In my latest blog post I mentioned it was my last one. My attempt to return to 1996... the tangiblity of pen and paper to the intangibility of cyberspace. I get on tangents like these sometimes... and then I eventually, sometimes swiftly, fall back in step with my everyday patterns. And so it has happened...
Christian Bale as Batman fights crime on the small screen as I spend the last hour I intended to use getting a head start on sleep instead thinking about how I process information. Slowly. In segments. Similiar to how my boyfriend's laptop lags to open a Web page or file...grinding and grinding in its search until it eventually fulfills your request. I am not a "slow" person, I am thoughtful. Introspective. Especially when it's about something that really matters. Something I don't want to lose. I try to be patient - to allow myself to think... I get lost in my thoughts so much that I sometimes miss moments to reply or respond the way I should, in the way the moment calls for. That makes me feel stupid. But I am lost in my thoughts and so I review conversations in my mind and have to go back and ask questions or make points after the fact. Im sure it can be percieved as if I've been obsessing about that one particular point for days, when really it just needed time to cycle around to the front of my mind again, its turn in my tumultuous parade of thoughts...
I ask myself a lot of questions. I try to get to the core of what is in my heart, my gut... And why... Why am I feeling the way I do? I have learned that when you are quick to speak and swift to make judgements, you are often swift to fuck up your life. (And I make more than my share of reactionary comments too, to be certain). But I realize that it's much better to keep your mouth shut and your eyes open and feel things out and see where life takes you... And even if you feel stupid by having to go back and clarify things the next day, or a few days later, it's OK... I tell myself.
Monday, November 24, 2008
Tuesday, November 11, 2008
Goodbye
This is my last blog post....
I have found an internal time machine and am going back to 1996. I had just started using email then, reluctantly. I did not have a cell phone. I used a land line and somehow managed to live my life not being able to call someone when out and about. I did not text my conversations. I did not have a blog. I wrote in notebooks. I wrote actual letters. Pen to paper and stamp to envelope. I sent emails when required. I did not have MySpace or Facebook.
In this era, our time is most spent in front of a computer instead of faces. Our lives are now filled with "friends" we hardly know, or some we apparently do not know at all. Or those no longer in our lives we wish to peek in on from time to time (completely irksome). We are voyeurs in each others' worlds, these cyber-scrapbooks and online shrines we build to ourselves. We have such a weak sense of identity in this life - this 2008 - that we define ourselves by profiles and interests and surveys. We have no idea who we are anymore...Someone else sparked this thought in me, and I have continued it...
I had a life before all of this. I will have one after it is all gone. If I lose connection when I lose this, it was never real in the first place. This may very well be true.
I am going back to 1996. Join me if you care to.
I have found an internal time machine and am going back to 1996. I had just started using email then, reluctantly. I did not have a cell phone. I used a land line and somehow managed to live my life not being able to call someone when out and about. I did not text my conversations. I did not have a blog. I wrote in notebooks. I wrote actual letters. Pen to paper and stamp to envelope. I sent emails when required. I did not have MySpace or Facebook.
In this era, our time is most spent in front of a computer instead of faces. Our lives are now filled with "friends" we hardly know, or some we apparently do not know at all. Or those no longer in our lives we wish to peek in on from time to time (completely irksome). We are voyeurs in each others' worlds, these cyber-scrapbooks and online shrines we build to ourselves. We have such a weak sense of identity in this life - this 2008 - that we define ourselves by profiles and interests and surveys. We have no idea who we are anymore...Someone else sparked this thought in me, and I have continued it...
I had a life before all of this. I will have one after it is all gone. If I lose connection when I lose this, it was never real in the first place. This may very well be true.
I am going back to 1996. Join me if you care to.
Wednesday, November 5, 2008
A new blog i like
this lovely blog features photography that moves my heart...
i want to take photos like this and put them in small frames all over my house...
i want to learn... i dont have a camera... i will look on ebay for one.
i want to take photos like this and put them in small frames all over my house...
i want to learn... i dont have a camera... i will look on ebay for one.
Poetry
I'm nobody! Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
-Emily Dickinson
if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries
if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream
if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing
-ee cummings
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. - Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
-William Wordsworth
Are you nobody, too?
Then there ’s a pair of us—don’t tell!
They ’d banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebody!
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
To an admiring bog!
-Emily Dickinson
if i love You
(thickness means
worlds inhabited by roamingly
stern bright faeries
if you love
me) distance is mind carefully
luminous with innumerable gnomes
Of complete dream
if we love each (shyly)
other, what clouds do or Silently
Flowers resembles beauty
less than our breathing
-ee cummings
Two roads diverged in a yellow wood,
And sorry I could not travel both
And be one traveler, long I stood
And looked down one as far as I could
To where it bent in the undergrowth;
Then took the other, as just as fair,
And having perhaps the better claim,
Because it was grassy and wanted wear;
Though as for that the passing there
Had worn them really about the same,
And both that morning equally lay
In leaves no step had trodden black.
Oh, I kept the first for another day!
