She's Got the Look

The holiday/pre-birthday blues have a bit of a hold on me this week, affecting my dreams and making me a bit paranoid. So needless to say, I was not quite in the mind frame to hear the “compliment” that was given to me today as complimentary.

She said “Oh, you’re a big girl. But you’re surprisingly toned for a big girl.”

A Big girl? I wear a size 8, sometimes a 10.

I am not the “anorexic chic” so popular in Hollywood these days, and certainly no one has ever accused me of having an eating disorder. But seriously folks…

Some of the most beautiful women I know are lush and round and curvy, the way women are supposed to be. We are designed to have layers, which keep our innards warm, so that we can create and sustain life within us. (Subsequently, we are more likely to survive hypothermia as well. Go Girls!)

The whole contemplation of today’s notion of beautiful women reminded me of yesterday’s encounter in Starbucks. I was waiting for my Gingerbread Latte, when a woman came in. Her 6 inch heels were a bit over the top for the 10am coffee run. Her rhinestone bejeweled jogging suit was the best in Juicy Couture (and will never see a moment of actual jogging.) Her breasts were melons of saline so ripe I thought they might pop if someone brushed against her. But most outstanding in her appearance was her face. Modern cosmetic science had so enhanced her facial features that I doubt she will ever be able to “unpucker” again. Additionally, when she approached the counter from behind me, I noted that she mumbled incomprehensibly. I can only assume it was some version of “excuse me”, but who knows!? Between her collagen swollen lips and her overly botoxed nasal folds, she couldn’t move her mouth enough to articulate the English language. This is “beautiful”??!?!?

What happened to Marilyn Monroe and Mae West? Where are the screen goddesses who were naturally bodacious? Kudos to Kate Winslet and Scarlett Johansson for being proud to be curvy and real, while still managing to pull off being beautiful.

Because if our only two choices are “12-yr-old-boy-thin” and “so-enhanced-you-can’t-talk”, then today's women are in a world of hurt.

editorial note: while researching the topic on line, I came aross this post which I found both fascinating and a bit terrifying

Sunday Scribblings: In the last hour

In the last hour of the night, before sleep overtook her active mind and dragged her beneath, she made a list of all the things yet undone. She wrote from her heart, pouring out beliefs and goals, evacuating the small crevices where hope still festered in a largely bitter existence. She dredged up the very crispy bits at the bottom of the cauldron of her being, and she penned each half-burned dream onto cream paper, in a flowery round script aided by the easy flow of her purple gel uni-ball with the chewed up cap.

The last one stood out most harshly, mocking her with its incompleteness: "Fall in love"

In that last hour of dark dim lighting and deep heart stirrings, she mourned her many abortive attempts to lose herself in connection with another. To allow her walls to sink completely and leave herself, not defenseless...but open, to the experience of sharing. Instead of a history full of Hallmarkian tenderness, she looked back on a catalogue of grossly co-dependant relationships, thick with abuse and irony. The 'been there, done that" list of her heart's attacks read like a baby name book, only one where "David" didn't mean "beloved", but more "raving jackass" and "Tony*" was less "priceless" and more "psycho."*

A throaty humorless laugh escaped as she admitted defeat in all games important to her. Her family, broken as it was had left her behind long ago, and her friends had disappeared into a sea of unfortunate excuses. The only element of her life with harmony and humor had passed one week ago today, at an unforgettably sad moment in the vet's office, and now she sat in a lifeless room, in the silence of a falling night, wishing to blot out any memory of her existence at all.

She took the pages where she'd written all her failures and carried them to the bathroom, setting fire to them with a thin yellow plastic lighter someone had left on her desk at work. The low flames blacked the edges of the paper as they consumed their way across the written words, leaving ash and embers in their place. She discarded the remnants into the open toilet and chuckled once again as she realized how quickly and easily it could all be flushed away.

Turning to the counter, she saw collected there a bevy of medicinal remedies for a hundred imagined ailments, and like mixed jellybellys, popped any variety of color and shape into her mouth. Lowering her head to the spout of the rusty faucet, she drank only as much water as she needed to swallow the caplets and tablets that held escape in their grainy pharmaceutical hands. And then she returned to her room, and her bed.

In the last hour of her life, she rested her head on her pillow and wept until the pain faded away.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
* it's a work of fiction. No offense meant to any Davids or Tonys. Well, ok, no offense meant to any Davids, and to 99.9% of Tonys. That .1% knows who he is.

Sunday Scribblings: Hero

What does it take to be a hero? Daily courage, or just an extraordinary moment? Firemen are certainly heros, as are police officers, and our troops overeseas. Is it about risking life and limb? OR just going beyond what normal life would ask of you?

This weekend, I saw "Stranger than Fiction," an interesting film wherein Will Ferrell plays an ordinary man who seems mysteriously to be the central character in a book which will end with his death. An unlikely hero, Harold Chik is an IRS auditor, living a rather humdrum experience, ruled by numbers. However, when he overhears the Narrarator's voice in his head mention his untimely and impending doom, he leaps into action to find the hows and whys of his death, and see if it can be stopped (or at least postponed.)

I went to the movie seeking an entertaining story that would allow me escape from my own daily routine, but found instead a film that wouldn't let me stop thinking about it afterwards. Would I, like Harold, seek out the cause of my demise and fight it? Would I live those last few days as if I were "truly alive", fullfilling the wishes of myself and others? Could I dedicate myself for that time to eat a juicy and succulent life, and so at the end, feel that death, however untimely was neccessary and not in vain?

and if I could do that under those circumstances, why do I not do it now? Why am I not living each day fully and vibrantly? Why do I find myself forever postponing and timing things out..... "well, in two years, i'll be mostly out of debt. I can do what i love then..." How many years have I, have any of us, wasted in that process?

Hmmm, hold on.... There have been moments. I've not spent it ALL looking ahead or behind. I have had a dabbling here and there of being completely and totally present. Where I've been as alive as alive gets, and enjoyed the view. In 2003, I participated in APLA's Marathon Training program. For 7 months of my life, I ran and fundraised to help people in the Los Angeles area who are afflicted with HIV and/or AIDS. And in the end, I did something I'd long wanted to do. I finished a marathon.

Right now, my friend Amandarin is participating in that same project. And while I do not envy her "runner's knee", her aching hips, her heat exhaustion, her recent shoe-blow out, or her constant struggle to fundraise..... I do know that there's not a feeling in the world like running that marathon. Oh, not just the crossing of the finish line (which admittedly is pretty spectacular). No, I'm speaking of another moment, one unlike any I'd ever known.

December 14th, 2003- I was running mile late-teens/early twenties, huffing and pained and wondering if I'd make it when I passed a group on the sidelines. It was a large bunch of yellow-shirt wearing APLA supporters, cheering and hooting and beliving in me. They held signs of all natures. "You can do", and "You're a hero". I smiled and waved. Then I saw him. He was tall and gaunt, and didn't look as if he had much energy left to be standing, much less cheering and waving a sign. But he was giving it all he had. And in his hands was a simple piece of posterboard, which read "You are saving my life. Thank you." Tears streamed down my face, and my pace quickened just a bit, and in that moment, I felt just a little bit like a hero.

So Amandarin, I wish you that moment. That one and a hundred more as you face this monster ride called "training to run a marathon". It's HELLA not easy, but it's worth it.

And to anyone whose reading this.... if you're looking for a hero to support, check out this lady or the team she's running with Phat Girls Running. Or go directly to APLA, and read about the hundreds of heros they train regularly.

Or try the Lukemia & Lymphoma Society's Team in Training The disease is different, but the love and caring and determination is the same.

Or Feed a hungry animal

Whatever it is that makes your heart weep and sing at the same time, go find it and support and be a hero for someone else. Cause I'm thinking THAT's what makes one heroic.... not JUST the courage or the passion.... but the ability to give and do that for someone else.

Here's to making the world a better place.

The Fringe of Danger

A friend of mine, Ms. Scarlett, just came to me, trembling and crying and on the edge of a meltdown.

It seems that last Friday, she was held up at gunpoint, at an ATM less than a mile from where we work. The shock is just starting to wear off, and her conversation with the detective, in regards to identifying suspects in a line up, and the possible impending trial, pushed her over that cliff of emotion. I held her while she cried, and then sent her home ill. She was in no space to manage calendars or answer phones or in any way pretend that the world was fine and normal.

When I relayed the story to Amandarin she remarked that this was the second mugging she'd heard of this week.

Additionally, I just sent flowers to one co-worker for her sister's passing while another colleague is waiting by a phone at home, hoping for some good news regarding her grandmother's recent heart problems.

Laughably smaller, my radiator blew up two week's ago, and I'm just finishing a round of poison oak that I contracted around Halloween (during our pet funeral services).

So my question is... Hey Universe, what the hell is going on!?? October was a month full of deaths (for myself and others), and now November seems to be badly wired, waiting to short out and start a fire.

