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!

Fuzzy Walking in Two Different Worlds

Sorry my dears. More than a week gone by without writing. The urge occurs to me first thing in the morning, sometimes even before the alarm has gone off, when my mind is awake but the body hasn’t gotten there yet. I rolled over the other morning, put pen to paper and came out with the first draft of a new poem. It’s called ‘Our love is like a dead squirrel’. *giggle* no…I’m serious. My point here is that not everything my brain spews out upon waking is worthy of electronic publishing.

Speaking of odd brain spew, last night's dreams were frought with strange. I was traveling somewhere, and on my way, I stopped by A's house. Only it wasn't the beautiful Long Beach condo that I know from reality. It was a strange house in a subdivision still being built.

You had to pass through one person's house, and into the back yard, where you then entered a white metal door, that led to a steel ladder down to what should have been a basement area, but after a short tunnel, opened up to the outside lower 'lot' of the subdivision.

The house that I passed through had several odd characters in it. An African woman who was dancing to 70's music, while making a 'hot cherry pie'. Additionally, there was an attractive younger man dressed like Elvis who would dance with her. He would stop and make eye contact with me each time I passed through.

There were many multi-colored bead curtins, which clicked when I would walk through. In fact between the music, the click of the beads, the multi colored posters, the odd outfits on the people, and the smell of cherry pie, the whole house was a sensory experience. One that should have been pleasant, only I couldn't shake the feeling that something bad was going to happen.

Once outside in the back yard, I could see the Statue of Liberty. I mean, REALLY close up, so that I could only see about the top 3/4 of her, and as I looked I thought to myself "I didn't know she wore a mask" (as she clearly had a mardi-gras-esqu 1/2 mask over her eyes). There were many powerlines and a tangible electronic buzz that added to my sense of un-ease.

The steel ladder down was un-nerving as well, and there was black spray-painted graffitti on the white walls. Even though the subdivision was just being built, there was an old abandoned feel about so much of it. Dirty and dingey and unsafe.

I tried to cut through the lower section of the subdivision, in an attempt to get back to my car, which I'd parked on the street in front of A's house. But one street would wind around and become another, and I wasn't so much lost as I realized that I was in some sort of capture loop, and the only way to get out would be to backtrack my steps, go back up the ladder, and return the way I came. At this point, it would be a very long walk, and I was running late for my next appointment.... but it was more assured to be successful than my endless wandering was.

So back I went. Through the abandoned streets, up the scary ladder, past the buzzing wires, and into the house. Somehow (as happens in dreams) this house with the dancing strangers and A's house had merged, and thus when I passed through, they asked me to stay for pie. I don't like pie (well, not fruit pies). But i wanted to be polite, and it gave me more time to play with the new kitten A had. He was pale grey tabby, with some peach colored patches, and very beady tiny eyes. His name was "Hilton" and I called him "Beady-eyed Hilton" (No relation to Paris), as I picked him up (smaller than one hand) and nuzzled his confused head.

I realized that between waiting for pie and cuddling the kitten, I was very late, and I still didn't feel safe or happy where i was, so I made my excuses and headed towards the door. That's when the Elvis gentleman stopped me. He held my hand, and asked where I lived (presumably to see if it was nearby, and to find out if we could see each other again). I explained that I live in Los Angeles, and his face fell as he realized that I was leaving never to return. He sadly repeated "Los Angeles?" and I said yes. Heartbroken, he sat stunned for a moment, until I, in an attempt to comfort him, kissed his forehead before saying good bye.

Then I woke up.

I have no idea what this means. I apologize that i have no underlying theme for this post. But i figure getting something out there.... just expressing the oddities of my brain... is better than keeping it all stuffed inside.

Happy weekend to you, my dears. May all your (good) dreams come true.

Self Portrait Tuesday

The last Tuesday of February, "All of Me" month. Well, no portrait of myself would be complete without my soul partner.

Isn't she beautiful?

For nearly 13 years, she's added to my life. NO... not just added to, she's absolutely kept me alive. In the ugliest darkest moments, as I sat in a room alone, implement of death in my hand, wondering how long it would take for them to find the body, she's appeared out of the shadows where she was napping to sit in my lap and quietly meow. She appears in my dreams and tells me secrets of where we've come from, and how strong I can be. She is my empress, my mentor, my child, my friend. When I feel most alone, she is there, keeping despair at bay just long enough for me to get back on my feet and remember why I came back again.

Friends, family and therapists have made me swear that before I decide to go willingly into that dark night, I will call and ask for help.... but honestly, it is my promise to her, to care for her all her days, that keeps me on the planet when all else is black and hopeless.

And this picture is so symbolic for while it captures our favorite mundane pasttime, napping in sunbeams, it actually shows how time and time again, she draws me into the light, for renewal of body and spirit.

She is my heart, walking around outside my body. She is my Muse. She is my Laughter. She is my Gaurdian, and she is my Ward. She is the one whom I truly can believe will be there till death does us part. She is magic.

She is "Nicnevin", and she is the best part of me.

Hard to do

I've not been jounalling really, here or anywhere these past few days. I've had a few abortive attempts, but nothing that produced any real release (or even made much sense for that matter.)

It's because I'm angry. Processing disappointment and betrayal. Trying not to turn it on myself, such that it become suicidal thoughts or self abuse. But that's hard, because it's been a pattern for me for so long.

Anger was never my jurisdiction. Emotions were regulated in my house. We each had one that specialized in. My Mother was "Happy".... ala "Nothing wrong here, don't look over here, nope, there's nothing wrong ... we're HAPPY." My Father was (is) a Vietnam Vet, so he was the "Angry" young man, deserted by his country, with a lot of dead friends to show for it. Angry with reason, no doubt, so he had the corner market on that part of the household

And me... I specialized in sad. Grief. Despair. Morose self-indulgent sadness. I still do it pretty well too. Not that I want to, but old habits die hard.

So trying to be angry is challenging for me. When I feel anger rising up in me, my body starts to quiver. I get hives across my chest. My heart hurts, and my breathing is labored, and then I have the uncontrollable urge to vomit. After which I begin to cry, and suddenly the anger is not anger, but morose self-indulgent sadness, disabilitating in its conuming grief.

I want to find some way for it just to be anger. Just angry. I'm looking for some places, classes, physical moments in which to let it out, as anger. Last night at dance class, I kicked some dancing ASS to a very hard rock song. When i finished, i lay bruised on the floor, breathing heavily but feeling so much lighter in spirit. The teacher asked "Wow... when did you last dance?" I said "Yesterday", and then laughed... because i got, she was asking "How long has that been in there, eating at you, needing release?" and the answer is that its been in there so long, it's like an imaginary friend I grew up with. I could dance every day and not run out, I've got such a collection of rages.

Anyway... I'm looking into things. Things that both distract me and provide me safe outlet. But until I manage to untie this knot of fury that's been sitting in my belly.... I might be intermittant with this blogging thing.

But I'm here 2 tell U, there's something else.....

I hit a snag in working on my "52 Figments" (the weekly project hosted by the inspirational Swirly Girl )

Week 6 asked "What Does Heaven Mean to You?" and Week 7 followed with "What does Hell Mean to You?" Being that I don't look at the afterlife in the traditional Christian definitions of those locations, this was a challenge to me.

For the first, I think about that damn question that James Lipton asks in his ending survey, "If Heaven is exists, what would you like to hear God say when you arrive at the Pearly Gates?" I've speculated this a dozen times, and I come back to this vision of place that is merely a way-station between go-rounds. A place to pause, reflect, and sign up again. And I've long said in this life time that I need a NAP. A Looooooooong nap, a real chance to reflect (of course, I have the feeling that my 'higher self' leaps out of each life like a pre-teen on a rollercoaster with a "WOW... canwedoitagain? Can we? Huh? Huh? Can we, pleeeeeeeeeese?")

I picture the Empowered Entity who caretakes this place as some sort of patient parental figure who understands the toll the 'emotional g-forces' can take, and thus says "Hold on.... take a minute... Rest." So when I look at that James Lipton question I think about God/dess greeting me at gate with a "Nice Job... now here's your milk and cookies, your bed is over there under that lovely oak tree. Rest."

Yep... a big celestial Nap Time (followed of course by a big celestial Recess, where I punch the other souls in the arm and then run away, cause that's how you flirt... and then we all climb a tree. Hmmmm.... apparently I think there are a lot of trees in heaven. )

And pets! Lots of pets too! !