Yet knowing how way leads on to way,
I doubted if I should ever come back.
I shall be telling this with a sigh
Somewhere ages and ages hence:
Two roads diverged in a wood, and I-
I took the one less traveled by,
And that has made all the difference.
-Robert Frost
The world is too much with us; late and soon,
Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers;
Little we see in Nature that is ours;
We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon!
This Sea that bares her bosom to the moon,
The winds that will be howling at all hours,
And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers,
For this, for everything, we are out of tune;
It moves us not. - Great God! I'd rather be
A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn;
So might I, standing on this pleasant lea,
Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn;
Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea;
Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn.
-William Wordsworth
Friday, October 31, 2008
untitled...
I just wrote a post and deleted it. It wasn't because I didn't want you, dear reader, to read what I had to say. But I felt it was truer to myself to commit those thoughts and feelings to my heart.. to take them inside where they can solidify...instead of committing them to paper (or whatever you call this) to be injested visually by others...
Im not a professional writer anymore... or much, these days. I have been pondering tonight what it was that made me so happy about writing for the OC Register. Outside of the challenge to come up with a catchy, well-written lead, I know what fueled me... I helped people. I was able to wield my pen to inform, to inspire, but also to support... and that's what I loved the most. I loved writing about companies (especially female-owned) who offered lovely goods or services and using my power of the press to support their endeavours. Of course their story alone had merit, but it was my way of helping people who had a dream get their chance in the spotlight. Even if it was one small story in the paper for a single day, recycled the next. It truly was my spark.
When my focus had to turn to helping myself more, I lost my spark. When creativity was churned out for dollars more than satisfaction, I lost my spark. I know that's the way of the real world, but it extinguished something inside of me...
Now Im happy to just work for money because I still find a level of satisfaction in simply doing a good job and making a wage that supports me and my boys. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I will find my spark again one day. I will care about helping people through my words again one day. To inspire. To encourage. To support.
One day. Again.
Im not a professional writer anymore... or much, these days. I have been pondering tonight what it was that made me so happy about writing for the OC Register. Outside of the challenge to come up with a catchy, well-written lead, I know what fueled me... I helped people. I was able to wield my pen to inform, to inspire, but also to support... and that's what I loved the most. I loved writing about companies (especially female-owned) who offered lovely goods or services and using my power of the press to support their endeavours. Of course their story alone had merit, but it was my way of helping people who had a dream get their chance in the spotlight. Even if it was one small story in the paper for a single day, recycled the next. It truly was my spark.
When my focus had to turn to helping myself more, I lost my spark. When creativity was churned out for dollars more than satisfaction, I lost my spark. I know that's the way of the real world, but it extinguished something inside of me...
Now Im happy to just work for money because I still find a level of satisfaction in simply doing a good job and making a wage that supports me and my boys. Nothing to be ashamed of in that. I will find my spark again one day. I will care about helping people through my words again one day. To inspire. To encourage. To support.
One day. Again.
Saturday, October 25, 2008
A "writer" on writing...
I'm pondering if there comes a point in your life where you hit a crossroads and realize that it's simply time for a change... I am perhaps there.
I'm not sure if it's the result of my bouts of emotional and physical exhaustion over a span of months, or perhaps it's the milky froth of reality that settles on top after a stirring...
So much of my identity is wrapped in the fact that I'm a writer. To not do this becomes a question for me not of monetary value, but of my value as a person. It is, after all, what I had wanted to be since I was a child. [That, and an actress. An English teacher. A singer, like Amy Grant. And a mom.]
I have lost my spark. I'm not sure how to regain it. The effort required is simply nowhere to be found in this body, or in this heart. Not anymore. I'm tired.
Far gone are the days of SqueezeOC, where although I had my share of setbacks and weaknesses, I produced well-written, creative stories and brought some good ideas to the table. Despite my lack of "face time" and limited capacities being the Mom on staff who did that full-time job with little to no child care support.
Walked away from my fashion writing gig. Not so great at fiction writing; proven that. Wrapping up and then ceasing to take on anymore freelance writing clients. Fate at the Register is pending.
I know that, ultimately, my identity is not in what I do, but who I am...
So here's to embracing that...
I'm not sure if it's the result of my bouts of emotional and physical exhaustion over a span of months, or perhaps it's the milky froth of reality that settles on top after a stirring...
So much of my identity is wrapped in the fact that I'm a writer. To not do this becomes a question for me not of monetary value, but of my value as a person. It is, after all, what I had wanted to be since I was a child. [That, and an actress. An English teacher. A singer, like Amy Grant. And a mom.]
I have lost my spark. I'm not sure how to regain it. The effort required is simply nowhere to be found in this body, or in this heart. Not anymore. I'm tired.
Far gone are the days of SqueezeOC, where although I had my share of setbacks and weaknesses, I produced well-written, creative stories and brought some good ideas to the table. Despite my lack of "face time" and limited capacities being the Mom on staff who did that full-time job with little to no child care support.
Walked away from my fashion writing gig. Not so great at fiction writing; proven that. Wrapping up and then ceasing to take on anymore freelance writing clients. Fate at the Register is pending.
