slide. Sort of like Melrose Place but everything is done in shades of pink...blush and bashful, petal...the possibilities are endless. Oh...right! And everything is plastic...

Let me just say that I know the names of about eight people that live on our street, another sign of the times. I actually think it is kind of a sad state. Four of the eight neighbors I know, live in the same house. The rest...at least the ones that are within ten years of my own age...I have named after Barbies...or Ken dolls as the case may be. Allow me take you on a virtual tour...please take a ride with me in my hot pink convertible and don't forget to buckle up, I have stickers for headlights, not at all sure that meets safety guidelines.

One door down you will see Active Sport Ken...Active Sport Ken participates in every recreational activity known to Ken kind. He runs, bikes, roller blades, plays in line hockey...and although I don't know this for a fact, I am sure he swims, hikes and plays racquetball. He is not a Professional Trainer, so I imagine his job must be extremely flexible to allow for all of his athletic endeavors. IF I had to guess, Active Sport Ken has probably completed a dozen triathlons and taken first place in three. Active Sport Ken had an Active Sport Barbie. She drove a galaxy bowling ball blue convertible and had a bob. She moved out of the Barbie mansion to work in Chicago and now he has replaced her with Active Sport Skipper. They run together. Very um...racy? A.S.K. seems lovely, he once used his bionic speed to catch our runaway dog. He uses his powers for good.

If you will turn your attention across the hall, I will introduce you to Work Out Barbie. She keeps to herself for the most part. Of course we always do the smile and wave, anything else would be un-Barbie-like. However, due to our limited social interaction, I struggle every time I see her because although she has told me her actual name at least three times in the last year,it always escapes me...So I have to secretly get her to reveal it every time the uncomfortable situation presents itself. This is getting more challenging to do discreetly. Work Out Barbie is single, at least I think she is now. She dated a goofy looking guy that wore jean shorts and ankle socks, but I haven't seen him around in awhile. He disappeared right around the same time as Active Sport Barbie. Thought Active Sport Ken and Work out Barbie might hookup. But sadly, no....that would have been so deliciously Desperate Housewives. She does however, mow the lawn all by herself which I find very impressive because she is about five-foot-nothing. That-and as the youngest of three girls, I have never mowed a lawn in my life. Let me add that my college aged boy cousins love ogling Work Out Barbie mowing when they come to visit in the summer because they can watch her work from the comfort of our couch. I don't think she is an actual aerobic instructor, but she looks like one, minus the wristbands,leotard and leg warmers....I wish she would wear that perfect wardrobe for the Barbie Dream House.

Follow me if you will, up the street um...stairs. Here we will meet a tall, tan, rugged couple. I like to call them Outdoor Barbie and Ken, or perhaps Field and Stream Barbie and Ken?...Track and Trail? Anyway they have two little outdoor tykes in their brood, complete with toddler sized Timberlands and quilted sub zero vests. Outdoor Barbie and Ken are not very creatively named. They camp and kayak and ride the bikes with the wheeled, covered ride alongs for the little ones. If it can legally be done outside, I am pretty sure they do it. They come complete with a moss green Subaru Outback...so they can blend perfectly into their rugged surroundings. Field and Stream Barbie is also the street organizer/camp counselor. She is always coming up with some sort of scavenger hunt type activity or another for the entire street to join in. Field and Stream/Outdoor Barbie and Ken don't talk much...but they seem very pleasant. I think their quiet nature has likely developed because conversation is difficult over the roar of the rushing rivers and it is best to keep quiet when canoodling with ravenous bears. Also don't want to frighten the fish away.

That is the last stop on our tour. I hope you enjoyed Barbie Mansion Tours and enjoyed meeting the tenants. Please exit to the right side of the vehicle.Yadda, yadda, yadda...

Again, with the good fences thing. I am not at all voyeuristic. I am however observant and though I know nothing of their actual lives, (nor do I care to)...it can occasionally be intriguing to use my superficial observations to aptly name the neighbors after Mattel toys. Try it sometime. You might like it. In the meantime pool party anyone?

Purging with Tim Burton

2009-03-01T19:12:00.007-07:00

So in an effort to lighten the mood...I broadened my horizons a bit today. I did a little Spring purging...that is the step (at least at my house) that must proceed the Spring Cleaning. You can't clean what you can't get to.... I know this is utterly undomesticated- almost un-womanly certainly not motherly of me- but although I like things to be clean. The act of cleaning brings me not a single ounce of joy. In fact, I sort of abhor it. This doesn't mean that I never do it. I tidy a lot...I really don't have a choice if I don't desire to be buried in Buzz Light-years,or meet an untimely death by tripping over My Little Ponies.

Running the vacuum, doing the dishes, washing clothes...all fall under the list of things that must be endured...But folding, putting away, scrubbing floors and cleaning bathrooms are torturous tasks that I usually wait until the last possible second and then knock it all out at once...sort of like tearing off a disgustingly rancid band-aid- still stings though. First, as I mentioned comes the purging...still working on that. I started to make stride in this area when we decided to take the Munchkins to see Coraline...so...I pushed the contractor bag overflowing with laundry aside...and with it the answer to the question, "How can it be that I have NOTHING to wear?"