Hell for some reason, was easier to put together thoughts on, although the "whole picture" is less tangible. It's a random assortment of conditions and concepts, which I have tried my best to capture... here....

And speaking of my own little piece of hell, I need to go look into some car repairs. Good Night to you all.

Hardly "R & R"

Sure, it was supposed to be a three day weekend.... but during the last 72 hours, I've:

• Gotten into a screaming fight in a roadway, trying to get the drunk angry man to calm down and get back in the car
• Tried to break up violent fight between drunk angry man and his equally angry brother (they are dealing with a family tragedy and both have a lot of emotions to process. I say that not to excuse their behavior, just to say that their rage is understandable.)
• Worked at least 5 hours, each day, at the dance studio
• Finally purchased some MUCH NEEDED new shoes (Goddess bless "BOGO"- 6 pairs for $60)
• Spent several phone calls comforting friends with a myriad of emotional breakdowns
• Hiked for a couple of hours in Griffith Park (hooray for outdoors! & hooray for a friend who listed with fascination at the tales of my life these last 3 months)
• 3 loads of laundry! (Hip Hip Hooray for clean jeans and undies!)
• And my FAVORITE- Got pulled over by LAPD. It's one of those times where as soon as you see the car, your intuition says "beware". I was on my best behavior, but within one block, they indicated I should pull over. What for? A crack in my windshield, and light tinting on my side windows.... both of which have been there for approximately 5 years since the car came here from FL (and both of which my LAPD next door neighbor has not commented on in the last 5 years of parking next to me in our shared garage.) Officer also threatened to write me up for speeding, but admitted that he couldn't prove it... he was just "willing to bet" I was going over the speed limit because he "felt" that I noticably slowed down when I noticed his car. Considering this was 2 blocks from my house, and he basically saw me shortly after pulling off my residental street, I have serious doubts that I'd had enough time to get my 98Honda up to 40 mph. Still, my good Southen upbringing taught me to be nothing but polite when dealing with law officers, so I nodded and smiled. While he wrote up my fix it ticket, his partner stood beside my car on the passenger side, one hand resting on the gun at his hip. Now, again I remind you that 2 30+ caucasian women are sitting in an older Honda, being perfectly polite while recieving a ticket in an upscale neighborhood. Officer #2's behavior seems, OH SLIGHTLY a bit dramatic. Particularly when he startled and looked as if he'd go for said gun when my passenger reached for her purse to slowly remove... her chapstick. I drove off with a warning and a "fix-it" for ALL the windows in my car. Ahhh, yes, what a way to celebrate the weekend.

And so here it is, late Monday night, and I'm at the computer at the studio, working on attendance and retail sales (and this blog), trying to make sure that all the I's have been dotted and the T's crossed, because in addition to holding down the office while Bossman is out of town on business for the next 2 days, I will also be seeking out car repairs.

On an up note, my cats continue to be a source of joy in my life, cuddling me en masse during these suddenly cold evenings.

Veto the Hallmark Holiday

Since Amandarin has already utilized my usual V-D graphic, I shall simply have to leave you with the message sprawled across my chest.

However you celebrate, whatever your plans, may your Tuesday not suck.

(HEY WAIT... this can also count as my self portrait for this week! Hooray!)

EDIT: Ok... after some thought, i figure i'd better put up a little more explanation behind the attitude.

People keep coming by and reading my shirt and asking me why I think “Valentine’s Day Stinks”

First of all, it is a fairly made up holiday, created to sell cards and candy.

Furthermore, it is a day that seems to belittle everyone it touches. If you are single, then you are deemed “unlucky” for the day. You are looked upon with sympathy, or worse, pity, and people chirp unrealistic, insincere quips such as “Maybe next year” and “You’ll find someone soon.”

If you are in a relationship, then there is pressure & comparisons that few can live up to. It becomes an endless stream of analysis: what did you get; what did you give; how does it compare (either to your last big gift, or to the Valentines gifts gotten by others in your acquaintance).

THEN, as if the analysis of this wasn’t demeaning enough, we must now look at “what does it mean for the future of your relationship.” One can’t go too big or too small, or the “love” is doomed. WHATEVER!!

Still.... despite the fact that I can sit here and logically look at all this, I found myself walking around the office, looking at the long stem roses on a co-worker’s desk (which I don’t even LIKE, by the way), and thinking “Oh that lucky girl…I wish I had someone who….”

"STOP… Stop right there," my brain thinks. I had someone who....

Once upon a time, I had the kind of man who would send flowers to the office. No... not even send. He hand delivered them, to let me know that he was waiting downstairs until I was off work, and then he whisked me away to a picnic.

You know what else he did?

He frequently grabbed me by the throat and cracked the back of my head up against a wall when he thought I wasn’t paying enough attention. He berated me for hours and hours for my “trust issues” (when I’d found the 8 page letter from his latest lover, specifically describing in language that Hustler wouldn’t print, the intimate details of their last encounter). He casually stuck his penis in any agreeable woman who would stand still long enough. He practiced his cruelties daily in one way or another.

Oh yes, I’ve had the “passionate and demonstrative man” and while I’m not saying that flowers on the desk indicate a philanderer or abuser, I’m saying that it is only one moment in time that does not tell a whole story. The behavior of any one day doesn’t tell the whole story! So why do so many make this one day life or death? The “be all/end all” statement of domestic bliss and heart contentment?

Give me a lover who after a year and half of waking up next to me, still smiles the moment he sees me. Give me someone who celebrates my individuality, instead of being embarrassed of the way I stick out in a crowd. Let me go home every night without the fear of finding evidence of another woman in my home and my bed. Let me express myself unedited and be loved and appreciated for the strength it takes to do so.

And if I can’t have that… then fuck it! I'm fine wearing my “Valentine’s Day Stinks” t-shirt with pride, going home and drinking a glass of wine with my cats. I’ll toast ME tonight, and every night. Sometimes I’ll laugh about it. Sometimes I’ll cry… but I’ll have a “whole story” that I can be proud of.

A Thought, Some Truth & a Thank You

Traipsing around the internet, one can find a number of sites to amuse, entertain, and inspire. I’ll be honest and say that I hope that at some point, I’ve fallen into each of those categories for some cyber-space explorer.

But this week, I’ve been remiss in much posting, because I am the one seeking.

February is not usually kind to me, for a number of reasons. I fight my own memories and demons and usually come out black & blue from the battle. So amid the noise and haste, I’m trying to find some daily bit of ‘uumph’ that continues to propel me forward.

Superhero started me down a path of thought with her inquiries regarding “the path of least resistance”. It’s a difficult concept for me to contemplate, because in my mind it equates with the idea that if you are on the ‘right path’ then doors glide open the moment you approach them, like some celestial grocery store, ripe for the pickings. And if you meet with constant and sometimes insurmountable resistance, it is a sign that God, like some judgmental parent, is offering up stumbling blocks as a way of telling you that he is patiently waiting for you to “outgrow this silly dream of being an artist” and settle down to a “reasonable” life.

The path of least resistance often leads me to the ergonomically-designed chair behind a desk, organizing schedules, arranging conference calls, and fixing the perfect cup of coffee for someone else.

Not to bad-mouth the life of an assistant. Truly we are the cogs that make the machine go forward, confidants to some of the greatest secrets of history… but nothing about this 40+ hour a week endeavor feeds my soul, and for some silly reason, I believe that a life well lived should include that.

I understand that however enlightened one may be, not every day will be sunshine and bunny rabbits. I’m not asking that it is. As much as I try to operate from a place of possibility and believe in the good of the Universe, I myself have days of petty anger and heart-wrenching disappointments that come from unfulfilled expectations. While I try to conduct myself as open and honest and honorable, I don’t always manage it, and I’ll be the first to tell you that. As I told an ex, “Some days I’m not going to be my highest self. I’m not going to want to be calm and think through it rationally. I’m going to be sad and angry and jealous and vengeful, and … fuck the fuck off if you can’t handle that.” (and clearly, he did).

Moments like that then cause me to pause and wonder if I’m doing this thing right at all. Perhaps it is about being a little less honest. Perhaps it is about being filtered and watered-down, such that you fit into the daily appearance of it all. Perhaps it is about being a leaf in the river, and just going where the path of no resistance takes you.

Then a voice in my brain (or maybe it’s my soul) cries out “That’s not what she said. That’s not what they are asking of you, and further more THAT’S NOT WHO YOU ARE.”