I know that, ultimately, my identity is not in what I do, but who I am...
So here's to embracing that...
Patience
I have waited a long time for deep, heartfelt desires to come to me. Put the hope out into the universe through heart and mind and whispered prayers for years, many years... to now finally have these hopes, real and true, in my life. They have finally come, filling the spaces in my heart to overflowing. So thankful....beyond words...
Thursday, October 16, 2008
Hope
"Hope" is the thing with feathers
-Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
-Emily Dickinson
"Hope" is the thing with feathers—
That perches in the soul—
And sings the tune without the words—
And never stops—at all—
And sweetest—in the Gale—is heard—
And sore must be the storm—
That could abash the little Bird
That kept so many warm—
I've heard it in the chillest land—
And on the strangest Sea—
Yet, never, in Extremity,
It asked a crumb—of Me.
Tuesday, September 30, 2008
Grace
In the past, it seems that whenever I made a mistake I often had to pay through loss...requiring me to let go, grieve, gird up, move on. A severance.
It's nice to realize that life is not always going to be this way... that we have room to not have it all together sometimes, and simply be human, but we don't have to pay through losing what matters to us... we get to keep, because we are meant to have. This is Grace.
It's nice to realize that life is not always going to be this way... that we have room to not have it all together sometimes, and simply be human, but we don't have to pay through losing what matters to us... we get to keep, because we are meant to have. This is Grace.
Sunday, September 28, 2008
Life, etc.
If I had a gigantic metaphysical eraser and could go back and delete some of the decisions I have made over the past few months, I would. But we live this life moment by moment, and sometimes it's like traveling in a heavy mist where we can only see a few feet in front of our faces... so we use wisdom and go slow. I sped through the fog and managed to come out with only a few dings and bruises, so I should be thankful.
I have realized a lot about myself tonight. When you take yourself out of your environment and into a, well, better environment, it's easy to reflect on what you are missing.
Space, for one. The simplest terms. Humans need their space. And my living situation is tolerable, but far from ideal. I'm working to remedy that and provide more for us.....
I know I can be edgy, and it's because, while I know that I'm a good mom, or can be a good mom, I need my space. Literally and figuratively. Always - especially now - I've been balancing work and kids on my own... and I get really fucking tired. And since I never had the finances required to balance these things, I've just had to struggle... and it's easy to get frustrated as a result. (I'm soooo that mom that doesn't live solely to be a mom, and I don't think that's bad. I love my kids. But I'd hire a nanny lickety-split just to have time to jog, or go to the mall by myself... with no shame).
When you struggle for years financially, it's so easy to think poorly. Though I realize that rich and poor are not necessarily a balance in your bank account. It is truly a state of mind. I must remember that regardless of good fortunes or misfortunes, I have to keep my eyes above that horizon line, to keep my gaze on these things that I truly want and aspire to. I can't even tell you the last time I felt truly taken care of...(aside from recent kindness)... I always feel so taken care of at home... my parents' house is so nice and spacious - and grown up - all the makings of my dad's hard work. And though I always assumed I would, I haven't been able to truly take care of myself like that -- financially speaking. Always knew I would be successful, just wondering when the hell that was going to happen. It has always been my job, since I moved here 12 years ago, to take care of myself and give myself the life to which I grew accustomed...and it's not about things, it's about a feeling of knowing that I can depend on myself to keep the bills paid, and never have to fret about the basics. I have pared my life back to such a degree that I truly have only the essentials to deal with, and hope to stay that way regardless of where I go in life. And I do plan to go up...
I have to remember to keep my sights high... To keep my gaze higher, and not allow myself to slip into this moderate, ho-hum thinking. I need to remember what I'm capable of and what I want out of this life, and set my goals and aspirations to match this...
I have realized a lot about myself tonight. When you take yourself out of your environment and into a, well, better environment, it's easy to reflect on what you are missing.
Space, for one. The simplest terms. Humans need their space. And my living situation is tolerable, but far from ideal. I'm working to remedy that and provide more for us.....
I know I can be edgy, and it's because, while I know that I'm a good mom, or can be a good mom, I need my space. Literally and figuratively. Always - especially now - I've been balancing work and kids on my own... and I get really fucking tired. And since I never had the finances required to balance these things, I've just had to struggle... and it's easy to get frustrated as a result. (I'm soooo that mom that doesn't live solely to be a mom, and I don't think that's bad. I love my kids. But I'd hire a nanny lickety-split just to have time to jog, or go to the mall by myself... with no shame).