Anyway, Coraline is an animated movie directed by Tim Burton. If you have not had the pleasure of seeing Edward Scissorhands or Nightmare Before Christmas, Corpse Bride,or James and the Giant Peach...you should definitely check them out. Unless you have an intolerance for the dark, creative genius variety of life. Then you should stay away...could give you a rash, or make your throat close up...I can't handle that kind of responsibility. Anyway, from what I understand-Coraline was a comic style book that was adapted to screenplay. About a little girl whose parents write botany magazines, I think. Anyway they move into this old house that is split into apartments with all sorts of eccentric characters occupying each one. Coraline feels alone and her busy parents don't have a lot of time for her, so when she receives a doll that looks like her from her neighbor Wyborn-she pretends to be annoyed while dragging it with her from room to room in her quest for entertainment. While on one of her in house adventures, Coraline finds a small door in the living room that is bricked up. The night that the doll arrives, Coraline dreams that she is lead my mice through the door into an alternate universe...where her house is warm and captivating and her parents adorably charming,fascinating and attentive...I found it a little eerie that the "other mother" resembles me quite a bit...from her exaggerated backside, to her choppy dark hair and red lips...eerie because she turns out to be all evil.

Anyway, thoroughly enjoyed it and as a result, did not one more bit of Spring Purging after I returned...Tomorrow perhaps...or atleast sometime before spring...maybe?

Twenty Five Random Things About Me

2009-02-28T13:01:00.001-07:00

This is from Face Book sorry...Sharing anyway.

As I have crowned myself the Unofficial Queen of Random, this should be easy enough...Although, I don't think you all care to know THIS much about me.

1. I have an unGodly amount of lipgloss. Embarrassed really to even ATTEMPT to tell you how many. Suffice to say that I could apply lipgloss one hundred times a day to myself and a few friends (odd visual, but whatever) every day for the rest of my life and still have enough left over to shine the lips of a professional cheer squad or the Pussy Dolls,a bevy of exotic dancers or a team of Drag Queens (all eerily related somehow) for the rest of theirs...

2. I am not sure if it is the retired cheerleader in me still needing to take the stage every now and then, or what...but I adore "singing" karaoke-loudly and badly. Some of my favorite songs to lovingly butcher with my tone deaf renderings are ...These Boot Are Made For Walkin', One Way or Another, Hit Me With Your Best Shot and anything by Brittany Spears...because REALLY hard to do any damage to "I'm a Slave For You" ...

3. On the same note as number two (teehee number two) I can dance a mean bar or table if the moon is right and I haven't been out in many months...it works in my favor if I am not wearing heels in these situations-I am just not THAT coordinated. Did I mention my beloved sister in law Amber (who needs to get on fb already) accompanied me to Coyote Ugly for my birthday to do just that? I am not ashamed.

4. In high school I got a sultry peck from Jamie Walters, the "How Do I Talk to an Angel" guy that dated Kelly on 90210...heehee...sure I am one random girl on a long unsophisticated list. On second thought, it was just a kiss-who am I kidding? I am not on any list... I am not bragging here...:0)

5. On my last day of high school Barry Bonds decided to whack me in the forehead with a foul ball. LOVELY! If you have met me, you know that A-Of course I didn't have a glove and B-Catching it would have not been an option if I had-so why bother with A. I have awards banquet pictures where my eye is purple to match my dress to prove it. Tried to tone it down with purple shadow like it was intentional...but it is an eyeshadow brush, not a wand.

6. I will not share milk products or anything with pulp. Not even with Chris (my husband), or the kiddos...I will share-but then I pull a Becky Shrepple and say "Oh just keep it." And I don't like to sit down right after someone else gets up. Butt Warmth is creepy.

7. As if I need to S-P-E-L-L it out...did I mention I have a touch of OCD (informally diagnosed of course)...kind of like having a tiny bit of a deadly virus...:0). Mostly I have weird idiosyncrasies and phobias-I don't wash my hair fifty times a day, or make my kids change into clean clothes in the closet when they get home...I just have a million lip glosses, need to have doors and cabinets shut when not in use and have an odd fixation with the number seven and its' multiples...(blushing-it's okay I know it's weird).

8. I know all the words (or 92.95%) to atleast fivemusicals: Grease, Rent , Cabaret, Evita and Chicago and about 70% of five or so more. LOVE musicals! Saw Producers on Broadway...(of course Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane were on sabbatical as my "luck" would have it). However the charming Steven Weber from Wings and now Brothers and Sisters was in it-and I met him...he is lovely.

9. I have an autographed picture of Harry Connick Junior because I mailed a cheesy poem to his fan club...this was YEARS ago, but don't let it kid you-I'd do it again tomorrow.

10. I LOVE red.

11. I ADORE New York City.

12. I am determined to make a pilgrimage to Graceland before I die.

13. Coca-Cola is my beverage of choice...or Cherry Coke. Please don't offer me Pepsi-it could get ugly. My RIGHT to choose and I get hostile when I don't have options.:0)

14. I get emotionally involved in Broncos football-even though I don't get to watch it much these days and we have season tickets. Was teary for days when Mike Shanahan got booted. Boo!

15. I have had a stuffed dog named Toto since my mom received him at my baby shower. I don't sleep with him (anymore), but just can't give him up...

16. "Man can not live on bread alone" but I COULD live on chips and salsa.

17. I am gloriously non-domestic...just how I am wired.

18. I would love to travel more. In the United States and abroad. Greece, Italy and Spain top my list...although I am currently making no real efforts to get to any of them.

19. If I watch a show loyally, it is likely to be cancelled. Here is my shout out to October Road and What About Brian...whoop whoop

20. I am ridiculously loyal. This does not just apply to friends and family...but to the New Kids on the Block, Harry Connick Junior, 90210 and anything and anyone else I have devoted any real time to.

21. I talk to strangers. Candy or no..

22. I too sing random songs throughout the day and put my kids names in them.

23. I have two published poems and was written up in a optometry book for being one of the earliest cases to be treated with contact lenses...I was two...impressive, I know (;0) )

24. I can't find my way out of a paper bag...but I can find any item in my delightedly disorganized home.

25. I am distracted by shiny things...like Edward Cullen..and jewelry...who am I kidding? blinking lights, glitter...

Your turn. Shoot!