Is it too much to ask that we gently glide into a warm and uneventful Thanksgiving? I can't speak for the rest of the world, but we Angelinos could use a break!

Hot Cuppa Inspiration

On the side of today's tasty beverage, I found this:

"My father said being an artist was the shortest road to the poorhouse, claiming 'real' work is something you don't like. I ignored him through oppisitional behavior, later reasoning that only an idiot sets out to find the poorhouse, not to mention devote himself to something he doesn't love. Instead, I discovered an interesting back road to the unknown, and deliberately without a safety net.

-- Russell Chatham, painter lithographer, author, publisher and restaurateur"



I long for that backroad. I remind myself that I am an artist, and a dancer, and a writer, and whatever more I may wish to be today..... and I long to create without that safety net.

which reminds me.... I recently found out than an old acquaintance of mine is running a school for Aeiral Arts. I think it may be time for me to take that webwork class that I'd signed up for in college (the week before I tore all the ligaments in my right ankle and spent months on crutches). I long to fly, to spin, to be that girl on the flying trapeze.

What daring things will you do this holiday season??

Limes of Love

The ever-fabulous Amandarin, whose selfless actions brought Tag to my door in June, has once again worked with others to create a generous project of love and giving.

LIME PROJECT is a group of women who have come together to raise funds for a friend, currently fighting Hodgkins Lymphoma.

To quote the website:
We don't know who makes these decisions, but the support ribbon color for Hodgkin's Lymphoma is lime green. Conveniently, this is one of Heather's favorite colors."LimeSuckers" came about because well... pretty much everyone was suckered into it.

Most of us met on LiveJournal, a blogging / networking website, and this idea was hatched there, sprouting from the mind of Bronxelf (also known as Avril), for the group of us to produce and sell calendars to benefit Heather.

Not just any calendars..."naked" calendars. Tastefully done, of course, but still. Cheesecake sells.


That's right kids.... beautiful nekkid women, showing their goodies support for a friend in need.

So dig into your pockets. 2007 is coming, and you need a calendar! Not just one that tells you the days and dates, but one that supports a life AND has bold and beautiful pictures of women not afraid to bare it all to help a friend.

Pay It Forward.... Buy a Calendar!

Ebb & Flow

Change comes rapidly, like a swift Autumn wind. Faster than the seasons can shift, faster than I can keep up. As John Lennon sang: “Life is what happens to you when while you're busy making other plans.”

*pause, to catch my breath*

Although co-habitation can be challenging, Tag and I grow ever closer. However, sometimes it is for unfortunate reasons. Just last weekend, we shared the heartbreak of losing a pet. Brave Neo, who traveled with Tag from Chicago, died inexplicably, leaving the bulk of our Saturday mired in impromptu services in the nearby park. This, added to the sadness of my Grandmother’s passing, has left me pondering the “dark time” and all its hidden gifts.

Traditionally, Samhain is the festival that marks the “End of Summer”, or the time of the Harvest. One tradition states that you could harvest until sundown on Hallows Eve, but not a moment longer. Whatever was not cut by that sunset, you left in the field as an offering to the spirits. From that moment, you could only look forward to the next harvest season; making productive use of what had been brought in, and sowing the seeds for the following year.

During this last season or so, friends have fallen away, life has run at speeds both hectic and humdrum, and of course, love has come to play.

For each birth there has been a death. For each Spring blossom that bloomed, an Autumn leaf fell to ground. Sadness and loss weigh heavy right now, as the days grow shorter and darker. I’ve been battling moments of anger and despair. Last night, in dance class, I found myself weeping, in a dimly lit room pulsating with music and life. I felt like I was a great black hole of energy, absorbing joy and transmuting it into nothingness.

My mood is lighter today, although not completely recovered. My thoughts are scattered and this post is challenging to write. However, underneath it all, I still feel a smidgeon of hope bubbling up through the goop-- the ever-present idea that it does once again get better, that wounds heal, and lessons get learned and at the end of the day, as long as one can surround themselves with friends and loved ones…. it’s gonna be ok.

Cycling

The title and time of year would lead one to think that this will be a post full of reverie for color-changing leaves and the cool breezes that mark the end of another Southern California summer.

I might wax poetic about the onset of Autumn, and how Fall always stirs my blood, invigorates my dreams, and truly excites me.

OR I could, of course, elaborate on how my new life with my love is blossoming and morphing into a reality unlike any I've ever experienced before.

But that is not the point and purpose of this post...

I will instead take this moment to remember My Grandmother.
-the one who played mini-golf with me, the summer I stayed a week in Winston-Salem.
-the one who chuckled at my too tight Jordache jeans, which made it impossible for me to bend over enough to retrieve my golf ball.
-the one who fixed large bowls of ice cream for us both, so that we might sit and bond over the daily episode of "She-Ra: Princess of Power".

It's been a very VERY long time since those memories were an acutality, and since that long ago day, much water has passed under the bridge that pointed to our differences, and not our connection. She is an older Southern woman, with husband and children, ensconsed safely in her house in North Carolina. I am a single female, scattered about various Los Angeles locations, living life friviously, with (until recently) only cats to keep me company. She holds to tradition and security. I look forward towards opportunities, and don't wish to settle for less than I want. I don't think I fully qualify as "the black sheep" of the family... but I'm certainly the one who is "not like the others."

Still, that all seems small and inconsequential today, for as my life blooms with chance and bubbles with opportunity, my grandmother's is coming to a close. She's fought cancer for 24 years, and doctors said that a 5th round of chemo is just not an option. The last MRI showed a tumor in the front lobes of her brain that is as inoperable as it is deadly. She sleeps, most likely to never wake again, in a hospital bed on the other side of the country. And my father, bless him, sits at her side, watching her through the night.

At this time, as we draw closer to the cross-quarter and the veil grows thinner, I will light my candle and wish her spirit safe travels. I honor her strength, and I cherish the woman who vacuumed religiously and worshiped sun-tanning, whose blue eyes danced when she chuckled, and whose laughter will always have a place in my heart.

OH so much to tell

My dears, how I've missed you... but oh the adventures I've been on.

* Travelling cross country with my love.
* Visiting the vibrating metropolis of Chicago.
* Seeing the colors changing as the seasons roll one from the next.
* Drinking deeply the lush tones and tastes of Missouri's wine country (which I had NO IDEA existed!)
* Reconnecting with Friends, nesting in the hills of Evergreen, Colorado.
* Traversing the Rockies in all their majestic glory.
* Hiking Utah's awe-inspiring parks.

and finally coming home, to the furry-purries who missed me!!

Pictures and elaborations to come.

*grin*

Quotable: Security

Security is mostly a superstition. It does not exist in nature, nor do the children of men as a whole experience it. Avoiding danger is no safer in the long run than outright exposure. Life is a daring adventure or nothing at all.

-Helen Keller

Loving the Fool

Per Rob Brezney:

Declare amnesty for the part of you that you don't love very well. Forgive that poor sucker. Hold its hand and take it out to dinner and a movie. Tactfully offer it a chance to make amends for the dumb things it has done.

And then do a dramatic reading of this proclamation by the playwright Theodore Rubin:
"I must learn to love the fool in me—the one who feels too much, talks too much, takes too many chances, wins sometimes and loses often, lacks self-control, loves and hates, hurts and gets hurt, promises and breaks promises, laughs and cries. It alone protects me against that utterly self-controlled, masterful tyrant whom I also harbor and who would rob me of human aliveness, humility, and dignity but for my fool."

Half-light Serenade

Check the email, type the needed documents... another day of corporate drudgery lingers too long. I pry myself off-leash for a moments drive to the post office and fast food, before returning to the daily ball & chain.

However, it only takes a second before the air around my ears stirrs with something exciting and different. Did someone put speakers in the parking garage? Joyfully, I discover no. This aural bliss is nothing short of live clarinet jamming.

Having lived the first two years of college with a classical clarinet major, the sound of that particular instrument is one I know very well, and one I can't resist. Linked to memories of youth and discovery, the clarinet speaks to me in a way that few other instruments can.

I follow the sound, like a dog on a scent, to the edge of the garage. Stretched out next door is a parking lot, but across that, a quiet unassuming apartment complex provides a home for some melodic soul. 3rd floor, just inside the screen door to his balcony, he sways, gently playing. I stand transfixed at the railing, riding on the tune. Melancholy, but not despairing, it dips low and trills up, and feels akin to a magic carpet.

I wonder if he knows he has an audience, or even if he cares. Is he playing only for himself, or would he be amused at the girl, holding KFC in one hand, car keys in the other, slowly swaying at the garage's edge? With my eyes closed, it ceases to be a parking lot in the vast Lost City of Angels.... it is only a moment, rare and magical (like today's simmering storm clouds), that feeds the soul and keeps one afloat.

Gratitude

Dear Universe,

This "beautiful-swirly-grey-clouds,-strong-cool-breeze,-imposing-storm-thing" that you've currently got going on in SoCal...... It's GORGEOUS!!!