ME: Ok Little Soul Voice, then you answer it… Who are we?
LSV: Um… don’t know… Still working on it. But not that, we’re pretty sure.
ME: Pretty sure? PRETTY SURE? This is my life we screwing with. Can we please get something more than “Pretty Sure”?
LSV: I told you. We’re working on it. Now calm down and go read the internet.

And thus I did. Because Sulky Moody me can be passive aggressive, but can also be pretty good at taking suggestions. And I believe that sometimes we hear things at just the right time, in just the right way to make a miracle happen. Serendipity is a glorious thing.

And in my search for a muse, I came across Self Taught Girl, and this glorious quote:

“I am the first to say that refusing to settle and dealing with the pain that goes along with it is the hardest thing in the world, but I wish—WISH—there were some way to hold the hands of those who haven’t yet stepped off the precipice, and help them to believe that it can be done and it’s worth it.”

And when I stopped sniffling into the tissues that were muffling my tears from the office, I looked for some way to respond, to comment back “YES YES YES & Thank you, thank you, thank you.” For while I have stepped off the precipice in the past, I repeatedly find myself at the edge once again… wondering if I should stop the leaps of faith and just sit content (and bored) on the current ledge where I stand. And in one simple paragraph she said “Nah… that’s not who you are.”

So I thank SelfTaughtGirl & SuperHero, and the host of other muses today, who were examples of courage & honesty, love & integrity. For when one is cliff diving, and gravity is the path of least resistance, it’s very nice to not feel alone.

Joy in the smallest things

When all the night seems darkest and daily events have lost their meaning, sometimes the smallest thing will bring gales of giggles and the ability to keep moving forward.

Today, my soul's revival is due to this:











Seriously folks.... I saved it as my desktop wallpaper, and each time I close out a document, it appears once more as a pleasant surprise, and I must, in my "cute voice" say, "Ooooh... Bunny Tongue" and then collapse into giggles.

(This unbearably cute bunny brought to you by the great folks at CuteOverload, your home for all things adorable!)

The Urge to Express, the Desire to be Eloquent

.... grrr....

and the Inability to do either.

So many things rumbling around in my head that I find my nights dotted with short bouts of restless sleep and dreams that would disturb even the most calm of Buddhist monks.

However, at those moments when my trouble soul stirs me from my bed, I have no access to a computer, and any attempts at handwriting turn out to be largely illegible in the morning.

And so the angst eludes the exorcism that might come thru writing, and instead, slips back into the mired maze of my grey matter.

Constipated anger and confusion are clogging my mental pores, making it difficult to concentrate, or to give the appropriate amount of energy to any one task. Emotional meltdowns attack from behind the bushes; outraged outbursts explode forth before the ‘censor monkey’ can keep them from escaping my mouth. In general, I’m walking around akin to some ticking time-bomb, and each click of those hands, each moment of digital countdown resonates deep within me.

I feel myself aging quickly these days.





Many thanks to Luke Chueh for this fabulous piece "Eruption". It says so much more than I can right now.

Simple Math Problem

Shimmery Vanilla Lotion + Black Pants = Bad Idea/Sparkly Butt

Creatures of Great Consequence

Long ago, a friend turned me on to a book “When Elephants Weep”, and we began discussing the seemingly “human” traits that are found in our animal friends. Not only have elephants been seen emitting tears in time of “sadness”, but they also have documentable mourning rituals when one of their herd dies.

They form matriarchal family groups, wherein mothers, aunts, sisters and grandmothers share the physical care and handling of calves. When the herd grows too big for the surrounding resources to provide for, a younger female will take a portion of the herd and depart, starting a different branch of the family, within new territory. However, even years later, they have the ability to recognize those ‘related’ herds.

Like humans, they have a vast amount of brain growth from infancy to adulthood, meaning that they have a much increased capacity for learning, and many behaviors are conditioned, not instinctual.

In short, they are thinking, feeling, sentient creatures, with many similarities to our kind.

Thus it disturbs me when I hear that ‘elephant rage’ is significantly on the rise, because I cannot help but wonder if we have taught them how to hate, and in some way encouraged their urge to kill.

Elephant Rage is a growing phenomenon, which seems in some ways to mirror the 100th Monkey theory of collective unconsciousness. Herds that have previously lived in harmony with their surroundings are now stampeding villages and fields, killing at will, and stopping once there is a body count. Some scientists believe that this is due to years of human cruelty and greed, and that the animals are suffering from PTSD (the first time that mental disorder has been diagnosed in an animal other than a human).

Additionally, I found an article that says this:
”If an orphaned baby elephant or several orphaned young are left to fend for themselves, as they grow up, they have no older members to keep their hormones in check and to teach them how to be an elephant, so they gang up and act on their unrestrained aggressiveness.”

So can we then assume that we are inappropriate teachers & caretakers? Is it just genetic design that keeps us from providing what is needed? Or could it be that we set a bad example?


A herd of rogue elephants ran amok in India's northeastern state of Assam, trampling five people to death and destroying dozens of houses. Police believe the herd could have been upset by a train killing a baby elephant a few days ago.

Locals say the animals have developed a taste for locally-brewed rice beer and may have been drunk.


We’ve utilized this honorable beast for years, as pack animal, transportation, weapon of war, even as executioner. We hunt and butcher them for ivory. We invade their territories with our unrestrained and growing population. Could it be our blatant disregard for their (lack of a better word) humanity has led them to rebel, rage, and respond in ways we would otherwise associate with the negative side of ourselves?

Are we, the self-acclaimed dominant species of this planet not responsible for the care of all Earth’s other creatures? Certainly there are those that would call me overly-emotional and irresponsible to my own species because I sit here in defense of the elephants. In truth, this isn’t even to defend their actions, as much as it is for to think and wonder… with the increasing number of natural disasters, and more global news about monkey and elephant attacks, I can’t help but speculate that the sins of the fathers are coming back to haunt the children, and that our years of unrestrained abuse of the planet and her resources are now beginning to bite us in our collective ass.

IF everything happens in cycles, then perhaps this is all par for the course. I’ve been here such a relatively short time. Perhaps what seems to me a new and disturbing trend is really just a portion of some evolutionary bio-rhythm. But I’d be lying if I didn’t say it affects me, on a deeper level than I want it to. It creeps into dreams and whispers in my ear sad tales of dark times to come.

Is the “dawning of the age of Aquarius” really a step forward? Or will we plunge off the edge of our flat earth, discovering too late that when we thought ourselves enlightened, we were really only at that teenage “think you know everything” stage?

People

People who need people....

are NOT, in fact, the "luckiest people in the world"


They are, by definition, co-dependant.

Just Sayin...

Design Flaws

"Romeo & Juliet"
"Bonnie & Clyde"
"Love Story"
"Moulin Rouge"
"If Only"

Are you seeing the pattern here? Because I noticed it the other day, and it's bugging me.

According to Hollywood, people who fall in love... DIE.

Sometimes both..... but many times only one.... leaving the other to painfully carry on. And we, the viewing audience, sit with our tissues, weeping at the devastating beauty of it all. Moved, we claim once again that it is "better to have loved and lost then never to have loved at all."

However, IN the mess.... it's an entirely different creature. Damaged or disappointed, broken-hearted or bitter, the gorgeous lush quality of loss is a celluloid lie, and you do not have the wardrobe or stylist that would make it look pretty on you.

Loss is just that. The agony of defeat, painfully real and not beautiful at all.

So why, generation after generation, do we still buy into that created world where absence makes the heart fonder? Where the sad tatterings of a shattered heart are a war wound one wears with pride, like a boy scout badge that says, "I once knew a desire beyond all this, for I once loved"??

What is the design of the human creature, such that we continually do this to ourselves?

And why, o WHY do I, as I type this lamentation about internal pain, keep getting distracted by the really cute boy who keeps crossing in front of my desk?

It can't just be some intrinsic genetic design to continue our species, can it? Are we really all such slaves to our groins?

ooop.. there he is again.... I think he's new. *grin* Pardon me while I go make introductions.

From Rob Brezney

"PRAYER OF GRATITUDE TO THE TRICKY GODDESS OF BENEVOLENT MISCHIEF

All hail the Tricky Goddess of Benevolent Mischief, also known as the Cosmic Instigator of Healing Trouble. Let us praise and ratify her ingenious plan to turn the status quo upside-down.