What I Have Learned So Far

2009-02-28T12:44:00.002-07:00

A few years have passed and we are all grownups (kind of) and have a few life experiences chalked up. I thought we could share things that we have learned up to this point. Have a bit of fun with it-no need to be too serious. You know, BALANCE-that thing we are all striving for...in our free time.

So here it goes, it is not quite as much as I would have hoped-but this is what I have learned so far.

1. I have learned that the older we get, the crazier we all become. You don’t get to this point without a little bit of mental and emotional baggage. If you have made it unscathed, you may not be doing it right and you probably didn't go to high school. That whole “nothing ventured, nothing gained” bit. There is a line in RENT I like where two young lovers meet and Roger tries to use his “baggage” as an excuse as to why he and Mimi should not be together. Her response is “Life’s too short babe, time is flyin’, I’m lookin’ for baggage that goes with mine.”
One more thought on this one. I strongly believe that the “normal” ones are to be feared.-or at least handled with extreme caution. Life is often unkind. We all should be watchful of those who have deeply repressed the tiny cuts and bruises that living incurs-buried those unpleasant feelings way down inside their souls. Those emotional fractures that heal when dealt with as they come, will fester and rot when ignored and denied. One day, someone is going to cut them off in traffic or look at them the wrong way in the line at Chipotle and they are going to erupt. Then all their emotional infection is going to bubble over the surface. You don’t want to be there when that happens.
2. That high school never ends. Those Bowling for Soup kids have a valid point. Although the combined scent of leather and Polo just don’t have the same effect on me that they once did. Oh- and I don’t spend nearly as much on hairspray. Scratch that, spend MORE on hairspray-just don’t go through a can a week… consider this as my effort to make it up to the Ozone.
3. I have learned and please don’t hold your breath-this is not at all original…that we are all flawed. Wait! There’s more. I read somewhere this theory that everyone you will come across will have three serious flaws. (I have more than three, but let’s go with that for now)…Your job is to decide when choosing those you allow to stand closest to you in your life. What three flaws you can live with-every day, forever and ever, amen. Keep in mind, that they must do the same. This only applies to the selection of your spouse and your friends. We all know that we don’t choose our family. They are entitled to our love by birthright and by the same right we are born into theirs. Bubblegum for thought, anyway…
4. I have learned that a little bit of imagination can turn an error into an opportunity; a problem into a solution, a flaw into character, restlessness into rediscovery, confusion into mystery, frustration into inspiration, infuriation (yeah I said infuriation-look it up. On second thought don’t) into intrigue. Imagination can transform a failure to an experience, clothes into an outfit and me into a Domestic Goddess. No sorry, not even imagination can successfully paint that picture! Got imagination? If not, do yourself (your friends, family, coworkers, spouse and especially your children) a favor and beg, borrow or steal some
5. I have learned that brevity is not my strong suit. If you are looking for a friend to keep it simple and give you a single, concise, black and white answer-don’t stop here. If however, you want to stay up all night pouring your heart out over some Cabernet and Counting Crows-I’m your girl. I can’t even do bulleted points properly. At those key moments when few words are best-I just shut my mouth tightly and shake my head yes. It is honestly easier for me to walk away than to bite my tongue.
6. I have learned that parenthood magnifies every single one of my insecurities and shortcomings. Think this is because every word and deed COUNTS when you are a parent. My children are the most precious earthly gifts I have ever received and I keep praying God doesn’t realize how unworthy I am of them.
7. I learned that “Handsome IS as Handsome DOES.” My mom has always said this and it is not a great saying-but the meaning is good. Think of all the pretty outside-ugly inside people you have come across in your life. True beauty comes from inside and never fades. That is a beauty I aspire to.
8. I have learned that laughing at oneself is a valuable asset and something I wish that I was better at.
9. I have learned firsthand that the most helpless feeling on earth is watching your child struggle. At those moments I am reminded of the power and comfort of prayer.
10. I learned the value of first kisses and first dances. First betrayals and first heartbreaks are all necessary so there can be first steps, first smiles and first words. If it had not been for all the goodbyes-we wouldn’t recognize forever when it walked in…or something.
11. I have learned that girls are often mean and hold grudges…but we feel deeper, laugh harder and give more. Not a terrible trade off.
12. I have learned that next to God our complexities are all vain pretense. That said. I have learned that my flair for the dramatic is both entertaining and exhausting to my friends and family and that although I am emotionally and intellectually needy-I despise these aspects of my character and refuse to ask for help.
13. I have learned that I need to be a better listener and a better student of life.
14. I have learned that God is much more capable than Scott Baio when it comes to being in charge of me. Sorry-it had to be done.
15. That I have control issues. Issues giving up control, taking control, maintaining control- you name it.
16. I learned that I have a hard time living in the moment. I look forward to things and then when they arrive, I dread their being over…don’t really get that part of myself. I guess I always want what I can’t have, even when I have it. That makes great sense! Admit it! heehee Makes no sense at all.
17. I have learned that “happily ever after” only refers to heaven because as human beings we are predisposed to messing things up with our insatiability.
18. I have learned that I care too much what people think and hate that I do.
19. I have learned that I am not as smart as I think I am, but I am not as dumb as I think I am either.
20. I have learned that nature and nurture are so closely related that sometimes you can’t tell them apart. In the end though, we are responsible for our own actions.
21. I have learned that my inherited family loves me as much as my birth family and may know me better.
22. I have learned that I allow for things in others that I do not permit in myself and vice versa.
23. I have learned that attending a New Kids concert today, is like being sprinkled with pixie dust and entering the gates of Never land. Don’t ask me to explain it-it defies logic…guess we have that in common;0).
24. I have learned that the Golden Rule pretty much never fails…along with the rest of it of course.
25. I have learned that considering the time I have spent here thus far, I haven’t learned nearly enough.