Please keep up the good work.

Much Love,
Teece

P.S. Although I applaud your work here in LA, please lay off the earthquakes in Florida. Geez, don't they have enough to cope with during Hurricane Season?

Loss, in black & white

I find an odd poignancy in this story.

Ya Ya tried her best to keep her cubs safe, and in doing so, wore herself out, not properly eating or sleeping. This exhaustion caused her to drop the smaller baby, mid-feeding, and collapse onto the fallen body, crushing the tiny offspring beneath her.

She is “inconsolable, wailing and looking for her baby after its body was taken away from her.”

Although the baby was one of a set of twins, and the elder cub remains alive and in good health, Ya Ya continues to mourn.

How many times have I done exactly that? In the pursuit of something cherished, I have held the goal so close, that in the end, when it all fell apart, there was no one to blame but myself. Road to a personal hell, paved with the best of intentions.

*sigh* I wish her peace.

Like so many others......

I am deeply saddened by the loss of Steve Irwin. What a great man, dedicated to wildlife conservation.

I somehow always thought that in the world of working with wildlife, I would eventually run into him. Now that possibility is gone, and the world seems smaller... darker.

I hope they have crocodiles in your afterworld, Steve. If nothing else, I know you're there with your best mate, Suey. Happy Trails to you both.

Sunday Scribblings: Monster

There’s a monster that lives in my head.

Gruff voiced, he tells me that being lost all the time is to be expected; nobody gets to have a job that makes them happy. He tells me that I need to buck up little camper, and not whine to everyone.

He says fuck off to people I care about, and right now, he’s just telling me to curl up in a dark corner of my room, with a bottle of anything that will make it all fuzzy.

There’s a monster that lives in my head… And he hates you all. He hates me too. He says it doesn’t get any better, and he says not to bother trying.

He’s a grouchy old bastard, that monster in my head. And today, sadly… he’s been winning.

I guess that's why I'm writing this.... so he knows that although I hear him, I don't want to listen. So he knows that I'm stronger than I used to be, and I don't cave so quickly. It's my little way of saying "thank you for your contribution... now shut the fuck up!"

Sunday Scribblings: Who else Might I have been?

A thousand times, I've looked at the events of my life, the good, the bad and the VERY VERY ugly, and wondered what I would have become without them.

The Evil Arachnid.... *snort*... bastard of an ex-fiance that haunted me for many years. What a long and painful saga that was. His fury and domination, his brilliantly-mechanized manipulations, his stupidly blatant lies.... There are many who think my life would have been better had I never involved myself with him. But I can't agree...

*trembling*

Can I really do this? Can I really discuss all that happened there? Perhaps I don't need to. This isn't "Rehash your crapiest memories"... It's "Who else might I have been"

His lies taught me to always seek truth.... and to always offer it.

His betrayals showed me HOW painfully a heart can be torn and abused, without completely breaking. It was a slow death, that I allowed, because inside, there was a feeling of deserving punishment.

Why did I accept the ring, even after years of pain and lies? Well for one, I had some fear for my physical being if I said No (He was not fond of rejection). But more than that, I had been "caught" in some less than stellar behavior and lies of my own.... and I could not have the failure be my fault. Ah co-dependence, at the height of my addiction.

At the end, it was a near-religious theatre experience that pulled me from my years of pain and self-despair, and helped me rise to a moment where I discovered that there are beliefs that we can hold sacred long after they serve us. And it only by the painful sacrifice of these tenets, that we free ourselves of self-imposed chains, leaving ourselves naked and vulnerable in a new land, full of possibilities.

From the fall of 1994 til June 13 1999, the education was enormous.... as was the gut-wrenching pain. Still, on the other end of it, I'm so much more. Who might I have been? I might have been a liar. I might have been a victim. I might have been afraid of being alone. I might have been broken. I might have been beaten down. I might have been forever ashamed. I might have been a ghost, a grey and vacuous shell of all what I could be.

X-tina said it best:

After all of the stealing and cheating
You probably think that I hold resentment for you
But, uh uh, oh no, you're wrong
'Cause if it wasn't for all that you tried to do
I wouldn't know just how capable I am to pull through
So I wanna say thank you

'Cause it makes me that much stronger
Makes me work a little bit harder
It makes me that much wiser
So thanks for making me a fighter
Made me learn a little bit faster
Made my skin a little bit thicker
Makes me that much smarter
So thanks for making me a fighter

Uninspired.....

...so I swiped the following meme from Amandarin


Things You Don't Usually Tell Anyone About, like...

...a strange combination of food you like to snack on.
Peanut Butter & Honey sandwiches. LOVE THEM.


...something you do that other bloggers who read you might find odd if they saw you doing it.
I don't know... none of them have ever seen me perform anything on stage, AND they are used to my being pretty light spirited.... so I think that if they saw me perform in a deeply dramatic/slightly psychotic play, it might be an unusual experience for them. (My "Agnes" in "Agnes of God" was well recieved by the Tampa/St Pete critics, and i was only 19 at the time. Kick ass for me!)


...when you were 7, what you wanted to be when you grew up - that you never told anyone about.
There's really not anything I haven't told folks about... but I wanted to be either a marine biologist (so i could work with dolphins) or a "Charlie's Angel" (cause they were beautiful, smart, and well armed). However, I also LOVED acting..... and in theory, in that profession, i could do both. So I went with that.


...the thing you don't tell people at work about yourself.
Oh, I'm an open book. I suppose if there's anything I really avoid talking about, it's health issues. I like to be very vague about my 'appointments', trying not to specify which doctor I'm going to see. Although lately, I've had to. Yuck! Very uncomfortable for me.


...what you like to do when no one else is going to be home for a stretch of time.
Clean, Clean, Clean! Or Nap in the quiet.


...the thing you believe - politically - that you don't admit to people who think you think like they do.
I don't really discuss politics at all if I can help it. My family tends to be very Republican. My state and many of my local friends are very Democratic. I have bits and pieces of views from both sides, but tend not to vote or lean either way. I am registered Independant.


...that one thing from your childhood, outside of your parents, that you try to maintain some kind of connection with, and how.
I have several of my original stuffed animals.... Dimples, the purple bunny (somewhere there is audio tape of me, at like age 3, talking to Dimples... and him talking back. Ah... my first animated voice over work); Tost-em, the baby panda (named after my favorite breakfast treat); Burgess, the red thing (people tell me he's a puppy, but when i was a kid, i was convinced he was a polar bear who had dyed himself red as a disguise. See, i'd read about polar bears being endangered from over-hunting, and I figured Burgess was one of the smart ones who'd gotten away). Lastly, there's a little black and white dog named "Gund" (cause I didn't realize the tag on her butt was the manufacturer's name, not hers).


...a song or group or singer you secretly like that everyone else groans about.
OH.. it's a toss up what my friends hate more.... My deep undying love of 80's Hair Metal (mmmm, Motley Crue), or my occassional passionate need to listen to Country music.


...do you close the bathroom door when you're the only one home?
NO.... any shut door in my house seems to be an invitation for the cats to go ballistic and try to break it down.

Crazy from the Heat

Today.... for no explainable reason, I awoke singing to myself. Not entirely odd. However, it was my song choice that defies reason.

I was singing "Luckenbach, Texas", by Waylon Jennings.

!!!?!?!??!?!??!?!?!?!?!?

The last time I heard that song, was on a cassett tape, in my parents old VW Bus, on a roadtrip back from my Great-Grandmother's. I was probably... um.... 5 or 6(if that).

I would like to think that there's a great message out there that the Universe is sending me... but SERIOUSLY..... Luckenbach, Texas!?!?!

Cool Change

While all of Southern California suffered one of the nastiest heat spells in 100 years, I adventured in Catalina amidst boaters and bison. Must admit that while the island in the west was also balmy, the change of scenery (and close companionship of my darlin Tag) kept me fairly cool & recouperating throughout the weekend.

But WOW, lemme tell ya..... It's HARD to return to the desk when your mind is still on island time.

*sigh*

Permission to feel Joy now Granted

In a little under 12 hours, I go to meet my love at the airport. In 24 hours, we will be on our way to an island getaway. Butterflies in my stomach, bounce in my step, the tremendous urge to close my eyes and dream.

The practical side of my brain screams that the house is a mess; dishes not done, trash in the cans. My hair is not the color I was hoping for. My eldest cat seems to have gotten ear mites. The weather is still unbearably hot.

Despite a million little pinpricks in the balloon, I cannot be deflated though. I continue to glide and twirl and spin- a combination ballroom tango dancer and giddy 4-yr old girl.

And even as I type this, a voice inside says “Oh… *scoff* that’s just silly.”

And another cries out “Hush up! It’s OK to feel this way!!! ”

I don’t want to stay on task today. I want to eat cupcakes and giggle. I want to dress up girlie.