The vivid exposure of corruption and delusion among the top echelons of the American hierarchy is a blessing on all of humanity. We celebrate the increasingly transparent collusion of the media with government leaders to present propaganda disguised as information.

The eruption of fertile chaos is making it difficult to carry on with political business as usual, and we could not have received a more energizing gift.

A prayer:
Oh Wise Trickster Goddess, You Compassionate Conjurer of Relentless Change, You Righteous Rascal in Charge of Keeping a Steady Flow of Sacred Uproar Pouring into Our Lives: Please continue to influence the masters of wars and their media minions to be ever-more obvious as they spin out their perversions of your glorious creation, so that more and more of our sleeping tribe will wake up to the Open Secret.

Inspire the enforcers of mass hallucination to display their hypocrisy in an ever-escalating melodrama of spittle flecks and sour faces, as in a slapstick morality play from the Middle Ages, so that we, their captive audience, may convulse with purgative guffaws that shatter the mass hallucination.

And if you don't mind, Sweet Divine Rebel Goddess, please allow us to nurture a spark of hope that this breakdown in the Way Things Have Always Been Done will lead to fresh, hot, tidal-wave breakthroughs of beauty, truth, justice, equality and love everywhere we turn.

****
And now, in my capacity as Sacred Janitor of the the Invisible Government of Sweaty Meditation, I hereby declare the entire United States of America a Temporary Autonomous Zone.

As formulated by writer Hakim Bey, a Temporary Autonomous Zone (TAZ) is any festive event that liberates the imaginations of everyone present, thereby making it possible for life to be penetrated by the Marvelous.

Authority and dignity and routine have no place at a TAZ; an uninhibited quest for rabble-rousing conviviality must be the only guideline. (See Bey's website: http://www.hermetic.com/bey/)

Here are a few suggestions, mostly from Bey, to get you started in creating your own local celebration of TAZ. Feel free to dream up your own, and make sure to tell me about them.

Organize a strike in your school or workplace on the grounds that it does not satisfy your need for indolence and spiritual beauty.

Burglarize houses, but instead of stealing, leave behind beautiful and confusing gifts.

Bolt up brass commemorative plaques in places (public or private) where you have experienced a revelation or had a particularly fulfilling sexual experience.

Take a few friends and a boombox to an all-night grocery store and dance like crazy saints in the aisles until you're thrown out.

Pick someone at random and convince them that they're the heir to an enormous, useless, and amazing fortune -- say, 5000 square miles of Antarctica, or an aging circus elephant, or an orphanage in Bombay, or a collection of alchemical manuscripts. Later they will come to realize that for a few moments they believed in something extraordinary, and will perhaps be driven as a result to seek some more intense mode of existence."

Scrawl the following poem by Hafiz (translated by Daniel Ladinsky) in courthouse lavatories, on playground walls, and through e-mail lists."

AT THIS PARTY

I don't want to be the only one here

Telling all the secrets --

Filling up all the bowls at this party,

Taking all the laughs.

I would like you

To start putting things on the table

That can also feed the soul

The way I do.

That way

We can invite

A hell of a lot moreFriends.

Figment 4- You just won an Oscar....

"Knowing millions of people around the world are watching you, who would you want to thank?"

My family- My dream shocked and challenged you, but when you finally began to believe in it, you did so very much to support it.

My first therapist, Toni - who taught me how you find what you need to find in order to do what you need to do. She also called me beautiful.

To DreamSchool & Critterlover, who slogged endless hours of holding me while I wept. And to all the strong women in my life who have blessed me with their ferocious love and friendship, including but not limited to LunaMoonSong, Shazam, Mandarin

To the Goddesses who have taught me to think, to read, to dance, & to empower and heal myself and other women. (Specifically Mrs Cross, Mrs. D’Angelo, Mrs. Lovelace, Ruth, Rosemary, Bellezza, Marisa & Dirt)

To the Universe, for supporting a dream, challenging my limitations, and allowing me to learn, to grow, and ultimately be a flawed but entirely loveable and perfect child.

To the producers, directors, & writers who invited me to share this creative vision with them.

To the agents who had faith in me, despite the fact that I am not the typical Hollywood Beauty, nor do I ever intend to be the typical Hollywood Size 2.

Lastly, to the lost loves, the fair-weather & fall-away friends, to the ones who have wished me harm or ill…. Your energies called me to be everything I could be, to reach down into the depth of my soul and pull up strength I could not before even IMAGINE was in me. The challenges and wounds that occurred because of my interaction with you have helped create the Damn Special and Totally Amazing person standing up here today. And have allowed me to be PROUD OF WHO I AM and what I stand for.

Tagged by Mandarin!

Really folks, this is not the blog where i normally do Meme type things... but I was tagged by a darling girl who keeps me sane, so I must play along.

FOUR JOBS YOU'VE HAD:
1. Universal Tour Guide
2. Bartender, at Dux Discount Liquors & the Decoy Lounge (Yeee-fucking-Haw)
3. Actress
4. Choreographer

FOUR MOVIES YOU COULD WATCH OVER AND OVER:
1. Beastmaster!
2. Fools Rush In
3. Finding Nemo
4. The Muppet Movie

FOUR CITIES YOU'VE LIVED IN:
1. Tallhassee, FL
2. Jupiter, FL
3. Atlanta, GA
4. Los Angeles, CA

FOUR TV SHOWS YOU LOVE TO WATCH:
1. Sex and the City
2. Buffy the Vampire Slayer
3. CSI
4. Animal Planets Series "Growing Up _____" (the animal in the blank changes each episode)

FOUR PLACES YOU'VE BEEN ON VACATION:
1. Edinburgh, Scotland
2. Paris, France
3. New Orleans, Louisiana
4. Honolulu, Hawaii

FOUR WEBSITES YOU VISIT DAILY:
1. LJ
2. Amandarin.net
3. myspace.com
4. hotmail.com

FOUR OF YOUR FAVORITE FOODS:
1. Melting Pot's white chocolate/amaretto fondue
2. Chik-fil-a
3. Sushi
4. Gyros (or pretty much any other Greek food)... YUM.

FOUR PLACES I'D RATHER BE RIGHT NOW:
1. At the Volcano National park on the Big Island
2. Edinburgh, Scotland
3. At a bar.... any bar will do, but i'd probably go for Blue Room
4. Curled up in front of a fire, in a cozy cabin built for 2, with the partner of my dreams

FOUR BLOGGERS I'M TAGGING:
Mandarin & Cinnamon Girl already did this, so i can't tag them.... Therefore i leave it up to the blogging community. If you read this and you want to play along, please do so (and leave a comment with a link so i can go see your answers!)

WK 2 Figment

If all expenses were paid, and your safety guaranteed, where in the world would you go?

No, NO, NO!

For the love of all that is holy people.... are you really going to make me put it in writing?

NO.
CELL PHONES.
IN.
THE.
BATHROOM.

I walk in, to the public restroom at my office, and there's a woman in there, just chattering on. Giving driver's license and social security number over the phone. (not smart, you don't know who I am and whether or not I'm writing this down)

What's more, I find myself trying to pee more quietly so that the person she's on the line with won't be disturbed.

At first, I tried to give her the benefit of the doubt. Perhaps someone calling her had unfortunate timing, and she felt she had to answer. BUT NO..... when she finished with that call, she started dialing the next.

NO... RUDE... Don't do it!

When we send you in there to 'handle business', please handle your own buisness ONLY... no one else's. Ew!

Dangerous Trail Hiking

May your trails be crooked, winding, lonesome, dangerous, leading to the most amazing view. May your mountains rise into and above the clouds.
- Edward Abbey

Themes are an amazing thing. You speak them, and they come into being. So when I said that this year, I would be Ferocious.... boy did the Universe ask me to step up to that one. ( and that's the "serendipity"part)

So much of my life, I fought doing things the easy way. In fact, for someone who has almost no Earth in their astrological chart, I have a huge stubborn, bull-headed streak. If there's a way to complicate a matter, I'm the one charging straight for it.

My father once said that I like to shoot myself in the foot, and (a) complain about the pain and (b) show my wound to everyone and ask for sympathy. My father is ALSO a huge Edward Abbey fan.

Come to think of it, my father also tends to do things the difficult way. Sorry Dad, but it looks like the apple doesn't fall far from the tree.... although I must say, if I'm going to be like someone, my Dad is a pretty fantastic choice. I've seen him go thru some pretty rough stuff, but he's discovered the joy of peaceful open place, and he honors his "inner wanderer" in wonderful ways. May I grow into that wisdom.