Share your lessons with me.

Over the Rainbow

2009-02-28T12:36:00.002-07:00

The Wizard of Oz

I have adored this movie since I was five or so. Complex in its simplistic disguise, it is so much more poignant to me in adulthood. Judy Garland is so gloriously and prophetically tragic.

This was the first color movie and can you possibly imagine the reaction of the audience? Living life in color, watching it in sepia tones and then Dorothy exits her house after crashing down in Oz and she opens the door, entering a whole new world (literally and metaphorically). Opening the farmhouse door to pure magic with its kaleidoscope of colors? Must have been like Christmas! In life experience too, how often do we collide with our situation, only to awaken to suddenly see “reality” in all of its techno-color glory?

Are you familiar with the Heroes Journey? I suppose it would be classified as a literary process. Anyway...in our life’s journey, each of us is on the yellow brick road. We are running away, having adventures, overcoming obstacles, fulfilling dreams, learning valuable skills and lessons and discovering we are stronger than we thought we were. Perhaps the most valuable acquisition is the people that fulfill us,that ease the struggles and enhance our journey and we, better theirs. Eventually we return to the home we have been so desperately seeking. The return home of course, is physical, spiritual and intellectual (all out prodigal son style and magnitude). Then for further exploration, is the revelation that Dorothy had within herself the ability to get home all along. Had it not been for her friends and her all encompassing journey, she would never have found her way. Dorothy would never have developed and practiced the balance of courage, thoughtfulness and heart and come to fruition. Not to mention all the cursed apple throwing trees, flying monkeys and wicked witches we have to battle along the way.

I want Over the Rainbow played at my funeral. Eternally relevant as well as temporally. You may have noticed that my ruby slippers are not often planted on the yellow brick road. My mind is usually cozied up somewhere over the rainbow. More lovely there. Heehee . Speaking of ruby slippers I am going to get some. Possibly plant some poppies. I am fearful however, that the fantasy will die with the flowers.

Color Me Crabby

2009-02-28T11:14:00.006-07:00

I am not sure that I have ever been so happy to see Saturday, as I am today. Hello Handsome- Would you like to come in for a drink? Teehee... Ah! The sun is shining, I have limited obligations and...I am the least crabby I have been all week.

Let me touch on that. I have been less than joyful for a week or two now. It could be that I have been caught up in a web of emails, phone call and complaints. I really DO love my job and am thankful to have it, but the transitions have my head spinning. It could be that the uncharacteristic sunny February weather has poisoned me with an unquenchable thirst for Spring because the snow will return, with a vengeance and I need to be prepared. Maybe it's that Shmoops has been especially uncommunicative and we had a tiff over which shelf my FRIENDS box set should be placed on...seriously, this somehow seemed worthy of five minutes of "conversation"- The longest communication we have shared all week. OR perhaps it is that I have been feeling lonely.

Do you know that hopeless, inexplicable kind of alone you feel when you are in a room full of people you love? Isolation of the mind can be devastating if left unchecked. I have decided personally it is because my heart governs my head...so if my Head...the nearly imperceptible voice of reason is silenced-I may very well be COMPLETELY and utterly hopeless. On top of that, when I feel isolated and misunderstood, unattended or maybe just unappreciated-I am convinced that I have no one to talk to about it that could possibly understand. Although there may is a degree of truth to that. The topic of isolation and emotional abandonment may be a bit deep for the sweet minds of a three and five year old. Can you imagine? Let's not-it would never happen.

Unfortunately, I am a selectively social being and am currently frozen in a position where I am not free to cultivate adult relationships.Of course my husband and I are friends...but we are also roommates. Neither of us is easy to live with. This truth causes strain on the "sharing" area of the relationship regularly. We share what we think often, but rarely what we feel.

My kids are just getting to the age where they are doing organized activities, but we don't have any real bonds there yet.Sounds like I am searching for friendship under rocks-I am new at this. I have never really struggled in the friend department. I of course have friendships- from the past (BC-before children), but they are check-in friends...(they are as busy as I am with their own families and jobs)not everyday friends. Then the one Everyday Friend I have- at any given time has as much on her plates as I do, or more...so there is no need to torture her with with my emotional cutting. I work from home-which again I adore, but that means no office friendships...which I had a lot of when I had an office. Friends that I played with. Often...

When I am not working I am thrilled to dedicate my energies to my family. Seemingly when either of the two facets (home/work) of my simply complicated life get overly challenging or out of balance...I feel a little lost. OOOhhh...and even though I am a little needy at the moment, I detest feeling needy. A Big Girl Pride Thing.- a self preservation/defense mechanism thing..vicious, hateful cycle! I try to BE a friend...so I can HAVE more friends...but once I have made the effort on my end to "be a friend"-I throw in the towel if not immediately reciprocated. Maybe if I had less dignity or was less selective-I could have more friends. That is not worth the sacrifice to me. Friendship is a two sided game.

Well there it is! The source of my crabbiness. Way to clear it up for myself!..just no solution in site.

Sorry for the self indulgent post...This too shall pass. For now I will pretend to be That Girl...smile, bounce my hair, twinkle and shake it off...Fake it til you make it. Or something. Feel it til' you heal it? That makes no sense. Whatever...

Maybe Saturday will buy it. I AM oh so happy to see him:0)

Can I cuddle with a Day of the Week? Think he would hold me "without an ounce of selfishness?" from The Waitress...Doubtful- being that Saturday is of the male persuasion...heehee

How sad I am!-In the pathetic kind of way. The worst way.