I want to brush my hair 100 times until it shines, and then put on my favorite lip gloss. Paint my nails pink, and spin till my skirt flies out like a tutu.



If the me from a year ago ran into the me today, she’d simultaneously mock me and envy me. OH how far have we come!

And yet, as happy as I am, I have to keep reminding myself…. “it’s OK to feel this way!!” strange huh? How our brains will fight against joy. What is that, and where does it come from?

Do you ever have days where you’re scared to be excited? Do you ever stop the free flowing stream of bliss, because you’re not sure it’s yours? And if so…. How do you stop that? How do you open your heart and allow…. no… “Permit”… give permission to yourself to feel amazing?

Apparently… I blog. And having done this, I’m now going release anything attempting to block my happiness. I’m going to open my arms wide and embrace this bouncy glowing feeling, just as I will embrace my dearest tonight at the airport. *grin*

Tripping the Night Fantastic

Often I think of how much simpler life would be, in a smaller city, away from all the people, isolated from the masses. And then I have a moment like Saturday.

My inner freak had a party to attend, and as such.... items to purchase. I needed:

• 6 inch platform stilleto pumps that have blue lights inside them that blink when I step
• Striped semi-sheer Thigh-highs in pink
• Turquoise & Pink fairy wings

I went to three different shops, found my 3 items with no problem.... AND never left the corner of Wilcox and Hollywood Blvd. Ahh, Hollywood, how I love your odd charms.

and thus I present to you..... "Studio Fifty-Fairy, the Muse of Disco" & Her Gorgeous Friends. :)

101 in 1001- Updated

Finally got around to checking in on my list and making some needed updates.

Proud of what I've gotten handled, but wow... still so much to do!

For the updated listed, click here!

Challenged

Ever have those days when you're especially clumsy, particularly incapable, or just down right ragingly dumb??

Like today....

I spent my morning amidst a comedy of errors that left me with a coffee cup full of something vaguely resembling a blend of grits and scrambled eggs (disguised as a warm breakfast beverage), a wet & tea-stained white t-shirt, and a mild burn down one forearm.

How does one top a morning like that?

Well apparently, one attempts to electrocute oneself. Just now… I put a live wire in my mouth. Oh, not intentionally (in that "Jackass" sort of way), but completely by not paying attention (more in the "I AM a jackass" sort of way).

I was crawling around under my desk trying to adjust some plug-ins, and I found that I needed a third hand to hold something... so, not thinking about the fact that it was still plugged in, I put a connective AC output wire in my mouth. Of course the moment it shocked my tongue (much like putting it to the tip of a 9 volt battery) I opened my mouth and spat it out. And then sat there overwhelmed by my stupidity.


I guess I should also thank my extremely buff squad of gaurdian angels that it didn’t connect to the METAL PIERCING in my damn tongue.

*headdesk*

You may mock me now.

Sunday Scribbings: Hotel Stories

She wakes, ten minutes before the alarm would go off, if she were at home. The sunlight steaming through the window hurts her eyes. Damn, this means that getting vertical is required.

With a painful squint and a bit of a stumble, she drags her heavy body over to the window, pulling drapes to block the infernal brightness. Staggering, she returns to the bed, surprisingly comfortable with delicate linen sheets and a down comforter she pulls around her like a lover's arms. In the fog of her brain, she struggles to remember the night.

The Masque was set to begin at 8pm. It had said so on the dark embossed invitation that had mysteriously appeared at Johanna's abode the week before. Unusual, but not unheard of, Johanna was used to surprise gifts from admirers. Usually she ignored them. Attention was always lovely, but replying might obligate her in some way to return their affection, and Johanna had no intentions in doing that. She was focused, enterprising, dilligant, ambitious. She had no time for dalliances, and certainly nowhere in her blackberry-dictated schedule was there time set aside to fall in love.

However, the grandiose quality of the invite, promising not only a masked celebration, but accommodations at the new Palácio de Amor Perigoso, was simply too good to pass up. And she was SO in need of a weekend retreat, after the presentation she'd put together for the board this week. She needed girly moments at a 5-star spa, and a little celebrity treatment. Not to mention that events like this were like crawling with the most important people, and she longed to be one of the "power players".

Perfection takes time, and it was easily 9:20 before Johanna made her appearance. Hair coiffed just so, she exected to be, as she so often was, a belle of the ball. However, upon arriving it became clear that it was no ordinary evening... no ordinary celebration. Sumptuous red walls, with wrought iron sconces holding dripping candles of shiny black wax; the room was most extrodinarily decorated in half dressed bodies of all shapes and colors. Sparkling fairies, scandalously naked tree nymphs- from fantasy to fetish, an array of forms swayed and undulated to the pulsing deep beat of the otherworldly music pouding from the speakers. No celebrity faces, no power players. Just bodies, estatic in a near carnal way. Johanna, in her ornate gown of shimmering ivory, felt instantly out of place.

With a body posture that betrayed none of the trepidation she was feeling, she crossed the room, heading to the bar for a bit of liquid courage. The dense mass of bodies was difficult to navigate at best, and she had just managed to slip by two pony-esque characters who were lost in each other's sweat and passion, when she found her way barred by a large red chest.

"The musculature is impressive," she thought somewhat haughtily to herself as she let her eyes travel from abs to pecs to the spectacular face attached to it all. Deep crimson body paint covered every inch of naked flesh, and there was tremendous temptation to check lower and see if the god had at least worn a loin cloth.... but the striking dark eyes that watched her intently took all her attention and robbed her of further thought.

"Good evening Johanna", his voice flowed like melted dark chocolate, seductive and tangible, coating her flesh in tingles and twitchs and the irrisitable urged to be touched. Johanna briefly registered that the thoughts now screaming through her mind were not ones she normally allowed herself, but within his physical presence, all she could sense was the salt of sweat and iron-like aftertaste that blood leaves in your mouth. She for an instant wondered if she'd managed to bite her tongue. She opened her mouth to speak, then closed it in stunned speechlessness. Opened it again thinking she'd found words, but closed it almost as quickly, realizing that if she articulated her thoughts, she would not be able to stop the decadant, and completely unlady-like proposition that begged to be spoken.

He chuckled. A deep low rumbling like thunder in a night sky storm.

"My sweet fish, standing there.... desparate for a breath.... feeling so out of your element." He walked around her. With all the gyrating madness that swam around them, he seemed unaffected... untouched. As if the mass of flesh parted to allow him passage. He slipped behind her, so that he could quietly whisper into her ear, his sensuous tones having an even more primitive effect on her when accompanied with his hot breath. "These are dangerous waters. Far more powerful than any of the pinstriped suits you spend your days with." He brought his hands up to her shoulders, and the first touch was explosive in her blood. Trembling, she fought back the fear that she was, for this first time since she could remember, completely out of control.

Strong red hands began to slide her gown from her shoulders. "Ease into the water, my sweet Johanna." Quivering, shaking, her mind screaming "No" as her body played traitor, she could no more stop his hands than she could stop the ragged breaths escaping her. All around, the music swelled and pulsed and pulled at her gown. The heat of the dancers, the taste of the sweat, the colors whirled madly, as .....

*sound of a knock* "Maid Serivce"

Johanna bolted upright in the bed, her head pounding with the movement. Disoriented with pain and dehydration, she angrily responded "Not Now", before flopping back down on the pillow. Instantly she was sorry and a little nauseous. "What a fucked up.... ugh." She rose, slowly this time, and staggered towards the bathroom. What she needed was a shower, something to rehydrate her body and wash this filthy used feeling from her soul. "MUST remember not to do shots of Jagermeister at the next party, " she grimly chuckled to herself, as she turned on the water.

Standing, she caught a moments relection in the 3 way mirror. Down the small of her back were 4 long red scratches, nearly animal in their nature. For a moment, there was a fire in her groin, and then a cold chill in her blood as she desparately sought for the difference between truth and dream. There were no answers in her foggy head, and as she stepped into the shower, she found no comfort in the warm water streaming down.
*************************************

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here

Sunday Scribblings on Monday: Two Peas in a Pod

Completely Free-Form Stream of Consciousness

Two Peas in a Pod
Coupling
Connection

Bright green bouncing thoughts, enclosed in a hug
Lover in a warm verdant salad
Alive
Life

Hiding out with friends, making pillow forts and giggling
Giggling, a word, a sound that seems to be written merely for the joy and use of little girls who still believe in unicorns and mermaids
27 years later, we don’t giggle as much, but oh the tales we can tell

Two Peas in a Pod with completely different genetic coding
Yellow peas, green peas, wrinkled peas and smooth peas
Bio 101, time spent looking at dominate genes and how
Some peas are wrinkled
And I have brown eyes

Brown eyes… Bane of my existence. Always wanted Daddy’s blues… but *sigh* brown was my luck of the draw.