But I'm off track, I was going to speak to dangerous trails. The view is much more magnificent when you had to trudge a bit to get there. A road that challenges you beyond what you thought possible is the only way we get to experience our own growth. It blesses us with this opportunity to reach inside, and despite our doubts, pull something from within us, utilize some tool previously unknown, and conquer an adventure we would not have thought possible.

This seems to go hand in hand with this week's SwirlyGirl Figment, which asks us "if all expenses are paid and your safety is gauranteed, where in the world would you want to go?"

At first of course, my thoughts went to Scotland, the place that feels most like home. But I want to stay in Scotland, not just visit, so perhaps that is not the answer this week. I long to see the steps of Sacre Coeur in Paris again. The sun setting, turning the marble pink, as street musicians play is one of my happiest travel memories.

But then I thought, "Dream bigger... have anything."

I thought of OuterSpace. Watch the earth rise from the moon. See Jupiter close up. Swim thru the cosmic materials in the rings of Saturn. However, her question does ask where in "the world would I go, and so perhaps "space" might be outside the rules.

This turned my thoughts to the even greater unknown... The bottom of the ocean. It remains one of the undiscovered countries of our planet because of the physics of pressure and light. A human being simply can't exist down there, but OH, what wonders haven't we seen.

Safety gauranteed, I could swim with dolphins, killer whales, sharks, and creatures that haven't even been discovered. Would a see the mysterious Giant Squid? Could I, in some essence become a mermaid, and live as one of the beings of the sea?

Changing course again....what of my Big Cat love? Safari in Africa is another wild and wonderful choice. Not just a tourists' drive through the open plains, but a stay WITH the animals. Sleeping on the dry grass of the veldt and listening to the lions hunt. Wander with elephants as they search for water and food. View an endless sunrise and listen to the wild world waking up.

Or the most dangerous trail.... Mt. Everest. If I was fully funded and gauranteed to survive, could I... would I .... hike the tallest mountain on our planet? Surely the sights from up there are beyond imagining... top of the world, knowing you are there through your own strength, stubborness and determination.

Then again, isnt' part of the thrill of Everest that ever-lingering possiblity that you may die? So would safety gauranteed be a help, or a hinderance? If it's not all on the line, do you still have the same determination to push forward?

Do we sometimes hike the dangerous trails, simply for the fact that they are dangerous? Or is that line of thinking why I keep shooting myself in the foot?

Fragile situation, indelicate hands

Sometimes, we come to a point, where we must walk away, for our own good. And what we leave behind is an ever changing mystery that you can analyze to death and never have confirmation that anything you are thinking is correct.

I cannot pretend to know what he is experiencing regarding his family issues. As to his current situation here, I can remember what I felt when I was in the similar one, but that doesn't mean that I "know" how it feels for him.

Of my many words, the phrase "emotional lockdown" seemed to resonate with him, and I feel it best conveys what my experience is, over here on the other side of the conversation. He's living in this perpetual glossy 'nothing bothers me' shine, which is great, if it's true, but something about it rings in my gut like a cheaply made wall, thrown up in a hurry, and only getting thicker with constant inquisistion.

Where does the difference lie between 'detachment' and 'denial'? How can I practice one, without living in the other? Until I have answers to these questions, I'm best served by remaining a distance from the fray. Until I have the cool head of a battlefield surgeon, I shouldn't be dealing in bloody matters of life and death... lest i do further damage just trying to elicit some response.

Angels with silver wings
Shouldn't know suffering
I wish I could take the pain for you

If God has a master plan
That only He understands
I hope it's your eyes He's seeing through

Things get damaged
Things get broken
I thought we'd manage
But words left unspoken
Left us so brittle
There was so little left to give

I pray you learn to trust
Have faith in both of us
And keep room in your heart for two

- depeche mode

Some days... it's hard

The test of a first-rate intelligence is the ability to hold two opposed ideas in mind at the same time and still retain the ability to function. One should, for example, be able to see that things are hopeless and yet be determined to make them otherwise.
-- F. Scott Fitzgerald.

If it were not for hopes, the heart would break.
-- Thomas Fuller.

Hope is a state of mind, not of the world. Hope, in this deep and powerful sense, is not the same as joy that things are going well, or willingness to invest in enterprises that are obviously heading for success, but rather an ability to work for something because it is good.
-- Unknown.

"There is a crack in everything, that's how the light gets in."
Leonard Cohen


Now, please pardon me as i grab my magnifing glass and look for that fucking crack. Grrrr!

Swirly's 52 Fragments, Wk 1

2006- A year of:

I sound my Barbaric YAWP from the rooftops of 2006

So many women that I admire and find strong have talked about putting together a theme for 2006. [read any of these: Superhero journal, Amandarin, Adri or challenge yourself with Swirly Girl's 52 Fragments Assignment . Setting your theme is week 1. ]

I looked at “Courageous Passions” as a possible theme. That was my possibility that I created in Landmark’s Advanced Course years ago, and it still lights me up. However, it’s lacking newness and also… right now, it’s not capturing the intensely angry frustrated feelings I’m having regarding patterns in my life.

I considered “Release” as a theme…. Because my 30 day experiment in November, where I gave over to the Universe, really opened up doors and provided me with opportunities and love. However, it too sells short the churning intensity that I’ve been experiencing.

I thought of “The Year of Me”, because I need to learn to honor myself, to prioritize my needs and wants, and (OMG, in the middle of this entry, I’ve ended up on the phone with an amazing woman whom I honor and respect, and she’s telling me how her life has changed since she started honoring her self, her dreams and her needs. Talk about Universal confirmation. As she said “If stress is gonna kill ya, let it be our own stress, not everyone else’s.” She’s talking about the year of Miracles.... ooooh that sounds cool. But it’s still not capturing what I’m feeling.)

I thought about the year of “YES”, positive thought and action, permission. Then I thought about putting that together with “Year of ME” and having a year of “Me, YES, ME!” Fun, but now it’s beginning to sound like a cheer. I want more than a cheer, I want a battle cry.

I thought about my favorite Isadora Duncan quote, which scrolls across my monitor as my screensaver. “You were once wild here. Don’t let them tame you.” So… the year of “Untamed…” but untamed… what?

The word “Serendipity” leapt to mind… Untamed Seredipity? Is that it? It’s two pretty words, put together well… but it was still lacking something. Fire. The right and ability to be angry if I need to be (one of my “101 in 1001” was to allow myself to feel and express anger). I need something more… Grrrrrrr… ya know?

And then it hits me…. I need something more ferocious. And just thinking the word, it clicks. I don’t need something “more ferocious” … I need “Ferocious”. Ferocious has forward movement, anger, passion untamed. Ferocious carries with her a full set of claws.

But I don’t want to force it. As I said before… the release and flow of the universe brought so many rewards last November. She has her plan for us, and she guides us down the river if we let her…. And the word for that is…. Serendipity. Things happening and unfolding as they are supposed to.

And suddenly it all falls into place. This year... I declare the theme of 2006 to be FEROCIOUS SERENDIPITY.

Now folks…. Whose gonna join me? What is YOUR theme for the upcoming year?

Mondo Beyondo

Andrea in Superhero Journal writes:

And finally, the whopper- the Mondo Beyondo list….This is the list of things that are outrageous, wild, and may not even happen for 5 or 10 years from now. This is the list of things that are SO JUICY and unlikely to happen that you are afraid to even write them down. This might be the most important list of all!

…If this list isn't really fun to make, you're not using your imagination. Think big! This is your mondo beyondo….

The great thing about these lists is that you don't need to believe they will happen as you write them. Simply the act of writing is a show of faith... even if you're thinking "yeah, right" as you jot them down. You will be amazed by your ability to manifest. You will astound yourself with what you can create by putting pen to paper.

Ok Andrea,
In a testament to your inspiration, and the need I have to lift my spirit in what has become a very challenging beginning to 2006, I herein offer up my Mondo Beyondo list:

• Travel to Rio Di Janeiro

• Return to acting, with a loud successful BANG

• Make/have the financial resources to have the bills paid on time, money in savings, start a retirement plan and STILL be able to travel.

• Find a true and lasting love. Someone who holds the space for me to be who I am while not losing sight of his own goals & needs. Someone who makes me laugh, holds me when I cry, and is truly overjoyed at the concept of spending a lifetime with me.