At least I can admit it.

Although that it is of little consolation.Hee Hee...boo hoo-hee-boo...hee?

My Hair Affair

2009-02-24T22:55:00.007-07:00

Today I found a Harry Connick Junior cd I had forgotten about...better than dark chocolate!

So I am working (on spreadsheets...) and making calls and spending a bit of time with Oh So Dreamy Boy-and my mind wanders...just a bit, as creative (because that sounds better than flighty) minds are prone to do. So I am thinking about Harry Connick Junior and how he has famously great hair (except when he cuts it shaggy because he decides to recreate himself as a boy from my senior class. Perhaps I can bore you with that another time...oh and explore the possibility of a federal mandate that would require him and any other man of my choosing to wear mob-style suspenders) Focus! Oh right, my Harry has Definitive Crooner ,Leader of the Band Hair...and sometimes wears suspenders...on those days I feed him treats-with my teeth. Okay, stopping now...

Naturally, I then reminisce about all the frivolous crushes I have had throughout my lifetime (not to be confused with my love for Harry- that's the real deal...we are going on eighteen years or so. Heehee.)Let me begin with those of the celebrity persuasion. Gradually, a coif commonality is identified. Elvis-Fifties Rock Star Hair, James Dean-Fifties Bad Boy Hair, Danny Zuko-More Fifties Bad Boy Hair, Michael Jackson (Thriller days)-Curly Tenril Hair, Eric Estrada- Cop Helmet Hair, Jamie Walters-haha Fifties Bad Boy Hair -although it was the early nineties. Luke Perry-more Fifties Bad Boy hair,Jason Priestly-Indulgent Nineties Big Man Hair/Fifties Jock Boy Hair,Johnny Depp (Chocolat Pirate Hair and *blush* 21 Jump Street Hair) Bill Bouillion- Beach Volleyball Boy Hair, Jordan Knight (Slick Boy Band Hair. In fact the New Kids redefined Boy Band Hair-Jordan just did it best) , Patrick Dempsey-McDreamy, Scream 3, Will and Grace Hair not Can't Buy Me Love Hair (that was...kinda like a chocolate poodle) , John Mayer (Sulky Grungy Musician Hair), Edward Cullen (More James Dean Hair-which he chopped. But it will be back, oh yes...it will be back! So glad it is not up to him.) Each object of my shameless, school girl celebrity crushes is in manly possession of serious hair flair. Career making hair...empire building hair...swooning and crooning hair...heart breaker hair...Independently, I have noticed each of their locks...but never made the group connection. I have had a secret hair obsession...me and obsessions. Go figure!

This leads to my thinking through my real live boyfriends and flirtations of the past...A virtual cornucopia of hair fascination.
Shannon-toddlerhood-shaggy sandy hair,straight up nursery school style.
Shayne kindergarten-blonde waivy hair-think Ricky Schroeder
Roman-third grade-raven hair-tail. Right-I said tail...and it went all the way down his back-like a skunk tail. Clear why that was so alluring...heeheehee
Steen- white blonde hair-fifth and sixth grade. I remember when he discovered product. Happy day!;0) Oh and he came to my costume/birthday party dressed as Billy Idol..Yay him!
Seventh grade-Tim, sandy beach hair that fell in his eyes and a toothpaste commercial smile..we used to chat it up between classes...I had plans, but was distracted by a muscley freshman.
ninth grade/tenth grade=David...dark curly hair that I used to loosen into big waves in the back...just for fun.
Heath- straggly devil may care hair...I know because the day I visited his school with my bf...we ditched and I tousled it while we smooched all day leaning against an alley wall. Very West Side Story...7
...Eleventh grade-Steve...rebel boy hair(not my boyfriend-but he has to make the hair list).
Brook-muscle jock boy boy hair...another interesting story that will I will spare you for now.
Bob-Sport caster hair...oh and he was an absolute giant-Like Anthony Robbins.
Mark-Kurt Cobain hair.
The list goes on-until I get to Shmoops...he has always had hair attitude...has been Emilio Estevez-esque and more recently Rascal Flatt-ish...trying to get him to go...short, chic and tufty. I am a suckor for burns though...not the huge lamb chop style or dagger ones.

Hair Affair...aptly named? Shake your head "yes" here.

Using my extensive Psychology background that I have mentioned previously, (i.e. Freshman year of college, back row) I tried to find some deeper reason for my hidden hair addiction-get to the root (more hair humor)...Certainly this attraction is not an outward manifestation of my personal hair obsession. My own hair is nothing but another accessory to me...it has been really long, fairly short, curly, straight...highlighted, lowlighted...every feasible color of the rainbow...let's not get crazy-er! You name it. My hair is subject to my every whim. Nothing exceptional about it...Not sure where the hair affinity came from. Not even reserved for the opposite sex. I am obsessed with 90's Supermodel hair. I think I am going to grow mine back out and try to bring back big glam hair. ... Btw courtesy of my sister's stylist Jody...my adopted hair philosophy is that once a woman reaches her late twenties...if she is not an exotic dancer or a cheerleader...her hair should not exceed the middle of her back. Beyond that, I miss bombshell hair...Claudia, Cindy, Elle...the list goes on... Hair Fascination may not be all that odd, I mean America is obsessed with Julia Robert's hair...so I guess I am not the only freaky deak in the house. Coiffure, fluff, fringe, mane, mop, tress, shocks, sideburns, shaggy....HAIR!!!... To be clear, facial or head...body hair should be sparing.

Cool hair...apparently yet ANOTHER obsession of mine. Guess I will just continue to go with the flow...Get it? Flowing locks...sorry, that was bad. I am aware-couldn't help myself.

