Aloha

(as defined by answers.com)
aloha from Hawaiian

Hawaii's best-known export is not sugar, pineapples, or Kona coffee, but a word: aloha. It is much more than a greeting; on the islands, it is a way of life. Hawaii's businesses include Aloha Fresh Flowers, Aloha Surfboards, Aloha Bicycle Tours, Aloha Quilts, Aloha Spirit Coffee, Aloha Candy and Card Company, and Aloha Beautiful Hawaii Weddings. There is an Aloha United Way, a football game called the Aloha Bowl, and a shirt and a day of the week dedicated to aloha. Summing up, one islander says aloha means "Hello, goodbye, love, compassion, welcome, good wishes. It means belonging to others with a common humanity. It's defined better as a feeling in the heart than by words."

How can you get the feeling? The "Live Aloha" website offers these practical suggestions:

• Leave places better than you find them.
• Hold the door. Hold the elevator.
• Plant something.
• Drive with courtesy. Let others in.
• Get out and enjoy nature.
  

I intend to get my aloha on by flying to Kona with Tag, resting our souls in a treehouse bedroom, and in general, allowing myself 6 blissful days of not worrying about paperwork, politics or other random bullshit that has invaded my life as of late.

Take care of yourselves and I'll chat at you in a week.

It's the Little Things...

... that make me laugh; that get me through the day/week.

Tomorrow, I head out to Palm Springs with Tag. He's got a conference to attend at a spa/casino resort. I'll be resting by the pool if anyone needs me. *wink*

However, like many Americans with an over-zealoused office, I must PAY for my vacation in the fact that I must put 5 days of work into a 3 day week. As such, I've been maniacally crazed and overly stressed since the alarm clock went off Monday morning.

Today, that level of nutbar reached a peak when, in a fit of multi-tasking induced flighty-ness, I totally missed a "Breakfast with the Boss" meeting with my Senior Vice President. Yes, I stood up my boss's boss! The one who is a stickler for attendance and takes absences somewhat personally. *headdesk*

I might fall apart completely if it weren't for the little things.... like Annie's Bunny Pasta with Yummy Cheese.

Wait..... it gets even better.

Look at the side of the box.

*giggle*

Sunday Scribblings: Yummy

WOW.. what an easy prompt for me.

For years now, my alias has been YummyTeece. It came as a combination of my then boyfriend's nickname for me (Teece), and my favorite word, Yummy.

To me, Yummy is about so much more than taste. Yummy is the epitome of all things good. Sunshine after a rainstorm is yummy. The smell of newly-mown grass, which stirs memories of childhood's carefree summers... That's yummy. The warm glow of a first date gone wonderfully right... you know, that cloud you walk on for week after? That's the essence of being embraced by a big pink bubble of Yummy. It's the feeling of being loved, the feeling of self-confidence, the feeling of entering a room and stopping all the traffic in it.

Maya Angelou captured it when she said:

"The span of my hips
The stride of my steps
The curl of my lips.
I'm a woman
Phenomenally
Phenomenal woman
That's me."

Phenomenal women are Yummy!


Therfore when I embraced "YummyTeece", it was my way of speaking into the Universe the idea of me, to my highest power. Me at my most invincible. Me at my most self-loving. Me at my most courageous. Me- unfiltered, undiluted and unfraid.

I put Yummy out there to others when I meet them and have this conversation. I challenge them to find the Yummy in themselves, to embrace the Yummy in others. Paint the whole town Pink, a warm yummy bubble-gum pink of sugar sweet honesty and love.

Yummy....

I'm in such a better mood now. THANKS SUNDAY SCRIBBLINGS!!

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.

Thoughts on Muses and Hottie

Last night, ended up not having to work at the dance studio as i was supposed to, so I found myself 6pm, at my house with not a lot to do. Well, that's a lie. There's tons to do at my house, but i wasn't in the mood to do other than practice my knitting (i just learned over the holiday weekend, and I'm working on a scarf.. i'm such a dork). While knitting, i wanted to watch something. Something that would make me smile, but something that i didnt' necessarily have to "watch" too closely (as my eyes were largely on my knitting). So I put in XANADU. Wow.. i love that movie.

Watching it, i began to see how much it had influenced me at my young impressionable age, when i used to watch it religiously! Have to wonder, is it that movie that started me on my fascination with the Muses?