• Enhance my body & mind (thru nutrition, meditation and exercise) to the point that when I look in a mirror, I behold a gloriously sexy, outrageously beautiful, amazingly healthy happy me.

• Finally get my Bull Terrier puppy!

  

20/20 Hindsight

2005 was challenging, to say the least.... and 2006 has not proven itself a cakewalk either.... but drama aside, let us look at the lessons from last year, shall we?

-- Feed the right wolf

One evening an old Cherokee told his grandson about a battle that goes on inside people. He said, "My son, the battle is between 2 wolves."

"One is Evil. It is anger, envy, sorrow, regret, greed, arrogance, self-pity, guilt, resentment, inferiority, lies, false pride, superiority, and ego. The other is Good. It is joy, peace, love, hope, serenity, humility, kindness, benevolence, empathy, generosity, truth, compassion and faith."

The grandson thought about it for a minute and then asked his grandfather, "Which wolf wins?"

The old Cherokee simply replied, "The one you feed."

-- In regards to matters of the heart, become a vegitarian

We desire
the way a twice-poisoned dog
eyes a
third piece of meat

Philip Milito
20th c American poet

-- Burned Bridges keep the village safe... Then again, ships in a harbor are safe.... but that's not what ships are for. So burn the bridges but sail the ships. Keep clear of storms when you can, and when you can't, fucking sack up enough to Captain your vessel appropriately. Body counts are sometimes unavoidable.

-- Laughlin is not my first choice for ideal vacation spot. Especially not in Summer.

-- The seed in the crack only needs the smallest amount of dirt to grow... and the largest amount of courage.

-- Even Muses need Muses.

-- I am a Big Cat. The veldt is beautiful, and dangerous. Hunt anyway.

-- People will fall out of your orbit. You will be better for it.

-- Friends who talk shit about you to other friends... aren't friends.

-- Snakes on a Plane. Says it all, doesn't it?

-- IN next life, do NOT come back as giant squid

Having such a big penis does have one drawback: it seems that co-ordinating eight legs, two feeding tentacles and a huge penis, whilst fending off an irate female, is a bit too much to ask, and one of the two males stranded on the Spanish coast had accidentally injected himself with sperm packages in the legs and body.

-- I have now outlived Jesus.

-- You can never have too much BOOTIE

And a partridge in a pear tree.....

Solstice/Christmas have once again come and gone.

Apparently it was a very Cheshire sort of year.....
---one group of friends banded together to get me a limited edition Cheshire Cat watch
---Another unrelated friend got me matching Cheshire Cat socks and scarf

what are you people saying.... that an oddly cracked grinning cat makes you think of me?

good. :)

Quote of the Day

SHE: "It's Period, Day One. I don't know why that says sauerkraut, but it does."

Entertaning Observation

The morning after the Company Christmas Party there is always lots of good parking.


Oh, and it should be said.... Kudos to the HR department for being a large portion of the still rockin dance floor as the party closed down last night. My experience with HR folks is that they tend to be stuffy, and very 'rule-oriented'. However, I just might have found a group of people similar to me. Yay.

AND Props to the 4th floor receptionist, who can really shake his tailfeather. I must tease him about this later. *grin*

Seriously folks, I really like my new job.

Stumbling over nuggets

"Let us fall in love for the night

and red-faced, sort out the details in the morning."

*****************************************

Can I examine and expose myself
- honestly but not brutally
- without shame
- without pain

without exaggeration
(to make me seem cool)

without self-depreciation
(to make me seem contrite for my sins)

Just truth-
told without attachment....

can I be that honest for you?

The Comfy PJ's

Some old lovers fit like a long lost set of your favorite pajamas.

When cleaning, you find them at the back of the drawer, tucked under something more fashionable. You think "OMG, these.... i 've missed these," and you climb into them with the joy of rememberance.

They hug around the edges and keep you snuggly soft, and for a moment, you can't help but think "why did i put these away? I love these..."

Then you remember that your ass shows a little, thru the threadbare patch on one cheek. And they scratch, on that one side, where the tag used to be. No matter how great they feel, they are what you wear when you know no one is looking. They are PERFECTION, as long as you weren't planning on looking good, or leaving the house.

In the end, I get off the couch and change into something sexy and dazzling, and hit the local club. I get off the couch, content in the moment I had, and I go back out to the rest of the world.

********************************

He looks great... He sounds great. And it was lovely, just a little over an hour catching up on life. I still adore him. I still love him. I still wish him all the best. I suppose I still have a part of me that wishes it could work out... but we are polar opposites . He's happiest, on his own, alone, and he looks forward to becoming a crotchety old man. I, on the other hand, continue in my social butterfly ways, glad to not have clipped my wings and died from the stillness.

I miss what was, but dont' think I'd give up what is in order to have the old.

When my baby smiles at me, I go to Rio...

There are little things we do for ourselves that make us happy beyond reason. Little things that indicate that life is good, and you have enough money or time to allow yourself a luxury.

For me.... it's a good, and I mean GOOD, Brazilian Bikini Wax.

Shaving is so Plebian, and hairy is .... well, it' s hairy. And while that may be fine on some folks, I just don't like it on me.

I admit that the process of hair removal is not a painless event (although my girl does a DAMN fine job at minimizing the pain). I further confess that being completely waxed has a few negative side effects (It's almost impossible to fart silently. An ugly fact, i know... but nonetheless true.) Still, the joy of being fur-free is one worth all the sacrifice.

Therefore, as a celebration of my upcoming birthday, and a sign of the fact that the bills are almost all caught up (yay for the new job), I have made an appointment for a little slice of masochistic heaven.

9:15am, Friday morning.... I'm takin' a little side trip to Brazil. *grin*

Without a Parachute

Some people fall in love.

I plummet.

*headdesk*


as I told Amandarin "I'm a BASE jumper for affection." *laughing*

Quick bit of star speak

SAGITTARIUS (Nov. 22-Dec. 21): Wave farewell to your old self, Sagittarius. Maybe blow a few kisses as well. But don't linger too long. Refuse to get bogged down in ambiguous rituals filled with interminable goodbyes and meticulous inventories of the past. It's time to go! Off with you! You've got urgent appointments with the unsettling but fascinating future, and it's best to part ways with habits that have dulled your initiative and comforts that have numbed your courage. You're ready for more change than you think you're capable of.


I often times find myself a little spooked by Mr. Brezney's accuracy! I've bolded my favorite part. Unsettling but fascinating does not always sound inviting.... but it sounds like the kind of life I long to live.

Saw "Rent" yesterday, and was a bit daunted by how ordinary and 'un-passionate' life has been lately. Where is the artist who longed to live in chilly lofts for the sake of art? When did I become so staid in my ways? When did I choose the road more travelled, and how can I find my way back to the other?

Gratitude

I tend to be remiss about doing this 'gratitude' thing at Thanksgiving. However, as the Universe and I are playing the "Create your world" game this particular 30 days, I want to be sure to thank her for all that has manifested recently.

* A new job- that pays well, that has respectful co-workers, a jovial attitude, and can be left at the office every night.

* Time and ability to see my parents. After a couple of years without them, I was uncertain how the time in FL would go. But it was lovely, and I'm thrilled I went. I look forward to my next visit, whenever it may be.

* A "Private Benjamin" moment- that is to say, the ability to see something and know that whatever your feelings are on the matter, it is not in your best interest, and that is what must be served. Then turning and walking away, proudly, unquestioningly. The pain of the tearing away is experienced. Continued suffering is not.

* Someone honest and authentic, who holds the space for me to cry unashamedly, and rejoices in watching me smile. Someone who faces fear, enjoys learning, and shares constantly..... oh... and he can DANCE! *sigh* *grin*

* Healthy Cats, Paid Bills, A Working Car, & A Sense of Humor

* MOST OF ALL, let me thank you Universe for the best damn friends a girl can have. They keep coming back year after year, even when I KNOW that I'm not always a picnic, and I have more than a few tendancies towards drama. They make me laugh. They speak truths. They rage at the stars when the world isn't working out for any of us. And they smile and squee and hold you when all the world is right. My eternal thanks for Dreamschool, Dirt, LunaMoonSong, Shazam, Amandarin, SonofHarry, and the AZ_Pup

& Thank YOU, Universe, for letting me be your student.

And she reminded me .....

you deserve someone authentic.
and available
and loving
and demonstrative
who makes you laugh
and makes it safe for you to cry

they come in all shapes and sizes, honey. But good is to the core.