Regardless, there is no denying it...I go all mushy over a great head of hair and it took me um..twenty nine years (wink, wink), to figure it out. Doesn't change anything, I suppose. In fact it explains a lot. The long and the short of it...(pun intended) is subconsciously, I have had a life long affair with hair. (Although bald is beautiful on Vin Diesel, Taye Diggs, Tyson Beckford and Bruce Willis...shout out-whoop, whoop!)

Who knew? Now I do and so do you...sorry about that.

Felt the need to share. Share how much I care about hair flair...okay time to say goodnight! Goodnight.

Be good to your hair...apparently it is hugely important.

I Love "U"

2009-02-13T19:42:00.003-07:00

I Love” U”!

This is totally lost in translation. No graphics. Boo! So I will add in the play by play.

In an effort to celebrate V-D (Valentine’s Day)…and all things lovey and lovely - AND out of love for one of my fav blogs …”Clever Girl Goes Blog” I am going to participate in Tia’s love by letter challenge. She very graciously assigned me the letter “u” hahaha…thank you Tia!
So here is the task at hand…to list ten things that you love that start with your assigned letter. In my case, the letter (as mentioned above) is “u”
1. Undies. Love, love the matching, pretty, girly, lacy sets…I have to admit though that with two fairly young children-I am lucky to find a bra and panties and clothes that match in time to get my son to preschool. …forget finding the matching set and then making sure it doesn’t show through whatever I have chosen from the Clean Pile to put on. Still- I make an effort to go all out in the lacy thing department every now and again…(which is me-ish for not THAT often). Also believe this is really more for me than my husband. He has only a brief appreciation of it- lingerie makes me feel sexy all day. Sadly, this is not me pictured below…but a girl can dream. Right? In my case, to BE her (atleast in body)-not be WITH her…teehee.

Imagine VS Angel here.

2. United States of America. I am a Patriot (ess?) at heart. YES times are tough. OF COURSE they are tough EVERYWHERE-not just HERE. As a Country, we are often short-sided but we are also optimistic and generous and thankful to live where we live. What a beautiful place to be! Not only geographically, but where we are all free to agree and/or disagree openly-and not have to worry that we will be taken to jail in the night, or fear that our views will put our family’s safety in jeoprady. We still need to work on our behavior/reputation abroad a…but some of that is fulfilling preexisting expectations. Oh! And that debt thingy…
Anyway, God Bless Us-and Everyone around the Globe-but all that doesn’t begin with “u”.

American Flag pic.

3. Unicorns. Who doesn’t love a good unicorn? This is a bit of a stretch, but I like mythical creatures. Zeus, Venus, fairies and Edward Cullen (I mean…vampires)…Magic is well, it’s MAGICAL. I love that faith in the unseen world of childhood that begins to fade as we become mature and realistic. Pfft…realism is over-rated. I choose pixie dust and mermaids and unicorns…

Mythological red and black unicorn here.

4. Ugly Pretty. This is sort of like couture pretty…the whole high fashion thing. I probably got this term from ANTM…In my opinion, Ugly Pretty is the humanity in beauty. The character and intelligence…depth of beauty. The mole above the lip, the small scar against the chiseled chin, the lines in the statue David, the Mona Lisa smirk…the crack in the Grecian vase, . You get the hint. Ugly Pretty is the interesting version of perfection-Lovely’s sister, Sexy.

Juicy Couture perfume ad here.

5. Understanding. Pretty straightforward. We all like to be or feel understood…we also like to feel as if we understand both intellectually and emotionally the people and situations we encounter along our journey. “What’s so funny ‘bout peace, love and understanding?…:”0).
"No law or ordinance is mightier than understanding." Plato

Painting of Plato.

6. Uniforms. For me this is exclusive to Men in Uniform. Cliché’? Yes. But for good reason. Military dress uniforms are best-so heroic!…Don’t hate baseball uniforms either, or mobsters in tuxes…heehee. Funny though, a man in a McDonald’s uniform does not leave the same impression…

Richard Gere from 'An Officer and a Gentleman"

7. Upgrades. I am techno-impaired…but upgrades are good right? Improved functionality is usually a plus. Although I can’t help but think of ROBOTS, “Why be you, when you can be new”…slogan…Balance is key to healthy upgrading in technology and in life…fine line between being fashionable and fickle.

I-Phone picture, BMW and ROBOT cartoon character...

8. Undiscovered. Life is all about discovery. So whether it be a delicious dive in a non-trendy part of the city or a new love. Seeking out that perfect shade of lip gloss or revealing a hidden talent you never knew you possessed,…Uncovering a fierce pair of shoes hidden away on the sale rack, or discovering the crumpled up twenty that you left in your winter coat. The new truth you learned, even if it was obtained the hard way. What about the best book you fell upon because its’ title captured your interest? Perhaps it is that out of the way break in the meadow where the sun illuminates your Vampire like a diamond-encrusted chandelier (sorry, couldn’t resist)…Anyway, the possibilities are endless. Why do you think so many people watch American Idol, Top Chef and Antique Road show? The road of discovery is kind of like “the hunt”…you know? Or something…kinda’, sorta’ like that and it all begins with the UNDISCOVERED. Otherwise the game is no fun.

Sparkley vampire. Of course!

9. Unique. Mostly I like to hope/think that I am unique. In a precious-memorable way, not a freaky ”Thank the Lord there is no one else like you” –kind of way..Or maybe a mix of the two. Really though, how unique can we REALLY be? Only one of me and only one you…but the human condition has most of us chasing our tails…or working out on the hamster wheel. “Nothing new under the sun” and all… Anyway…uniqueness is an aspiration of mine…but I don’t work too hard at it. Think it is supposed to be effortless-teehee. Challenge nonetheless to stand apart.