When you struggle for years financially, it's so easy to think poorly. Though I realize that rich and poor are not necessarily a balance in your bank account. It is truly a state of mind. I must remember that regardless of good fortunes or misfortunes, I have to keep my eyes above that horizon line, to keep my gaze on these things that I truly want and aspire to. I can't even tell you the last time I felt truly taken care of...(aside from recent kindness)... I always feel so taken care of at home... my parents' house is so nice and spacious - and grown up - all the makings of my dad's hard work. And though I always assumed I would, I haven't been able to truly take care of myself like that -- financially speaking. Always knew I would be successful, just wondering when the hell that was going to happen. It has always been my job, since I moved here 12 years ago, to take care of myself and give myself the life to which I grew accustomed...and it's not about things, it's about a feeling of knowing that I can depend on myself to keep the bills paid, and never have to fret about the basics. I have pared my life back to such a degree that I truly have only the essentials to deal with, and hope to stay that way regardless of where I go in life. And I do plan to go up...
I have to remember to keep my sights high... To keep my gaze higher, and not allow myself to slip into this moderate, ho-hum thinking. I need to remember what I'm capable of and what I want out of this life, and set my goals and aspirations to match this...
Thursday, September 4, 2008
somewhere i have never travelled... e e cummings
somewhere i have never travelled,gladly beyond
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
any experience,your eyes have their silence:
in your most frail gesture are things which enclose me,
or which i cannot touch because they are too near
your slightest look easily will unclose me
though i have closed myself as fingers,
you open always petal by petal myself as Spring opens
(touching skilfully,mysteriously) her first rose
or if your wish be to close me,i and
my life will shut very beautifully, suddenly,
as when the heart of this flower imagines
the snow carefully everywhere descending;
nothing which we are to perceive in this world equals
the power of your intense fragility: whose texture
compels me with the color of its countries,
rendering death and forever with each breathing
(i do not know what it is about you that closes
and opens; only something in me understands
the voice of your eyes is deeper than all roses)
nobody,not even the rain, has such small hands
Friday, August 29, 2008
My Goal: Jungle Hiking in Costa Rica
My goal before I got pregnant with my first baby was to get in amazing "Angelina Jolie in Tomb Raider" shape and then take a jungle hiking trip in Costa Rica.
I want to experience hiking through heavy brush, dripping in sweat, then soar along the tops of the trees on one of those canopy-ride things. I want to cool off in the ocean, and later crash exhausted but happy (and hopefully not alone) in a plush, net-covered bed.
So this is my goal, once again. Since I'll be in shape from training for my half-marathon in May (ha!), hopefully I'll have the $$ to take my trip to Costa Rica soon after.
Thursday, August 28, 2008
A good day
Written Aug. 15, 2008
i took my boys to my favorite park today that has the most spectacular view of the harbor, and dozens of white sailboats skimming through the water. i watched the boys ride their bikes while i read a few pages, and then we laid in the grass and watched the clouds for a bit. they told me to shut my eyes, and when i opened them they were standing over me with roses they picked for me. and once again all was right with the world...
i took my boys to my favorite park today that has the most spectacular view of the harbor, and dozens of white sailboats skimming through the water. i watched the boys ride their bikes while i read a few pages, and then we laid in the grass and watched the clouds for a bit. they told me to shut my eyes, and when i opened them they were standing over me with roses they picked for me. and once again all was right with the world...
My postcard town
Written Aug. 19, 2008
I took a walk around my postcard town today for the first time after a several week hiatus due to spraining my ankle. It's a perfectly breezy, sunny day and it felt like waking from a kind of coma to get back out and about again. This was my daily routine for months, and then it simply - stopped.
I love my town. Paying so much to live in California makes sense if you live somewhere that makes your heart sing, and my little town does. My baby boy and I took a walk to the post office to mail a package to a family member back home, and on the way we chatted about things (it's amazing the conversation this child can hold), while we kicked tree fruit on the sidewalk like small orange soccer balls.
I think about my home in Florida. The place that holds all of my childhood memories like building cinder block forts in the pasture, chasing my 4-H steers down our driveway, and sneaking out my bedroom window before midnight to go to a Goth club on the bad side of town with my friends. The driveway where I experienced my first real, heart-stopping kiss. The same driveway, where four years later, I watched as he drove away and out of my life forever. And where I, at age 21, packed up and drove off in Betty, my brown and gold '83 Dodge van, toward a quest for a new adventure in California... Not realizing at the time there would come a day when I ached to return down that driveway and be back home.
I've been contemplating the idea of home, and what that truly means, and where I belong. It has to be more than the place you keep your things, where you get your mail. It's the place where you feel whole. The place you rest your heart. And it's people... the ones who, when we are near them, make us feel that we are, well, home...
This place has my heart. All of you here, you have my heart. And for right now I am content to find my joy here on my own with my two boys, in my little postcard town with its sunny breezes and white sailboats that skim through the cerulean sea, and plenty of sidewalks to stroll as I dream.
I took a walk around my postcard town today for the first time after a several week hiatus due to spraining my ankle. It's a perfectly breezy, sunny day and it felt like waking from a kind of coma to get back out and about again. This was my daily routine for months, and then it simply - stopped.
I love my town. Paying so much to live in California makes sense if you live somewhere that makes your heart sing, and my little town does. My baby boy and I took a walk to the post office to mail a package to a family member back home, and on the way we chatted about things (it's amazing the conversation this child can hold), while we kicked tree fruit on the sidewalk like small orange soccer balls.