I love my friends.
I love the way they see me.
I love the space they hold for me.

Gun Quiz

I don't usually do quizes here.... but after a week in the South, this was just too appropriate.


Which type of gun would you carry?
brought to you by Quizilla

Another gem from the homestead

At dinner, the subject of drinks came up…. I touted the virtues of the minty lime goodness that I find at my local hang-out.

DAD: Why does "Mojito" sound familiar to me?
ME: well, a lot of folks are ordering them these days. Much like "cosmopolitans" became popular when Sex & the City came out.
DAD: That doesn’t help me. I don’t watch popular television these days.
MOM: well…. It does sound like someone from Hawaii 5-0.


Yeah…. "Book ‘em Mojito"

*laughing*

i come by it honestly

A little background for the new readers. Mom is a packrat of the most fanatical kind. Dad fought for a neat home for many years, but the passion for the good fight has left him, and he is resigned to his clutter-filled demise. This has not, however, diminished his sense of humor about it.

We three were in the middle of Chik-fil-a, lunching and loudly discussing the rattiest pair of slippers that needed to be retired.

Now, in trying to explain the difference between sane keeping of stuff and the obsessive need to accumulate, I used what I believed to be a facetious example…. ‘that would be like if grandma died, and someone kept her body in the spare bedroom because they miss her."

To this, my mother began to sputter, to clutch her hands to her face, and make unidentifiable noises… at first I believed it to be laughter, but tears at her eyes had me worried. Her mother passed away some 6 years ago, and it can sometimes be a soft spot.

ME: (to Dad) is she crying?
DAD: I don’t know
MOM: (napkin to her eyes, shaking head no, mumbles thru hysteria) murffle, mrgh… flr ooom.
ME: uh…. Um…. One more time mom.
MOM: (now clearly laughing) My mother’s ashes are in the spare room. (more laughter)
DAD: Ahhh, see…. Your Grandmother has gone from collecting clutter, to becoming clutter.

Yeah…. In ANYONE ELSE’s family… it would have been a facetious example.

Heavenly Quotable

He said: "You have the body of a goddess."

and he meant it.

*grin*

Pandora's Closet Storage Area

She spoke of going thru her journals from a decade ago, and enjoyed the stroll down memory lane.

I, on the other hand, lock my old journals away in boxes. Unmarked, and sealed with enough duct tape to hold a bumper on a CRX. I know where in the house they are. They are never very far from me, because i would never want them to fall into the wrong hands.

When I began journalling, as a teen, I thought about my "glamourous life", and how I would capture it all on paper. I imagined the publishing of my memoirs after my too young death, and the scandal they would cause.

I pictured people salivating over well-described steamy scenes of passion. I envisioned lovers weeping as they discovered the un-revealed depths of my feelings. I hoped for fury from those I "double crossed", knowing I'd had the last laugh from beyond the grave.

Instead, what I have amassed is boxes of smarm and unexpressed rage. Hopes for loves that never should have gotten my time. Fully described moments of bold stupidity, fueled by desparation and the desire to be 'enough'. Later, when I thought I had grown to an age that I swore I didn't need approval anymore, I find thru reading that I in fact just transferred that need onto whatever abusive emotionally-distant jackass I chose to fill my life with at that time.

I used to read my journals more often. As if by seeing where I had been, I would know better to not go down that road again. But it became more and more painful....

I don't begrudge that girl her elaborately planned suicide attempts, or her bone-achingly deep desire to be loved. She and all her misadventures have made me what I am today.

However, much as I do when I'm entranced in a tv show (I yell at the screen helpful tips, and get frustrated when they can't hear me), I find myself crying out from my soul, "NO... Don't... Please please stop." And yet she barrels away blindly, smacking face first into the pain.

And the reading... it seems to give life again to those feelings. As if by speaking aloud the words I wrote in blood all those years ago, I cast a spell that calls them into being today. I resurrect them from their forgotten hell and set them free, to wreak havoc upon the world, and upon my soul.

When I was a child, I read the myth of Pandora and her box of horrors. Something about the description made me picture those terrors as tiny headless bats, slightly bigger than a 50cent piece, dripping blood, smelling of death, and screeching unholy fury.

That same image asails me when I think of opening that box of journals. This Pandora has fought many demons, and I daresay will fight more. But I will not give life to past terrors, and let the old ghosts come out.

In this way, Duct Tape will save the world.

New Version of the Old Scene

For years, I have been one to follow the time-honored tradition of the road game known as “Slug Bug”. A wide range of ‘slugging’ has occurred in my world, from a college relationship where we released unspoken aggressions in forearm bruising assaults, to friends and associates who have played in spoken exchanges only.

He: (pointing) Slugbug
She: Bastard!

However, the Pup and I (in what would seem a “stoner’s burst of logic” only we were completely sober at the time) have moved the game into a new, and I must say exciting, realm.

We’re playing “Cop-a-feel Bug”. And yes, it’s absolutely what it sounds like. Oh… it starts off with a twitch or tickle here, but after several hours on the road (we went exploring on our mutual day off) the game takes on a new dimension. We’ve become FAR more competitive about this than we ever were before.

When we passed a series of car dealerships, he told me “If you get near a VW lot, you better just pull the car over before we kill ourselves.” And pull over we nearly did on one small back road that was overpopulated with German engineering. A road we later found to be accurately named “Johnson Road”. LMAO.

Now, I will admit…. There is a ‘law of diminishing returns’ about this game. The more VWs your partner finds, the less you care about looking around. But really… I didn’t mind.

Trust me when I suggest it, folks. Play this one TO LOSE. *grin*

30 Days

Amazing isn't it, how the year speeds by?

As a Pagan, this is the beginning of a new year. Another moment of adventure spreads out before us, and we can jump on the bike and ride, or simply watch it go by.

At my desk, the giant windows fill with panoramas of construction against a hazy backdrop of the Angeles Crest Forest. With such busy eye candy, it is easy to choose to watch.

But watching leaves one life in a general rut, does it not? And ruts, however safe, are not my style of choice.

And so, in a declaration before the Universe, in a ritual to wash away the old year and make room for the new, i gave 30 days to the voices.

30 days that when I want to hit the snooze again, and the little voice says "get up so you can get something done"..... I do.

30 days when the little voice says "Please don't do drive thru again. You have soup at home" and thus i pass the BK and head home to heat up chicken noodle.

30 days when they say "Jump" and with faith in my heart, I do.

It is my intention, that in 30 days, this life will be unrecognizable, dynamic, alive, and I will be at the source of all that is around me.

30 days.
Sprout wings and fly.

Finding the spirit of adventure in unknown realms, she blurs the line between dreams and waking. As children do, she follows her bliss and leaves behind the “shoulds” and “have tos” of the everyday to climb into the world of belief in magic. -

Thanks to AndreaPalframan for her BEAUTIFUL image!!

"Dream" is only one of several stunning pieces of art that make up her moon cycle deck: "Attunded"

Tis My Season

Today, I got to work a bit early, to spend the first hour of the day decking out my cube for the Halloween decoration contest.

In 15 min, I will walk across the street to pick up lunch for my team, while wearing my middle eastern dance outfit.

See the sparkling energy in the air.
Hear the children laugh and scream.

The season is upon us. The weekend should be good. There's a party tonight and ritual on Sunday.

and soooooooon, the wheel will turn, and begin again.

Brighest Blessings and Safest Celebrations to you and yours.

A Halloween Memory

I was young....maaaaaaybe... 8 or 9 yrs old

and i had this great pair of spandex pants with built in Platform high-heels. I wore those, and took a piece of red spandex materiel (just a piece of material) and with pins and knots, fashioned it into a backless red-halter top.

then i got little devil horns and a pitchfork.

a neighbor asked "Oh... are you a little devil??"

to which I said "NO... i'm Temptation"

Yeppers, i started this sassy shit EARLY. *wink*

Because I need to remember

No one can die. None can be degraded forever. Life is but a playground, however gross the play may be. However we may receive blows and however knocked about we may be, the Soul is there and is never injured. We are that Infinite.

-Vivekananda


From "Teachings of the Hindu Mystics," © 2001 by Andrew Harvey.
Reprinted by arrangement with Shambhala Publications, Boston, www.shambhala.com.

The Search for Salavation

IN discussing Paganism vs. Christianity, and the short-sited views of some, she said...