Whitworth Miller (different colored eyes), crown jewels and beach castle photos. Atticus Finch.

10. Ultra-glamorous. This one I definitely am not-though I make my feeble attempts. I do greatly admire it in others …not sure I know any real life people who I would consider ultra-glamorous. Young Hollywood has lost most of its’ mystique and with that-it’s glamour. Old Hollywood though…WOW! Ultra glamour was its very essence. Here are a few of my favorites.

Audrey, Jackie, Carey Grant, Clark Gable, Vivian Leigh, Sopia Loren...

Shwew! I did it.

“U” words that didn’t make the list? Uggs, Umbros, U-2 and Umbrellas…Want a letter?

I hope you enjoyed it. This was my best shot! Sorry for the drab non technicolor version!

May have to revisit with "ultimate" and "unforgetable"...

New in Town- A Harry Situation

2009-02-01T13:20:00.001-07:00

New in Town-A Harry (hairy-get it?) SituationShare
Today at 1:00pm | Edit Note | Delete
New in Town ...review-with a few little detours.

I am going to start this out by filling you all in on my years of holding a groupie school girl flame for Harry Connick Junior. If you have been living under a sad Harry-free little rock...Harry Connick Junior is an amazing musician. He is a crooner/band leader- but does his own musical arrangements and is from New Orleans and so logically, he is a jazz pianist as well. He did the soundtrack from When Harry Met Sally, as well as numerous big band and solo cds. He also acts. He has been in a bunch of stuff: Little Man Tate, Memphis Belle, Hope Floats, The Serial Killer Movie I can't Currently Recall the Name of...(Copycat-thanks Imbd!), Independence Day, My Dog Skip, P.S. I Love You, and more. Most recently people know him from his role as Leo on Will and Grace. He also starred on broadway in a sold out run of "The Pajama Game" ( a musical starring Harry! Would have been a highlight in life-but I allowed the lack of available tickets to stand in my way). He is ultra charming, boyishly good looking, goofy- funny and crazy talented. Because of all these brilliant qualities, I try not to miss anything he does. New in Town was no exception.

New in Town stars Harry Connick Junior and Renée Zellweger (sure she needs no introduction-JIC-Chicago, Bridget Jones, Jerry McGuire, etc). Anyway, Renee plays Lucy Hill, an aspiring CEO from Miami who is sent (by default) to New Ulm Minnesota to do some restructuring of a plant there. She takes the move as an opportunity to climb the corporate ladder. Predictably, she is the big city girl who all the small town people detest because she represents Big Business and all its' unfavorable characteristics (i.e. greed, monopolization, etc). Needless to say, there are numerous adjustments to be made. She must run all the major changes she has been sent to make by the conveniently widowed, overly-protective single father and Union Rep, Ted Mitchell (dreamily portrayed by Harry Connick Junior). She insults and later argues with him over a meatloaf dinner on her first day in town before she realizes that he is the Union Rep-this initial meeting helps form some of the "conflict" that later occurs in the film..

So- I am going to stop here...don't want to give the movie away. This movie is not poorly acted. It is however, trite and unremarkable. If you (like me) have to see it NOW due to your unbreakable one-sided commitment to Harry-do so...If not-wait and get it from Red Box for a dollar. Because while there are some funny moments: red underwear antenna, "sexy man-outloud" part , "I didn't realize He (Jesus) was missing) ", a ultra-chic Burberry trench, and a heart warming Christmas carolling scene that brought a tiny tear-the leads don't have believable chemistry (he is WAY too cute for her) the laughs are not that funny and the tempo seems off. Something about it seems half cooked, like the aftermath of whatever attempts I make at cooking dinner.

Facial Hair Harry is nice though. They tried, unsuccessfully to make him small towny and ordinary...but his laughing eyes, winning smile and irrepressible charm make this an impossibility. HE is also a fire man in the movie...Need I say more? (N0, no I don't)

What goes without saying-is that I will continue to be the first in line for whatever Harry does. The only error he made with regards to New in Town is that of poor judgement (choosing an underdeveloped script with poorly developed characters).

Of course I am willing to personally deal with the Union on this matter;0).

Not Original-but 25 Random Things About ME

2009-01-25T18:23:00.000-07:00

25 Random Things About Me

As I have crowned myself the Unofficial Queen of Random, this should be easy enough...Although, I don't think you all care to know THIS much about me.

1. I have an unGodly amount of lipgloss. Embarrassed really to even ATTEMPT to tell you how many. Suffice to say that I could apply lipgloss one hundred times a day to myself and a few friends (odd visual, but whatever) every day for the rest of my life and still have enough left over to shine the lips of a professional cheer squad or the Pussy Dolls,a bevy of exotic dancers or a team of Drag Queens (all eerily related somehow) for the rest of theirs...

2. I am not sure if it is the retired cheerleader in me still needing to take the stage every now and then, or what...but I adore "singing" karaoke-loudly and badly. Some of my favorite songs to lovingly butcher with my tone deaf renderings are ...These Boot Are Made For Walkin', One Way or Another, Hit Me With Your Best Shot and anything by Brittany Spears...because REALLY hard to do any damage to "I'm a Slave For You" ...

3. On the same note as number two (teehee number two) I can dance a mean bar or table if the moon is right and I haven't been out in many months...it works in my favor if I am not wearing heels in these situations-I am just not THAT coordinated. Did I mention my beloved sister in law Amber (who needs to get on fb already) accompanied me to Coyote Ugly for my birthday to do just that? I am not ashamed.