I think about my home in Florida. The place that holds all of my childhood memories like building cinder block forts in the pasture, chasing my 4-H steers down our driveway, and sneaking out my bedroom window before midnight to go to a Goth club on the bad side of town with my friends. The driveway where I experienced my first real, heart-stopping kiss. The same driveway, where four years later, I watched as he drove away and out of my life forever. And where I, at age 21, packed up and drove off in Betty, my brown and gold '83 Dodge van, toward a quest for a new adventure in California... Not realizing at the time there would come a day when I ached to return down that driveway and be back home.
I've been contemplating the idea of home, and what that truly means, and where I belong. It has to be more than the place you keep your things, where you get your mail. It's the place where you feel whole. The place you rest your heart. And it's people... the ones who, when we are near them, make us feel that we are, well, home...
This place has my heart. All of you here, you have my heart. And for right now I am content to find my joy here on my own with my two boys, in my little postcard town with its sunny breezes and white sailboats that skim through the cerulean sea, and plenty of sidewalks to stroll as I dream.
Life
Written Aug. 24, 2008
I was crying to my mother on the phone like a little girl just days ago telling her that I just wanted to come home... That I would leave everything behind if I had to and get on a plane with my children and come home and fall into the arms of my loved ones and find rest. To get a break from having to fight so hard to figure out this life and struggle to keep my head above this rising tide. I'm tired.
It was one of my weak days, as I call them, and I know I'm allowed to have them. But then within days, like always it seems, the fire is relit - either through quiet resolve or sparked by being so fucking pissed off that the fighter in me jumps to her feet again ready to go another few rounds.
Of all the bad cliches I could tag to my current situation, "rollercoaster" sums it up. My life plans seem to ebb and flow on a daily basis and I am, to use another cliche, trying to "think outside of the box" to give stability to myself and my boys.
But beyond all of this, I know who I am. And I keep reminding myself that these circumstances, at least, are keeping life interesting. It's helping to sharpen my ability to problem solve and also shaking out some of the areas where I am weak - like finances and bill-paying and expense report filing and anything number-crunching which makes me cringe and I always find 10,000 reasons to walk away, or dance in my kitchen, anything but face what I have to face... And it's not a pretty picture. But this will get better, in time... Great men and women survived the Great Depression... I will survive mine.
I still have my hopes and dreams firmly intact and in many ways, I am living them - even right this minute. Life, on the whole, is good and I have many reasons to be thankful and many reasons to smile. I have two amazing little boys who love me, the best friends in the world, a beautiful family who are my rock and my net, and hope, my greatest lover.
I was crying to my mother on the phone like a little girl just days ago telling her that I just wanted to come home... That I would leave everything behind if I had to and get on a plane with my children and come home and fall into the arms of my loved ones and find rest. To get a break from having to fight so hard to figure out this life and struggle to keep my head above this rising tide. I'm tired.
It was one of my weak days, as I call them, and I know I'm allowed to have them. But then within days, like always it seems, the fire is relit - either through quiet resolve or sparked by being so fucking pissed off that the fighter in me jumps to her feet again ready to go another few rounds.
Of all the bad cliches I could tag to my current situation, "rollercoaster" sums it up. My life plans seem to ebb and flow on a daily basis and I am, to use another cliche, trying to "think outside of the box" to give stability to myself and my boys.
But beyond all of this, I know who I am. And I keep reminding myself that these circumstances, at least, are keeping life interesting. It's helping to sharpen my ability to problem solve and also shaking out some of the areas where I am weak - like finances and bill-paying and expense report filing and anything number-crunching which makes me cringe and I always find 10,000 reasons to walk away, or dance in my kitchen, anything but face what I have to face... And it's not a pretty picture. But this will get better, in time... Great men and women survived the Great Depression... I will survive mine.
I still have my hopes and dreams firmly intact and in many ways, I am living them - even right this minute. Life, on the whole, is good and I have many reasons to be thankful and many reasons to smile. I have two amazing little boys who love me, the best friends in the world, a beautiful family who are my rock and my net, and hope, my greatest lover.
The LaMere Project
written Aug. 1, 2008
i know that it's every woman's right to have a child, and that it's also her responsibility to care for those children. but for moms who do it on their own, the task seems insurmountable. children's home society offers government aid for moms of a certain income bracket, but if you make more than poverty level, you'll never be considered for the help you need to pay for daycare. often, it seems, moms are just a few hundred dollars shy each month, and need that extra push to get them over the hump. but because they don't have that extra bit of help, despair sets in... it's a vicious cycle that many working single-income moms face. it's seems nearly impossible (trust me on this) to find quality, affordable care for your children that allows you to work full-time and still bring home enough money to live -- after paying for the childcare, that is. childcare should cost something, of course, because it's an important service and daycare workers need to make a living too. but there has to be an answer to this problem...
i'm lucky that i haven't ever had to pay most of my income on childcare, yet was still able to work full-time. (i work from home which has it's own set of challenges, but is luckily cost-efficient). but now i need to make more money and am right back in that vicious cycle again, of needing to find a job offering a substantial jump in pay to make the effort worth while.