Brown like ground
Like chocolate chip cookies
Like puppies
Earnest and eager
Warm wet brown like the Great Mother herself,
Pushing up crops
Churning out peas
Peas in a Pod
Friends
Lovers
Whatever

Peas in a pod… that human need to not be all alone in this mess.
This salad
This entrée
This vegetable farm

Little bit of sun on a damp mound of Earth…
Bursting with possibilities, potential and zesty wholesome flavors

I've often thought it...

... but it's interesting when the Universe decides to remind me of it, by putting in my inbox.


People are where they are because that is exactly where they really want to be - whether they will admit that or not.

Earl Nightingale

Running Ragged

"Where does the time go?
Simply too few hours in the day.

Oh, a Diva's work is never done."
~ Carlotta's song, "Phantom"
(that's the Yeston & Kopit version folks! Far Superior, IMHO, that the Andrew Lloyd Webber one)

Seriously, I haven't seemed to catch up lately. The good news is that it's largely been all positive.

• The day job took a brief header into unhappy land, and it continues to be insanely busy... but the morale is improving, and the long awaited employee "Bash" that I had to organize is finally coming together nicely. It occurs this Friday, and after that, I should be less crazed.
• The Dance Studio continues to be a source of joy and challenge in my life. Class + Training + Front Desk Duties = additional job with heck of a commute. And my body is in a rebellious phase, where it just doesn't want to release into the music. The feeling is that of being a shaken bottle of soda... just waiting for the cap to twist.
• Got cast in 2 (count em.... 2!) Voice Over jobs with a major video game company. Have recorded one already, and just scheduled studio time for the second. Sadly, I can give you no further details as they are both top secret projects.
• Also cast in Infomercial for upcoming fitness product. You know the type... just "5 min a day" (small print at bottom says "... when used as a part of a regular workout routine and balanced eating plan"). Well, the product is fairly simple ... it's the regular workout and eating plan that summarily kicking my ass. Particularly the part where I get up at 5am M, W, & F mornings so I can make it to the gym to meet the group with the trainer. UGH!
• I inherited a short-term emergency roomie. She's a genteel and sweet thing whose luck has not been the greatest as of late, so I'm offering her safe space and hopefully some entertaining conversation. She brings with her 2 kitties, who are characters in their own rights... and so the household inhabitants number is (counting all the fur babies) up to 7. We are grossly outnumbered by the carnivores, but as long as they don't have thumbs, we will continue our reign of matriarchal tyranny.
• Lastly, but certainly not least in my life.... Tag & I continue to be deliriously happy, despite the distance difficulties. Late July, we are scheduled for a long weekend on an island, and that is the touchstone that keeps me plugging ever forward.

That, my dears, is all the news fit to print. I'd love to be wittier .... but I'm just too damn tired.

Sunday Scribbling: Mystery

So I type the title, and then sit quiet for a moment at the keyboard..... Mystery. What does it mean? Is there one that intrigues me? What would I like to know?

And then in an instant of rememberance, She comes to me.... an old friend. A creature so close to my heart, so real for me that it's hard to remember that to many people she is a "mystery." To me she is unquestioned reality. She exists. She is, and by her being places are made more magical. She is Nessie..... my long time love and focus for fascination.

In 6th grade, we had to write our first official research paper. Without thought, I chose her. I read about her all the time anyway. Why not put some of that research to good use? But as I dug in to the "offical scientific reports", I was dismayed to discover that many people did not believe. How can you not? How can you doubt that her glorious monsterific self exists, outside of time, free from the hamperings of modern life?

See, I can see her. I know I have seen her. Early on, I used to have images in my brain.... it's a dark night.... shortly after new moon, so there is not much light to guide my way. I walk between trees, densly populated together. Hunched at times, to slip below branches. I can acutally hear the dead leaves and twigs snapping underneath my feet. I am nervous.... not because I am in the dark, but because I know there are people who, if they found me, would hunt me. But here at the lake, I am safe. So near my home, hidden from those that would harm me.... I creep, covered in wool, towards the water, for a clear view of the moon.

As I near the shore line, I see, in the darkness a form, a shape undistinguishable. I pause, unsure. A creature, eyes catch the light. I don't know what it is... but I see it there. And I feel quite sure she sees me. A moment..... long and uncertain, and then I am dismissed, and the eating continues. I don't know what she's eating. I know only that I feel both safe and unsafe. Confused that my eyes are sending me messages my brain has no words for.... Blessed to view such magic.

That image, and those feelings have been with me since I can remember. Childish imaginings? Past Life rememberings? I cannot tell you. I only know: She is real. She is magic. And I have seen her.

As I grew into teenhood, and my analytical brain kicked into higher gear.... I tried again to investigate and theorize on the 'mystery' of my Scottish friend. I came up with a concept, dealing with tears/gaps in the space-time continuum. Holes, underneath the surface of the water, that lead to different times... different lakes/oceans/places throughout the planet's history. Perhaps these 'doorways' connect various waters all through the fabric of time. That would explain why sometimes there are many sightings, and othertimes radar can find nothing large in the Loch. It would also offer up a possible explanation of why the creature has been described so differently over the decades (Sometimes with a long neck, othertimes a short round head. Sometimes a large body with short fins, othertimes a long snake-like body with no limbs). When I first concieved of this, it made endless amounts of sense to me.... and also worked with the fact that since I was 4 or 5, I've been fascinated with 'time portals' (as i child, i would build elaborate 'doorways', telling others that i was going to go 'home' through them).

Imagine my unexpected joy when I ran across the SAME theory years later in Diane Gabaldon's "Outlander" series (I believe it's in the third book "Voyager"). There she has 3 main characters out in a boat on the Loch, discussing time travel and the potential for portals under the surface of the water. My breath was sucked out of my body, and I wanted to find some way of calling Mrs. Gabaldon and yelling, "YES YES.... I had that same theory.... OMG, the fact that at least two of us have this same theory has GOT to give it some real credance, don't you think??" (but I fear such a random call from a rabid fan would not have the reassuring response I was looking for... LOL). So instead, I just let the fact that I was not alone bubble underneath my surface, filling me with joy and further confirmation that Nessie is alive, well and absolute reality.

Sadly I realize that not everyone shares my certainty, and thus She remains "Mystery".

Wanna see if you can catch a peep of the great beastie?? http://www.lochness.co.uk/livecam/
(if you see her, please tell her I send my love)

The Truth to the Skip in my Step

This blog is named “CNR” in direct reference to my dating life. However, as of late, it is the one topic that I’ve shied away from discussing.

I’m loathe to make it seem that there’s a revolving door on my heart, but in the time since separating from The Comfy PJs, there has been a series of unfortunate events.

Some were only passing fancies, better in theory than in reality. Others so fleeting that recording the who and wherefore would require more time and commitment than the affair itself. A couple have exploded with damaging results to all those involved. A few were embarrassing attempts to settle for what was there, instead of manifesting what I wanted. Many were just damn bad ideas!

And then fate dropped him on my plate. We’ve been in communication for over a year now, exchanging ideas and discussing passions. Friends and conversationalists with a dash of flirtation. That was until May… when Fate designed a moment in which we would both end up in the same place at the same time. 17 hours later, we’d both been hit by a truck. A pleasant but stunning drive-by, after which we each returned to our corners of the world unsure of what it meant, what happened, and where (if anywhere) this might go.

Struck as we were, we upped our level of correspondence and began to communicate on a nearly daily basis. Shortly thereafter, talk of plans for our next rendezvous had begun. But distance being the deterrent it can sometimes be, we were forced (much against our natures) to move slowly and to live entirely in the realm of words.

Our written missives are poetry (sometimes literally). Our phone calls long and diverse. From politics to passion; from geek moments to god concepts, we cover the gamut of interesting topics for hours on end. The brightest moments of my days were imbued with some essence of him. We finally declared it officially “a relationship” and began to focus on when we might live in the same geographic time zone.

*picture wavy ‘time passing’ cross-fade here*

Progress ahead a few weeks…

Perhaps my dearest friends were tired of hearing me whine about my long-distance boyfriend. Perhaps (and more likely) they are ecstatic and eager to encourage time spent with a man who is open, giving, communicative and clearly as high-energied and bouncy as myself. Whatever the motivation, unbeknownst to me, they began to Plot an unexpected reunion.

I add that link because I could not tell the tale nearly as well as its ingenious designer, the brilliant and lovely Amandarin. I can only tell you about how it feels to be on the receiving end of such a generous and amazing gift. 3 better friends a girl could not ask for, and a more luscious present simply doesn’t exist. I’m still walking on clouds of air, in that deliriously happy place that exists at the beginnings of new-found love.

So to my benefactors who created my own “Fantasy Island”, a million heart-felt thank yous. To my dearest Tag, although the miles separate us, the feel of your arms is still around me. And to my reading populace… Hope you don’t mind if I step away from my usual dry bitter humor and revel in the glorious discovery of sharing my heart again.