4. In high school I got a sultry peck from Jamie Walters, the "How Do I Talk to an Angel" guy that dated Kelly on 90210...heehee...sure I am one random girl on a long unsophisticated list. On second thought, it was just a kiss-who am I kidding? I am not on any list... I am not bragging here...:0)

5. On my last day of high school Barry Bonds decided to whack me in the forehead with a foul ball. LOVELY! If you have met me, you know that A-Of course I didn't have a glove and B-Catching it would have not been an option if I had-so why bother with A. I have awards banquet pictures where my eye is purple to match my dress to prove it. Tried to tone it down with purple shadow like it was intentional...but it is an eyeshadow brush, not a wand.

6. I will not share milk products or anything with pulp. Not even with Chris (my husband), or the kiddos...I will share-but then I pull a Becky Shrepple and say "Oh just keep it." And I don't like to sit down right after someone else gets up. Butt Warmth is creepy.

7. As if I need to S-P-E-L-L it out...did I mention I have a touch of OCD (informally diagnosed of course)...kind of like having a tiny bit of a deadly virus...:0). Mostly I have weird idiosyncrasies and phobias-I don't wash my hair fifty times a day, or make my kids change into clean clothes in the closet when they get home...I just have a million lip glosses, need to have doors and cabinets shut when not in use and have an odd fixation with the number seven and its' multiples...(blushing-it's okay I know it's weird).

8. I know all the words (or 92.95%) to atleast five musicals: Grease, Rent , Cabaret, Evita and Chicago and about 70% of five or so more. LOVE musicals! Saw Producers on Broadway...(of course Matthew Broderick and Nathan Lane were on sabbatical as my "luck" would have it). However the charming Steven Weber from Wings and now Brothers and Sisters was in it-and I met him...he is lovely.

9. I have an autographed picture of Harry Connick Junior because I mailed a cheesy poem to his fan club...this was YEARS ago, but don't let it kid you-I'd do it again tomorrow.

10. I LOVE red.

11. I ADORE New York City.

12. I am determined to make a pilgrimage to Graceland before I die.

13. Coca-Cola is my beverage of choice...or Cherry Coke. Please don't offer me Pepsi-it could get ugly. My RIGHT to choose and I get hostile when I don't have options.:0)

14. I get emotionally involved in Broncos football-even though I don't get to watch it much these days and we have season tickets. Was teary for days when Mike Shanahan got booted. Boo!

15. I have had a stuffed dog named Toto since my mom received him at my baby shower. I don't sleep with him (anymore), but just can't give him up...

16. "Man can not live on bread alone" but I COULD live on chips and salsa.

17. I am gloriously non-domestic...just how I am wired.

18. I would love to travel more. In the United States and abroad. Greece, Italy and Spain top my list...although I am currently making no real efforts to get to any of them.

19. If I watch a show loyally, it is likely to be cancelled. Here is my shout out to October Road and What About Brian...whoop whoop

20. I am ridiculously loyal. This does not just apply to friends and family...but to the New Kids on the Block, Harry Connick Junior, 90210 and anything and anyone else I have devoted any real time to.

21. I talk to strangers. Candy or no..

22. I too sing random songs throughout the day and put my kids names in them.

23. I have two published poems and was written up in a optometry book for being one of the earliest cases to be treated with contact lenses...I was two...impressive, I know (;0) )

24. I can't find my way out of a paper bag...but I can find any item in my delightedly disorganized home.

25. I am distracted by shiny things...like Edward Cullen..and jewelry...who am I kidding? blinking lights, glitter...

Your turn. Shoot

Kids- Smarter Than You Think

2009-01-20T18:49:00.010-07:00

Okay so I mentioned before that I have two kids. Mentioned in my last post that they don't always play nice. They are adorable and sweet...they are funny, dramatic, imaginative, playful and smart. Very SMART...like little mischievous Master Minds. They could be Batman Villains-except MUCH too cute and THANKFULLY no bizarre disfiguring experiences! (i.e. Joker, Two Face, etc.)

So I mentioned in the Playing Nice...? blog-that my son will be like a quiet little storm and then break lose like Hurricane Jasper (are the Js next?) when I get on the phone for business. Well this was a bit like that-with a twist.

So this is how it went down-

Me: Mommy needs to get on the phone for a minute and I am going in the other room, so you two need to play nice (just like the last blog) and keep it down. okay?

Little Evil Genius'/ Cherubs: Okay Mommy (chattering about super heroes and playing tea party on the step stool in the bathroom)

I go into the kitchen and dial the phone. I am in the middle of leaving a message when I hear my daughter sobbing in the other room. So I cover the mouth piece and end my call...running into the bathroom as fast as I can.

Me: Freaking Out a Bit: WHAT IS GOING ON IN HERE?

Little Girl Evil Genius (holding face, still sobbing): He hit me on my head, ears and face.

I kiss the Sweet Crying Baby and turn to the Offending Offspring.

Me: Why did you do that to your sister?

LEG: I don't know.

Me: Yes you do, Why did you smack your sister down?

LEG: I don't know...(this time with less certainty)

Me sensing that the Bad Mommy Cop act is working and I have him where I want him, continue...

Me: YES YOU DO- She didn't do ANYTHING to you...WHY DID YOU HIT YOUR SISTER?

LEG: (Looks at me and then at his sister and then mumbles)...Because I wanted you to get off the phone.

Enough said.

Something I always suspected...figured I was using my Freshman Year Psychoanalyzing Skills-Had absolutely NO idea that he was fully aware of the reasoning behind his actions...

He is five.

Adorable Evil Geniuses...I tell you.

*Thanks to Tia of CGGB for giving me a format idea for the conversation aspect of this blog -Hope she doesn't mind...