my heart goes out to the women like me who make too much because they want to make something of themselves and get ahead in life, yet still don't make enough to get by without scrimping and scraping and struggling from month to month. i think about you often and you are in my heart and prayers. help will come... and soon...!
i know that it's every woman's right to have a child, and that it's also her responsibility to care for those children. but for moms who do it on their own, the task seems insurmountable. children's home society offers government aid for moms of a certain income bracket, but if you make more than poverty level, you'll never be considered for the help you need to pay for daycare. often, it seems, moms are just a few hundred dollars shy each month, and need that extra push to get them over the hump. but because they don't have that extra bit of help, despair sets in... it's a vicious cycle that many working single-income moms face. it's seems nearly impossible (trust me on this) to find quality, affordable care for your children that allows you to work full-time and still bring home enough money to live -- after paying for the childcare, that is. childcare should cost something, of course, because it's an important service and daycare workers need to make a living too. but there has to be an answer to this problem...
i'm lucky that i haven't ever had to pay most of my income on childcare, yet was still able to work full-time. (i work from home which has it's own set of challenges, but is luckily cost-efficient). but now i need to make more money and am right back in that vicious cycle again, of needing to find a job offering a substantial jump in pay to make the effort worth while.
my heart goes out to the women like me who make too much because they want to make something of themselves and get ahead in life, yet still don't make enough to get by without scrimping and scraping and struggling from month to month. i think about you often and you are in my heart and prayers. help will come... and soon...!
Me as a Mom
Me as a mom - written July 25, 2008
i belong to a mom's group but i never go to any of the events. i don't do park dates or play dates or the other things most moms do. it's just never stuck. i take my boys to do fun things like go to the park and the beach, disney, the zoo, and fun cultural events where they get to play and do arts and crafts. but im not a play date mom. i sometimes wonder if that's bad. i like to share mom stories with my girlfriends and tell people the funny things my kids do, because they are hilarious, but i don't enjoy sitting around and chat about breast feeding or the pros and cons of attached parenting or vaccination shots. i never cared about having the latest boppy gizmo or the coolest new stroller. (and if i have another baby, im doing that wrap thing). i don't think being a parent is trendy. it's really, really hard work and sometimes i think i fail miserably on a daily basis. im the mom who's always running late, throws the lunch in the bag, lets my oldest pick out his own clothes which means he may or may not match (which i think is adorable) and his shirt may be on backwards. He's 5, it's fine, let it go. i recently cut our toy inventory by half and need to keep giving some things away. i think it's a trap of parental guilt to think love means buying stuff for your kid. i don't think you should love kids with things. you should love them with love. time. fun. and a clean house free from the clutter of damned toys all over the place. no matter how hard i try, i cant seem to, for the life of me, get them to sit down and be good in public when they are wound up, so i just go home. im still not sure what to do about that, but id like to give the finger to anyone without kids who sits and passes judgment. yes, cereal can be dinner and no, you can't have a happy meal. i think that baths are important, of course, but if we skip a day, oh well. i always seem to be the mom who forgets the birthday parties, because if you give me a paper invitation instead of emailing me the info - forget it. that's something i'm working on...
i belong to a mom's group but i never go to any of the events. i don't do park dates or play dates or the other things most moms do. it's just never stuck. i take my boys to do fun things like go to the park and the beach, disney, the zoo, and fun cultural events where they get to play and do arts and crafts. but im not a play date mom. i sometimes wonder if that's bad. i like to share mom stories with my girlfriends and tell people the funny things my kids do, because they are hilarious, but i don't enjoy sitting around and chat about breast feeding or the pros and cons of attached parenting or vaccination shots. i never cared about having the latest boppy gizmo or the coolest new stroller. (and if i have another baby, im doing that wrap thing). i don't think being a parent is trendy. it's really, really hard work and sometimes i think i fail miserably on a daily basis. im the mom who's always running late, throws the lunch in the bag, lets my oldest pick out his own clothes which means he may or may not match (which i think is adorable) and his shirt may be on backwards. He's 5, it's fine, let it go. i recently cut our toy inventory by half and need to keep giving some things away. i think it's a trap of parental guilt to think love means buying stuff for your kid. i don't think you should love kids with things. you should love them with love. time. fun. and a clean house free from the clutter of damned toys all over the place. no matter how hard i try, i cant seem to, for the life of me, get them to sit down and be good in public when they are wound up, so i just go home. im still not sure what to do about that, but id like to give the finger to anyone without kids who sits and passes judgment. yes, cereal can be dinner and no, you can't have a happy meal. i think that baths are important, of course, but if we skip a day, oh well. i always seem to be the mom who forgets the birthday parties, because if you give me a paper invitation instead of emailing me the info - forget it. that's something i'm working on...
ISM: SK8OLOGY Online Charity Auction
I can't skateboard worth a damn. The last time I attempted was 12 years ago in a parking lot in the desert where I managed to "do" (or whatever the proper action verb is in this context) an Ollie and fell and hurt -er- mildly scraped my elbow and decided I was over it. (This instance could have been a clue for me later on in my life that I am not, nor ever will be, cut out to be a roller derby girl).