As it began, i found myself sad that the muse painting isn't still somewhere to be found in Venice Beach. And then, as one muse stepped out of the painting and began to dance to life, i looked and said "Damn, is that Sandal Bergman??" And of course it is... I LOVE that woman. She's had such a terrific career. I saw her live on stage in the national tour of "Chicago". She was Valareya in "Conan The Barbarian" (making her one of my all time FAVORITE ass-kicking females)...and now i discover she was a Muse in the roller-skating rock opera that is my childhood. *sigh*

Then, with Olivia Newton-John's character, I wondered why they went with "modern" names, and which muse she actually was. Later she says, "My real name is Terp...." (she's cut off). Anyway, clearly, she was going to say Terpsichore, goddess of dance... which i think is odd, as her character does far more singing than dancing, and that would technically make her a candidate for Polyhemnia, not Terpischore... but for some reason, of the Muses... Terp gets the most press, I think. She's certianly one of my favorites.

As I watched the film, i also was amazed at how really TERRIBLE the clothing is, and yet, how much that terrible clothing resembles some of the ensembles i put together still today. LOL. No wonder my father calls my fashion tastes "deplorably boho". (who talks like that?!?!)

Also, some may remember there is a scene where two fantasies collide: one being a 1940's bandstand, the other being an 80's punk band. Well, as i watched this scene, i was looking at the lead singer of the "Devo"-esque punk singer and thinking "I know him... why does he look familiar... oh dear god, is that Fee??" (Fee Waybill, lead singer of the Tubes, and an associate of mine). Sure enough, when i checked the credits at the end, there he was " John 'Fee' Waybill". hahahahahahaha... that's some funny shit when you start seeing your friends/past-coworkers in 80's movies. I just cheorographed him in a show a couple of months ago, and then i see that he was a part of my childhood. Strange huh?

So all this really stirred up my Muse juices, makes me feel i'm not doing my Musely job, ya know.... and therefore, I went to go hang with the Hottie (somehow, no matter what is going on in my life, there is always at least one writer, in the middle of a project, whose bouncing ideas off me. I love that part of my job... it makes me very happy)

Life is Good! And sometimes you just end up in fabulous conversations.

Met the Hollywood Hottie about 11pm last night, for chat and some very very late night Thai food (which was INCREDIBLY good). I wish i could capture our conversations in journal entries, but i never can. Largely because they are so speculative and cerebral... sometiems because I'm so tired I can't 'recreate' the conversation in the morning, but i still bring with me the feeling.

I suppose the best way i could describe talking with him is this-

Picture you are a seed, and it's dark and cold in your seed pod. Not uncomfortable, just familiar and cozy and a little boring. And the idea of sprouting is a bit daunting.... but in your boredom, you begin to shift and push, only to find that your seed has fallen into a crack in the sidewalk. Oh no... you can't grow here. You're stopped, you begin to panic. You could waste away here. You could wither and die here, without ever finding a soil-laden footing to help you. You rage at the sky, and weep over your fate, and all around you a tickling sensation grows, like you HAVE to burst out of your skin or .... i don't know what the 'or' is... there's not an 'or'... you just HAVE to burst. And i don't know where or how the magic happens, but you being to sprout out of that pod, and suddenly you find the smallest bit of dirt in this crack, just enough to feed you and anchor you. YOu sink one root, cause that's all that fits, into that tiny bit of dirt and you suck it up like a straw, and pop, like Popeye after a can of spinach, and you stretch, and you ache and you writhe and you fuss, and then suddenly, the tiniest bit of your green self breaks the surface of the concrete, just as the sun is rising in the sky... and there's this crazy sense of relief, like you made it. Only you haven't made it completely.. you still have so much growing to do. But the sun's there, and you arent' trapped in the crack anymore, and you settle back down for a moment, take a rest, admist all your angst and activity. You can wait... a little bit. The hardest part is over... the courage to break free. What once was inhospitable is now home, and you sigh contented. It's not where you would have 'chosen' to grow... but it's where you are, and you get that growing there will make all the difference.

that's the way i sometimes feel after a night of conversation with him. I'm not saying he's the sun that feeds that little sprout, or the concrete or the tiny bit of dirt... i don't really know that this can work as any sort of "analogy'.... i'm just saying, in the morning, after a night of talking to him.... i'm both exhausted and exhilerated.... a stranger in a strange land, and perfectly ok with that.

huh... thinking now... i wonder...

am i his muse? or is he mine?