Most bible thumpers think all of our lives would be better if we would only find Jesus. Personally, i think he's behind the sofa.

Lemme hear ya Witness!

My downstairs neighbor is apparently a very religious man, who likes to start the morning uplifted in ecstatic prayer.

At least, that's what I'm guessing..... from the number of times he called out his savior's name at 6am this morning.


"Oh god.. oh god... oh my god... jesus... oh... oh god... oh god..OMyGod.. oh god JEEZUS CHRIST... oh ... oh GOD O. MY. GOD"


Amen, Brother.

She Said...

"The difference between you and a crazy homeless person is that You have friends."


ummm... and I'd like to point out, I don't smell like pee either.
Just Sayin'.

The Reign of Guilt is OVER!

This morning, at what should be considered an ABSURD hour for someone to be awake on a Sunday, my downstairs neighbor had sex, loudly!

HA!

I shall no longer feel bad for my nocturnal activities.

Hell's Bells

There should be no button on the top surface of an alarm clock, other than the Snooze.

No Alarm Reset
No Radio adjustment
No button that changes AM to PM
No decrease of the volume

Therefore when, in a sleep-induced haze, one begins to slap blindly and randomly at the top of the wicked noise maker, one can then fall back asleep with the assurance that in 7 -9 minutes, the angry clanging will begin again.

I mean, THAT’S ITS JOB! To wake me, no matter what!


It should NOT give one or two half-hearted attempts and then develop some defeatist attitude.

grrrrr

Random Strangers in the Elevator...

...can change the tone of the day.

General crankiness continues. I'm walking (in that huffy "i've got somewhere to be" way) back thru the parking garage, into the building and up to my desk, post lunch. Handfull of Taco Bell bag. (horrible i know, but i was totally craving!)

All the while, someone walking behind me. I hold the door open, but make no eye contact... sites set on returning to desk and avoiding humanity. Awkward silence for a moment as I stare forward at the blinking numbers. Then I hear...

HIM: "You have the coolest hair colors. Seriously, you have 7 colors going on there. It's great"
ME: "uh.. wha....oh *blush* thank you."
HIM: "You're new. You're on the 4th floor, right. I'm M***. Nice to meet you."

no, M***... Nice to be noticed.

Thanks

Saved from the Brink

Sometimes I find LA to be a soul-less city. However, I cannot deny the good people that i have found here.

• Real friends take you to your favorite local restaurant and soothe your craptastic week with fun stories, smiles and mojitos.
• Real friends squee in their girly moments, and trust you enough to listen.
• Real friends call because something they read in your blog made them worry.
• Real friends do 'lifechecks' on you when the times are tough.
• Real friends open their hearts and their homes on the holidays.
• Real friends understand and share in your disappointments.
• Real friends will let you embrace your "not-so-highest-self" re: your craptastic week.

To quote the Beatles,

"I get by with a little help from my friends."

And the sky wept to see such beauty

Thank you Los Angeles, for having such a lovely thunderstorm unseasonably early.

The bolts of lightening danced so prettily and the booming rumble of the thunder was like a drum solo of the gods.

I'm sorry I slept thru it.
Damn the Benedryl.

Build Wings on the Way Down

"If we listened to our intellect we'd never have a love affair, we'd never have a friendship, we'd never go into business, because we'd be cynical. Well that's just nonsense! You've got to jump off the cliff all the time and build wings on the way down." ~Ray Bradbury

Found this quote on a friend’s LJ and was really amused and moved at the same time.

The sentiment is similar the one I usually express in my pool analogy. Which is to say, some people ease into a cold pool slowly, bit by bit, stair by stair. But I think this takes much longer, and doesn’t really aid the ‘temperature accommodation’ process well.

I am the type that jumps into the deep end for one quick blood-jolting shock, and then treads the water to warm up. Now, take that theory and apply it life, not just swimming.

So many places in my life, I cannonball into the deep end. Some call this courage, some call it stupidity, and I guess it has been both at different times in my life.

There have been times where I’ve jumped in, only to find I’m not dressed for swimming, or that I’ve forgotten how to swim.

There are times I’ve plunged straight to the bottom, and when my head finally breaks the surface, the first thought I find there is “OH shit, I forgot how much I hate water.”

But ultimately, I rejoice in the time I’ve spent in the pool. I mean, as much as I like a good tan, life is not about laying on a lounge chair on the dry and safe patio.

Taped to my computer monitor is the fortune from a cookie I had last week …

“Approach all areas of life with a bold enthusiasm”

Funny isn’t it? I only vaguely remember taping that there last week, and yet, here I am blogging, and suddenly I SEE it and I READ it, and I get that in the scheme of the Universe, this arrived in my life last week, so that it could support the feeling I’m having right now.

It might as well have said “Get back in the Goddam Pool, Girl!” or “Leap, and the Wings will appear.”

These ideas were also present in the books I read this weekend (home with a migraine, in bed from Saturday morning, until this morning). They were fun filled tales of facing the dark and challenging your fear and allowing yourself to experience all that life offers.

In short, the Universe seems to be working on sending me the same message in as many different ways as she can manage.

Got it, Mom! Time to Jump again.

Once upon a DreamSchool...

International Pop Overthrow, at The Joint

Then again, at TAIX (where we are regulars)

I think I may possibly have the coolest best friend EVER.

Hottie Update

I spent some time with the Hollywood Hottie last night. With our crazed schedules, finding a quiet moment is like snatching a leaf out of a passing Autumn breeze. It had been over a month since last we hung out.

In case you were wondering....Yep... he's still beautiful.

I'd like to say the evening was a long thought provoking conversation that lasted until dawn, because we are well overdue for that sort of thing. However, he was running around like a chicken with his head cut off (his words actually), preparing for a trip. His exotic entertainment life is swooping him off to somewhere succulent once again.

Still, we found time to go thru items in his closet, judging what worked with his look and what didn't. I followed him from room to room while he packed and prepped, conversing about what had been occuring in life since last we met.

He asked about my once-again temping status. Silly... but i always wish i had a better answer for him. He asked when I would start my own business. A business in WHAT I couldn't help but think (and ask)...because the truth is, I don't know what I want to be when I grow up. I know what makes me happy, but i haven't figured out how to parlay that into paying the bills. And he looks at the situation and always has some bold suggestion of what makes sense to him.

I wish I had the ability to see the world the way he does.
I wish I had even an ounce of the suave confidence he exudes.
I wish...

I wish I had a bottle of oil to rub all over that incredible body. So Hot!


We thank you for your presence here at this blog, and now return you to your regularly scheduled life. Go on... nothing to see here. Move along.

Bootie Beyond Belief

Of our last visit, Amandarin said I left my bootie in Echo Park . And to tell true that was a night of fantastic fun and grooveylishious tunes.

But if last time was foreplay, this time was THE SEXX.

O.
My.
GOD!
Way too much fun.

Perpetrators included: Amandarin, Adrii, RocketRN, Joshiee, Sexy Ass Man (women who have felt the glory know of what I speak- YUM), The Arizona Pup, and myself.

Our Posse met for pies at HOP. After a round of blissful nosh, the journey to the dancing began. A few wrong turns (by those that shall remain nameless) later, and we all arrived at the club, looking hot and ready to trot….

And trot we did. Right over to the bar to start the night with a round of shots. *wink* you see where this is going, right?

After inebriation commenced, the groove things needed to be shaken a tad. Keith joined our gathering, already in the process of rockin his bod. AZ Pup entertained the girls with his mad dance skillz, and Rocket got her swerve a little bit country style. And Me…well, I was sporting the new babies!! 8 inch, platform, thigh-hi black stiletto boots. In short, we were hella sexy on the dance floor and having a fucking fabulous time.

Bootie-shakin was interspersed with trips to the bomb-ass patio, for drinks, smokes and resting the tootsies. Props to Rocket who gave the Pup a lap dance that rosied his cheeks and ..um… lifted his spirits. Mandarin, Adrii and I all pitched in to be a living drum set for the Nirvana mix, and by the end of the night, our entire grouping dominated the front stage until the closing of the club.

Sadly all nights must come to a close, Cinderella, so there were smooches and groping good-bye and all the sexy bitches went in different directions to rock the house (or bed, or car, or floor) in the ways they do best.

All in all, if you didn’t attend, you MISSED OUT!

(if you’re smart, you’ll start planning right now to redeem yourself. BootieLA is back on Saturday, November 5th!)