And to my father, in case he’s reading this blog right now... Try not to barf from the Cute, ok? *grin*

Participating as Requested

My friend over at God Is Patient, I am not has started an interesting conversation on her blog and asked me to participate, even though we come at our spirituality from very different directions. Therefore, at her request, I am posting my responses to her thought provoking questions. If you are not comfortable with alternative spiritualities, or not open to a little humor with your god discussions... this might not be the post for you.

Nor are my answers meant to be any sort of red flag that send the "convert you for your own good" bull into a rage. The Writer already knows this, so that warning is not for her. It is for any random passer-by who after reading this feels compelled to 'save the poor pagan girl'.

That said-- Here we go...

Last time I went to church:

Church? Eeek…um… Christmas Eve, whenever it was that I last went home to FL for Christmas. (I watch my mother sing in her choir at Midnight Mass) Ritual? Last Monday.

This many of my friends that I went to college with go to church :

Don’t know. When I was in college, I did a performance of “Godspell” with a church group. (the Director was my acting partner in my upper level class, and he needed a strong alto for “Sonia”) They were an eclectic church group, and they had a very understanding and open way of “being in the presence” and “praying” that made me feel very comfortable, even though our beliefs were not identical. I enjoyed my time (couple of months) that I spent with them. However, when the show was over, I didn’t attend further services. Currently in my life here, I can think of two people in my social structure who attend church with any sort of regularity. One is the person who created this questionnaire.

When I hear the phrase “Jesus”, I think:

I think he was a nice guy. I think he existed. I think he is a child of the creator and the universe, like we all are. I believe he was a powerful prophet and a very good soul. Do I think he “died for my sins”?.... Mmmmm, No. I like how Unity Church puts it about seeking “The Christ Consciousness” in each of us. To me that speaks about being at your highest and most loving self. My term for that is being “yummy”. Thus "YummyTeece" speaks to my spiritual quest to be my highest self.

When I hear the phrase “organized religion”, I think:

RUN! RUN!! Grab your bags, do not pass Go… Do not collect $200. Just sprint for your f**king life.

Three things I think organized religion (for lack of a better word) gets right:

-- Providing a space for a community of like minded individuals to come together to discuss what they need to discuss in a place of love.
-- Like communisim, the theory is good on paper.
-- Really? 3?…. I have to come up with 3?


Three things I think organized religion (for lack of a better word) gets wrong:

-- The Mob mentality, i.e. the more of us who band together, the more we can say that you are wrong and therefore going to hell.
-- Thou shalt not kill (Unless of course you are doing in the name of your god, in which case, it’s all good).
-- Everyone coming together, so focused on good intentions that they are blind to the long-term ramifications of their short-sighted actions. They are so busy curing or fixing the now, that they are not looking at the bigger picture. They focus on “WHAT” is “Wrong” and not “WHY” the situation occurred.


If I were God, I’d change these three things about the world, because I don’t understand why these things happen:

-- I would like to expand global awareness to recognize animals, plants and all creatures of this planet as fellow members in our large community (as opposed to secondary citizens whose rights are forfeit just because we feel like taking over their space or hunting them for fun.)

-- I would somehow design a genetic imperative in people that would not allow us to litter or further pollute the resources of our planet.

-- Hmmm.. and I'd make Tigers & Silverback Gorillas bigger and more deadly, so that they would be able to better defend themselves against poachers. If you poach wildlife, I think you totally and utterly deserve to be ripped limb from limb or eaten while still alive. Eeek. Did I really type that? Hmmmm… probably a good thing I’m not an all powerful deity.

If I were God, I’d change these three things about this one person (who shall remain nameless.)

Slight variation on this answer… I’m doing 1 thing for three people.

I would have Person#1 release his very rigid idea of what is “proper & appropriate” and instead, allow himself to really experience and enjoy passion as it occurs in the moment.

I would have Person#2 find peace around his grief and anger.

I would have Person#3 release his hold on this life and pass into the next, without further pain or illness.


If I were God I’d change these three things about me:

-- Greater Capacity to love and understand without “being attached to the way it looks” (to swipe a Landmark phrase)
-- Ease around Anger, finding expression for it that is not based in fear or jealousy… allowing myself to experience it without judgment or vindictive action.
-- Eternally Perky/gravity defying breasts and no cellulite my thighs or butt. *grin*


Worst thing I ever heard in church or from a religious person:

I had a friend who was gang raped when she was 13. Her family was extremely religions, and therefore, didn’t call the cops…they called Clergy. Her Clergyman came over and asked her to repent for whatever evil she had done that “made those boys sin like that.” I find that vile to the point of being physically nauseated the first time I heard this story.

Best thing I ever heard in church or from a religious person:

I can’t think of an exact phrase or story, but Reverend Brent at the West Valley Unity Church ALWAYS made me feel at home, at peace, and part of a loving community. He made me laugh, he helped me feel accepted, and even though I’m not “Christian”, his words, his teaching, and his personality are a large part of the reason that I was a semi-regular at that church the first several years that I lived in LA.

Sunday Scribblings: "The Books I would write..."

OH... the books I would write... would be full of romance and adventure. They would capture the sensuality of dance, in such a way you could reach out and touch it like a freshly-picked rose petal. They would have mysterious places, full of fascinating creatures and mythical monsters.

The books I would write would capitvate the reader's soul, ignite their passions and invigorate their imaginations.

The books I would write would have a soundtrack of deeply beating drums, and haunting bagpipes.

There would be misty lakes in long forgotten forests, and intense and powerful women with hidden pasts full of intrigue. The animals would talk, the trees would listen, and the very Mother Earth herself would open up her caves and let you descend down into the depths of her core, where she would nuture and teach you and hold you safe when all other things seemed uncertain.

The books i would write would always believe in true love, always champion the honest and faithful, always hold aloft the hard-working, well meaning hero who acts from integrity, even when he's spent his last nickel, drunk his last bit of water, and lost his last lucky marble.

The books I would write would come from my highest self, and exist in such a place, that even if No one else ever read them.... I would be able to take them off the shelf, and leaf through their pages on my darkest days, and remind myself that deep down inside, I am a courageous warrior for hope and a staunch believer in happy endings.

The books I would write would inspire, reach, rejuvinate and embrace the very best parts of me, and by doing so.... renew the spirit that allows me to share that piece of me with all the rest of the world.

For more Sunday Scribblings, go here!!

Light fare: The A - Z of Me

Hello lovies. Don't want to feel like I'm neglecting this blog, but the desk has beome a busy place these days. So here is something light and informative to entertain you, while I continue to process a few things before expressing them to you. May your week bring you joy.

Accent: Don't really have one, unless I'm way drunk or way tired.... and they you'll hear that Southern upbringing creep in.
Booze: I'll always love a good Cabernet or a quality Tequilla.
Chore I Hate: Filing
Dogs/Cats: Love Love Love the fluffies! (although as they said in "The Truth about Cats & Dogs.... "it's ok to love your pets. Just don't LOVE your pets."
Essential Electronics: Cell phone!
Favorite Perfume/Cologne: I wear oils mostly. A good amber, or a spicy vanilla
Gold/Silver: Sliver, possible white gold, Platnium is best!
Hometown: Brandon, FL (just outside of Tampa)
Insomnia: Ugh... last night, from 4am - 6am
Job Title: Several.... Exec assistant, Studio Tour Guide, Dance teacher in training
Kids: 3- all are small, furry and wake me to tiny kisses and meows
Living Arrangements: 2 bedroom near the park
Most Admired Trait: Public poll seems to agree, it's my ass.
Number of Sexual Partners: currently.... just the one
(but oh the days of the "Haitian Boat" are legendary.)
Overnight Hospital Stays: no.... actually. Out patienct surgery only
Phobia: Ich Nasty.... Spiders.... Ew!
Quote: "One runs the risk of weeping a little when one lets oneself be tamed." (translated from Antoine de Saint Exupery)
Religion: Spiritual practice, but no organized religion for me, thanks.
Siblings: nope
Time I usually wake up: after the snooze alarm has been hit at least 3 times
Unusual Talent: The abillity to end up in bizarre conversations at the most unlikely times, with complete strangers.
Vegetable I refuse to eat: Tomatos (are those fruits?) and Mushrooms... ICK
Worst Habit: Tardiness
X-Rays: A few... a while ago tho..... back in college, i believe
Yummy Foods I Make: Stuffed Grape Leaves
Zodiac Sign: Sun: Sagittarius Rising:Cancer Moon: Scorpio

Swamped, Scattered yet Smiling

but also bouncing down the road... Things have taken an up. I spent one day last week finally rewarding myself (as i have planned to do since I moved to LA nearly 10 years ago) with a day at the San Diego zoo.

and I spent one evening talking to someone who it felt like I've known all my life.

Between the two enriching moments, I am renewed, and hoping to get things shifting back into forward motion.

Knotted Shoelaces

she said:

Here is to untangling. Here is to making different choices. Here is to forgiving ourselves when we forget to do the work or simply don't know how to do it differently.