But I still love the art of skateboarding - and yes, I do think it's an art. Especially reflected in these beautiful skateboard decks, on auction now as part of ISM's SK8OLOGY online charity auction.
They are quite lovely, and proceeds benefit the local arts.
My MySpace addiction, and a new goal...
It's been far too long since I've posted regularly here.
Sweet Paper Posy, I have abandoned you. I realize that. I've instead been a fool about my MySpace page. Posting photos, posting blogs, and putting up and taking down videos like it's a damn virtual yearbook. I like bulletin boards for things like photos and magazine clippings and quotes and things and MySpace has become that, or a sort of shrine to myself.
If it all has to go somewhere, this is a good place... this blog started out as a place for all of my thoughts and so I've come back to you, my sweet neglected post. And since I have only two readers (who already love me and I them - hi Heidi and Shana!), there's little risk of embarrassing myself too badly here....
So, some great new developments in my life. One of the most exciting (that I'm willing to share at this time) is my new goal to get in shape again, after losing out on about two months of walking/jogging time due to my bum ankle. But I'm not just running to run -- I aim to run a half-marathon next May! Ahhh!
Yes, this asthmatic, pain-phobic chica is going to spend a morning running 13.1 miles - and this is happening in about nine months! Talk about labor pains! I'm nervous about reaching my goal, but I'm determined. I also signed up for a 2K race in mid-October to get my feet wet, so to speak, with a goal of running the one-mile-plus race in 15-20 minutes without stopping or walking.
I'm on Day 2 of my training and so far, it's been pretty rough. Lots more walking than running going on, but tackling these steep Dana Point hills nevertheless. I'm definitley out of shape and have a lot of work to do! One step at a time...
Sweet Paper Posy, I have abandoned you. I realize that. I've instead been a fool about my MySpace page. Posting photos, posting blogs, and putting up and taking down videos like it's a damn virtual yearbook. I like bulletin boards for things like photos and magazine clippings and quotes and things and MySpace has become that, or a sort of shrine to myself.
If it all has to go somewhere, this is a good place... this blog started out as a place for all of my thoughts and so I've come back to you, my sweet neglected post. And since I have only two readers (who already love me and I them - hi Heidi and Shana!), there's little risk of embarrassing myself too badly here....
So, some great new developments in my life. One of the most exciting (that I'm willing to share at this time) is my new goal to get in shape again, after losing out on about two months of walking/jogging time due to my bum ankle. But I'm not just running to run -- I aim to run a half-marathon next May! Ahhh!
Yes, this asthmatic, pain-phobic chica is going to spend a morning running 13.1 miles - and this is happening in about nine months! Talk about labor pains! I'm nervous about reaching my goal, but I'm determined. I also signed up for a 2K race in mid-October to get my feet wet, so to speak, with a goal of running the one-mile-plus race in 15-20 minutes without stopping or walking.
I'm on Day 2 of my training and so far, it's been pretty rough. Lots more walking than running going on, but tackling these steep Dana Point hills nevertheless. I'm definitley out of shape and have a lot of work to do! One step at a time...
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Cute as a Cupcake
This adorable Lieber Strawberry Cupcake Clutch looks good enough to eat! Or gaze at with a stupefied grin for a little while ;)
You can pay $4,295 for this sweet treat, or borrow it from Bag, Borrow or Steal for $136 per week.
Claim to fame: The clutch was featured in the Sex and the City movie - in the "before the wedding" scene.
Friday, June 13, 2008
$7,000 for a Future
Cleaning out my inbox tonight - deleting messages as far back as 2002. I found this little something I wrote in 2004 and thought I would post it.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"$7,000 for a Future"
It was a Tuesday in the spring of 2000. I was 25 and my life was at a standstill. I was tired of being a receptionist, working at temporary jobs answering phones, filing, and sorting mail. I was looking in the classifieds for a new job when a large square ad at the top of the page caught my eye. The ad was for Platt College, a design school in Newport Beach. The wheels in my head started to turn.
I wanted a creative job, something more fulfilling than office work. I wanted to eventually work for a magazine, and going into graphic design could be a back door into writing, I summized. I called right away and made a 1 p.m. appointment that day to visit an admissions counselor.
The recruiter was perfect for her job. She was a personable, upbeat lady - the type of person you want go to lunch with and chat with, in hopes you'll catch whatever it is she's got. After talking with her and taking a tour of the school, I decided going to Platt was the right next step in my life, and I signed up for the one-year program on the spot, and then signed papers for about $7,000 worth of loans.
Classes were held from 6-10 p.m. Monday through Thursday. At the first meeting, we got our art kits: a tackle box-looking bin filled with graphic arts pencils, tools, erasers, markers, and other tools. It felt like the first day of kindergarten... It was great.