And those words reverberate through my soul. Untangling. Oh god, how I need to untangle. I've been so wrapped up, thought upon thought, always in motion, going, going, going, and when my body drops into sickness because it's exhausted from constant commotion, I pop a couple of Vitamin C's and continue to go some more.

Ever get a knot in your shoelaces when you were in a hurry to be somewhere? You tug and you struggle and you fight and you get very very frustrated. You might huff angrily. You might give up. You might throw that shoe against the wall in a fit of pique, choosing instead something that slips on.... but the simple fact is that the next time you want to wear those shoes (and you'll probably be in a hurry then TOO), they will still have that damn knot in them. And they will continue to have that knot, until you slow down long enough to untangle it.

I"ve had a knot in my shoelaces (and a twist in my knickers) since... well.. probably 2004. When I walked away from a partner, when I attempted to go back to school, when I sold my soul to the evil Mouse theatre people. And even though I see it, this mad obsessive urge to run full tilt, and I get the costs of those actions..... I still keep going. I'm running as if my life depended on it. And the irony is, I seem to be running FROM my life.

If the first step to healing the problem is really ADMITTING the problem, then let me be here to say.... I have a problem. I can't slow down. I'm ... I don't know... afraid. If I look really closely, the disappointment, the resignation, the anger, the lack of hope.... it will swallow me. No... not swallow. Consume, with a violent gnashing of teeth.

So I keep going, keep running. Can't catch me, I'm the gingerbread man, in the best sprinting shoes Adidas or Nike can make. You know the ones, with the velcro strapps.... so i don't have to slow down and unknot those damn laces.

But in my pocket, there's a tiny piece of paper, which my fingers fiddle with, like the smooth surfaces of an over-used worry stone. And on that paper are the magic words.... "Here is to untangling. Here is to making different choices."

Sometimes My Tries are Outside the Lines

Picture me in a house with no lights on, soaking in salts blessed in ritual, doing what my friends call "the bathtub cry." A safe place when tears can sink into suds and no one knows the wiser. Looking at my life and wondering just how many mistakes one can cram in to 34 years of living.

Makes it a little hard to just get up and keep going the next morning, I tell ya.

And then on the ride in, I hear a song. Oh, I've heard it before....dozens of times. It's LA radio, they play the same 25 songs in constant rotation. However, today, I caught it right at the beginning, and it spoke to me, silly as it is....and as I pulled into the garage at work, I was singing along, rejuvinated (and just a little bit hopeful) once more.

"Unwritten"

I am unwritten, can't read my mind, I'm undefined

I'm just beginning, the pen's in my hand, ending unplanned

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

Feel the rain on your skin

No one else can feel it for you

Only you can let it in

No one else, no one else

Can speak the words on your lips

Drench yourself in words unspoken

Live your life with arms wide open

Today is where your book begins

The rest is still unwritten

I break tradition,

sometimes my tries are outside the lines

We've been conditioned to not make mistakes,

but I can't live that way

(chorus)

The Falling of the Axe

So remember how I've referenced those anger issues? Specifically how there is one particular person in my life that I'm angry at, but had not yet figured out how to properly express it? Well, damn if that little problem hasn't been solved for me.

Sent at 2:39am today, is one of the most scathing hate-mails I have ever received in my life. Nearly unreadable in its rambling (not to mention large number of typos, lack of punctuation, capitalization or even an ATTEMPT at grammar), it accuses me of being ragingly immature and petty in my jealousies. It uses statements (told to him in confidence) as weapons, aimed back at me. It dredges up issues from last year that haven't been on the table since then, and tells me that clearly I am not over them yet. In short, it batters me with abusive language, slanders our friendship and then drops the executioner's blade without allowing me a moment's say in the decision.

Considering that I had already been tentatively contemplating ending the friendship due to the disrespect and mistreatment.... one might call this a moment of Ferocious Serendipity

All day I have vacillated between responding kindly ("I understand that you are going through a difficult time. I will be your friend should you wish to resume that at some point"), responding cruelly ("Clearly your observations of human nature are as vacuous as your grasp on literacy") and not responding at all. To return the serve is to swing my racket at yet another time-bomb, and I'm wounded already.

My anger stands in an awkward place, torn between defending my right to be treated well, and my compassion to reach out to some one so obviously in pain. However, the lesson that seems to be reoccurring at this time in my life is about caring and nurturing myself first and foremost. And as challenging as that is right now, it is what I have decided to do.

Good Bye Pup. I wish you healing on your journey. But I can't go another step along that path. No.... not "I can't".... I won't. I have healthier things to do with my time, my intentions and my affections.

Taking my Lumps

“The more time I spend in my body, the more difficult it is to lie.”

That’s the first line of a hand written journal entry I started last week. I only got down that first line before being distracted, so it is all that exists of that entry. However, last night, as I lay awake with wicked insomnia, it occurred to me again.

I am in the middle of a shift. A shift of body and mind and soul. A shift that is taking frustratingly long. I had a healing sometime last year, because I’d been feeling that “my skin doesn’t fit” itch. The healer spoke of angels and spirit guides, and said that they wanted to let me know that I was preparing for a shift (it was nice to have this verified, without asking about it or bringing it up at all). However, they wanted to let me know that said shift would occur in 3 – 6 years.

Now I know it’s not polite, but I believe I responded with “What the f’k?”

Throughout the healing, he would talk of all the work I’d done and how I was molding into this new soul form and each time, he would begin to hint that perhaps the shift would occur sooner, and then he’d stop mid sentence and say “3 – 6 years”. Eventually, he stopped mid-sentence and laughed and said “NO… they appreciate all the work you’re doing, and you need to keep doing it, but they want to make it very clear…. It’s 3 – 6 years. Stop pushing!”

Ever had your hand slapped by a spirit guide? I had to laugh.

That was a year ago, and the ever-crawling snail's pace of this shift is driving me bonkers. I’m doing some work, and I think the dancing is a large part of that. Dancing has always been a joy for me, but now it’s like life’s blood. I can’t do well without it. My sanity is becoming directly tied to my ability to be in my body and work it as a form of expression. However, this new level of personal intimacy has brought with it greater awareness and less tolerance for bullshit.

The last two weeks, I’ve had a series of health issues. Nothing drastic. A migraine, on top of food poisoning, last night’s insomnia, and now this morning, my throat is swollen so much I’m having trouble swallowing. Throat issues often relate to “not speaking one’s truth”. And that’s certainly the case here, as I am dealing with a great deal of anger towards someone very dear to me. Someone who needed a friend once and I was there, but now… they prefer a fan club, and when I don’t wish to be relegated to just another of the adoring masses, I get shut out.

Insomnia makes sense, as my soul is restless indeed. The anger has also stirred up my ideas on love, friendship, relationships, what it means to be self-sufficient versus self-involved.

...

And here the writing flow just dams up. Grrr. I guess that is to say, I don’t have words of resolution for this issues I am facing. And thus my body is turning on itself and growling and consuming itself. As much as I would like to run, avoid, or pretend that these ugly questions are not staring me in the face, my newly ‘tuned in’ body will not let that deception pass.

I find it fascinating and challenging that I cannot lie to myself- that the shift of living in what is real and what is now is REALLY beginning to manifest physically. Additionally, I would be VERY excited about it… if it weren’t kicking my ass up and down the block.

Two weeks pass

...and I feel there is nothing to show for it. A flurry of activity, always moving in this seemingly endless swirl. Like a dust cloud, all stirred up, but only shuffling around the discarded bits of trash and worry.

Full of sound and fury, signifying nothing. *sigh*

There's a lot of unresolved issues and angers floating around. Bubbling under the surface, not close enough to break like a wave, but certainly causing an undertow that is deceptively strong, pulling me under,when I thought I was having a lovely swim.

Meeting people's expectations. Having my own remain unmet (or sometimes worse, undefined). Even the articulation of a blog entry is just beyond my grasp.

And thus... you get left with a poem, cause that's all I have to give today.

Our love is like a dead squirrel

fallen too young from its nest

decaying beneath the tree that was once home.

There is no one to bury him

But as the seasons come,

the leaves will gently fall,

obscuring his corpse from sight.

Grandmother Oak, laying him to rest

Tree Dryads giving him a 21 acorn salute.

Through the turning of the wheel,

he will breakdown, feed bugs, disappear

under a foliage drop cloth.

Come spring, perhaps

some haphazard garderner

will rake clear the spot,

showing that he is gone.

Consumed by his Earthly Mother,

leaving a memory for no one,

and a fertile spot for something new to grow.

copyright yummyteece 02/19/06

Punk Stripes & a Pearl Necklace

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror today and stopped.

Over the weekend, I put black stripes in my red hair. I'm enjoying the vitality of my little rebellion. It's increasing my 'sass' factor, and allowing me to have a little more swagger in my step. When I cross the road and feel the breeze, I notice I drop deeper into my hips, let my steps grow heavier, exuding from my skin some low-resonant hum that gives energy to the spaces around me, and tickles me into chuckling, even when there's no one around. I'm having an unexplained feeling of "freedom", and I'm not sure why.

Partnered with my punk hair and arrogant strut, I'm wearing the most girly pearl & crystal necklace. I've never owned jewelry like this before. However, it was created by a friend, and its sparkly lusciousness won me over (to the point of tears) the first time I put it on. It seemed to validate and compliment all that was feminine about me. It said it was ok to be pretty, or delicate, or vulnerable. It was an offering to the goddess within, and it was a glorious present to myself. And this morning, it sparkled from the dresser and asked to be put on.

However, the whole ensemble is dichotomous at best. It's like those teen movies where the cheerleader and the town bad boy show up for prom together, all dressed to the unusual nines, and then ride off into the night on his motorcycle. It's a conflict of interests embodied. It's odd, but not unpleasant.

It's rare that I can put together a look that totally feels like me... but today, I somehow managed it without trying at all.

Not a bad way to begin the week.

At the End of a Long Week

And so Friday has come to a close, with more of a whimper than a bang. Ahead of me is a weekend full of ‘to do’ lists, things that have been on hold while I played the game. And now that THAT chapter has come to a close, I can return to my regularly scheduled manic life.

So why do I feel a bit lost? Cast adrift with nothing to hold on to? I’m torn between taking a 3 day nap, and disappearing into the woods for a 3 day hike. Mardougrrl spoke of “Givens” and that is definitely what I’m feeling the weight of now. A barrage of “musts” and “needs to be dones” that stand between where I am now, and a true sense of “me”.

Instead, I would love take myself on a vacation alone. I need to meet me in a quiet bar and have a lovely long conversation with me. I need to read aloud passages from my favorite books, so I can hear what really pleases me. I need to discover the ticklish places on me, and touch them gently. I need to subtly find out my favorite flowers and buy them for me, as a surprise. I need to woo me.

It’s a delicious thought. And for a few brief moments, I'm going to close my eyes and imagine this joy. Because when I open them again, I will still be at the desk, will still have the day planner open in front of me, the taxes in an envelope labled "ORGANIZE!", and a friend to take to the airport ASS-EARLY tomorrow morning.

In pursuit of the game

One of the reasons that i have been oddly quiet is that i have filled my time with a new adventure.

Since March 13th, i have been an active participant in "Street Wars", an assassination game taking over the streets of Los Angeles. Played with waterguns, various active 'killers' pursue each other through the moments of our daily lives.

What started as only a game has been transformative and thought provoking.

See, my father and I often talked about playing a game like this. So when the opportunity finally appeared, i leapt at the chance to prove myself. However, the challenge has been more than i ever conceived.

It's all more time consuming than i ever imagined. Waking up at 5am to stalk before work. Keeping a change of clothes in the car at all times, in case you come across an evening when you can't go home. Hunting way past midnight on a school night. James Bond never had to report in to another day job. Assassins cannot give 40 hours to "the Man" AND still have 100% to give to the pursuit. These are all bits of 'intell' that have become readily apparent to me.

But more than that, I'm tormented by unresolved issues about being "good enough", and this frivolity has brought that home in spades.

My 'target' has been elusive, and my pursuits limited due to my other obligations (i.e. the job that pays my bills). Additionally, in my head is ever the thought... "How would my father behave in this situation? How would he handle this? would he wait in the rain? Would he have found another way to find and pursue this man?"

How did some 'extra-cirricular' activity become another way to fail my family? Why did an 'entertainment' become a tool for judgement and self-flagulation?

Look, I write this with some humor and the ability to see what it is I'm doing to myself. And in truth, this week, I am much better, much kinder than I was the first week of play. However, i still am amazed.... i took something that was supposed to be fun and frivolous, and i turned it into a metaphor for all i find i lack.

I always wanted to be 'killer'. A Femme-fatale. The pinnacle of sexy and dangerous. Mysterious and deadly. Instead, what i found myself to be is... ordinary. Not bad. Not hopeless or lousy or wretched.... Just boring. Just... normal. And that has disturbed me greatly.

Did you ever want to be a superhero, and find yourself merely human? Is this a common thing amongst people? Do we always hope for greatness? Are we always disappointed to find ourselves just "ok"?

She Makes Me Laugh

Quotable from a fabu girl chat last night:

"My pussy is like a Manhattan apartment.... and by that, I don't mean filthy and full of bugs. I mean tiny, exclusive and hard to get into."

Amen sister!

To Stir the Pot

So much of what I read on the blogs is about being true to oneself, being an artist, being alive. And as of late, I've found that I just haven't had much to put out there along these lines. I'm feeling stuck... Sold to a destiny that may not fit once I get there.

There is a general sense of this in the lives of those around me (both RL and online). Each one, in her own way, has tried to uncork the genie and get things moving once again. For many, the path to this release is writing. For some it's painting, or photography. For others it's cooking delectable foods, gardening with glorious floral audiences, or reading well written literature. All brilliant in their detail and their soul searching, I have soaked up these words and thoughts in hopes that they would dislodge the dammed up stream of things that want to be expressed. Rest assured.... you all do inspire me, enlighten me, and most importantly console me that I am not alone in this journey.

However, I realized that this communion of communication is just one of the paths to soul-speak... and for me, it's not always the most direct or most invigorating. Thus I was reminded of what does work best...

I'm off to dance class, folks. Stretch the body, stir the blood, awaken the goddess within. She hasn't come out to play in a while, and she's aching to shimmy.

"I don’t know what inspiration is, but if and when it comes, I hope it finds me working…”

-- Pablo Picasso

Simple inspiration

I like

my best friend's unfailing honesty

I wish

that I could achieve more; that I could accept better who I actually am; that the RCB would call me this week. *wink*

I play

"Big Kahuna Reef" on a nearly daily basis

I am

a little lost right now... but not out for the count.

what about you?
(thanks Jennifer for today's inspiration!!)

Violated

Last night, somewhere between 2pm – 6pm, someone broke into my car. Some minor damage was done to the door as well as the locking mechanism. 2 bags were stolen (full of clothes, make-up and dance shoes).

The bags were later recovered by security, abandoned and ransacked, but with the bulk of the contents accounted for. The door repairs will probably come out of pocket, because I doubt they’ll exceed my deductible. But long after the material goods are replaced or repaired, there will still be damage.

It’s going to take a bit more to get back that peace of mind.

It started with an eerie silence when I first approached my car, broken only by the quiet “What the fu…” that began to emerge from my mouth. Then came a wave of righteous indignation. First, at the people who would do this, and then again at the police who said that they “really don’t have the time to investigate this sort of thing every time it happens.” (my report was filed over the phone only, with an operator who had all the compassion of dry toast).

I’m not about to insinuate that my minor shake-up is anything like experiencing an illness or death of a loved one… however, I find myself going thru Kubler-Ross’s 5 stages.

In the 24 hours since my ugly discovery, I have worried, fretted, mourned, raged, hoped it wasn’t true, and wished I could turn back time (park a different place, not keep so much in the car). I even reached a point where I told the Universe “OK… I think I can be willing to let the material possessions go, if only Really Cute Boy will call me soon.” (At least my "bargining phase" still has a sense of humor.)

In the end, when all other things have been said and done, acceptance lingers in the empty space. Whether the police care or not, whether RCB calls or not, the simple fact is... my car, my safe space, that tiny piece of the world where I felt I had control...has broken edges, missing parts, and some one else’s smeary fingerprints on my mistreated window. And I have a lesson to learn, and the uncomfortable urge to not be alone.

Return of the Cute Boy

OK some of you may remember the cute boy at my work. *SighGiggleGrin* I missed him that day when i went to introduce myself,and I've pined (just a little) since then.

Sadly, he wasn’t new as I once speculated, but instead, had been around over a year. Why do I say “sadly”? Because I found all this out last Friday, just prior to his “exit interview” (or that thing you do at the end of the day on your last day at the job! Grrrr)

Friday afternoon, 5pm and I was frantically working on something, when who should appear at my desk? Really Cute Boy, looking for office number here in HR. Even though said office was some 8 feet away from my desk, I stood up and escorted him there.

He went in to say his last goodbye and I went into crisis flirt mode. His time here was limited. If I wanted even the slightest chance of crushing, giggling or snogging, I had to act fast.

Thankfully, I am a Sagittarius. “Bold” is my middle name (and “Tact” is right out the window), so with my acting business card in hand (ok, in my back pocket), I went about discovering where his last moments would be in the building, and how I could get back in his sights.

To achieve this, I carefully manipulated the “you must turn in your security badge before leaving” rule. Sure, at the time, he felt the militant crack of the HR whip, but once he got here, slightly dumfounded look on his face, wondering why he would be hunted so…. I charmingly explained that it was a “Drive-by flirting” , a mere ruse to see him one last time, so that I could pass on my number and let him know I was available for drinks and conversation should he be inclined.

20 min later…. I met him at the bar. Go Me!