Pinned up above the chalk boards in the front of the room was student artwork - great art work that was both inspiring and intimidating. I hoped I could rise to the challenge. I am not a natural artist, but I wanted to create the art projects I saw when I closed my eyes. I hoped I could.
My first semester was with graphic artist Tony Colombini, the principal of Corner, a design firm in Costa Mesa. His teaching style was like comedy traffic school - very laid back and personable, with a goofy yet entertaining sense of humor and an endearing laugh. He brought the world of graphic arts alive and within our grasp - form and color and perspective. We all worked diligently hunched over our green design tables, tracing, drawing, coloring or stipling (creating images with dots).
The room was filled with 25 or students. I remember most of the faces, it's names I don't remember. Many left or were ahead of us, but there was a core group of us - seven or so of us who started together and became a little group.
During our nightly 30-minute break, we would stroll over to the nearby Deitrich's for coffee, and sit around at the outside tables and talk. What we talked about I can't remember - movies, music, life - whatever. I loved it. It was the first time I belonged to anything like that in a long time. I didn't have to struggle or try. It was a nice feeling. If break had started and I was lagging, they waited for me. I was so used to just being left behind. But they didn't leave. They waited.
We were an interesting, diverse bunch - a group brought together by our desire to create art, and brought together outside of it by our different personalities that all just seemed to click somehow.
Sitting around the two black rod iron tables dragged from their places to be closer together, there's Yen, a designer best known in class for his simple, chic monocolor designs. He is now a designer at the Cannery firm in the heart of Hollywood, at a building next to the El Capitan Theatre at Hollywood and Vine, and making mega-bucks. He wears funky looking Nike's and loves pug dogs. He recently got married to his long time girlfriend, Tess.
And there's Matt, a student whose work I don't remember, but who was and is a friend, who flirted relentless with me until the last time I talked to him before I got married. We are friends again, see each other now and then.
And ah, Nate, a tattooed bad boy slightly younger than me, who had the whole rock-a-billy thing going on, drove a hot classic car, had a longtime on-again off-again girlfriend (a black-haired, red-lipped beauty), and played upright bass in a band. He talked openly about how much he loved sex, and while at school got a job at a porn store. Red flags waved wildly all around him, but he gave this (then virgin) girl a hot, fluttery feeling, and I flirted with the thought, that if the chance ever presented itself, he could me take over to the dark side with him, if only for a moment.
Joel was a professional skater, a nice clean-cut guy who drove from San Clemente where he lived with his cute but air-headed girlfriend to Newport Beach every night so he could one day be a designer for a skateboarding magazine.
And Kelly, a girl with short black-bobbed hair, who had a hard edge that turned me off at first.I thought she was harsh, boorish, rude. But to get to know her, she was a caring person, a gentle personality with a heartfelt laugh. She was beautiful, with china doll skin and makeup to match, and always looked neat and fashionable, even if was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and converse. You knows those types? I don't know how they do it. I am the type who without fail has a stain on my shirt by lunch.
Kelly, who was about 30 then, had recently graduated accounting school, and decided crunching numbers was much too dry. While going to Platt, she worked as a human resources assistant at an internet certification company in Santa Ana called Prosoft Training.
She met a guy on-line and fell in love. The second time they saw each other, they married at a drive-thru chapel in Vegas. Crazy kids. She quit Platt to join her new husband but before she left, she referred me for her job at human resources assistant.I interviewed with her boss, Anna, who I instantly thought was terrific, and got the job - with full benefits and making the most I had ever made in my life!
But I didn't see Platt to the end -- I left just a few weeks shy of graduating. I realized that while I loved art, someone else needed to create it. And after realizing this, I just couldn't endure the schedule anymore. I wanted to write out all of my ideas, and the computer programs didn't stick in my brain as well as I hoped. Yen, who was a natural, had to tutor me so I could move on to the last semester. It was a difficult and costly decision - $7,000 down the drain I thought. But the hardest part was saying goodbye to the break bunch.
Right before I left school, I started a copywriting internship for Tony, and from there met his creative coach, RaShelle Westcott, and started writing for her, bartering coaching for writing. She helped me learn to write down my goals and not be afraid to ask for what I want. I continued to take on writing jobs with other designers, making pennies but gaining valuable experience and a portfolio of writing samples.
Fast-forward about two and a half years...
Prosoft is close to closing its doors. I'd be getting laid off soon but couldn't bear getting yet another job where I'm not writing.
Providence steps in - in the form of a mass e-mail sent to Prosoft folks. On the list of e-mail addresses, I noticed that a laid-off Prosoft employee, an editor named Tom Graves, had an Orange County Register e-mail address. I emailed Tom and told him how jealous I was he worked at the Register. What a dream come true that would be, I told him.
A few weeks later, he emailed me about a news assistant position that was open at the Fountain Valley bureau. I applied, faxed my writing samples to editor Iris Yokoi, and was hired several weeks later - over the phone!
Two other news assistants had been hired, but for whatever reason, couldn't take the job. That's because it was meant to be mine. I worked part-time at the Register and part-time at Prosoft until I was laid off from there in October, 2003. (I'm writing for about four community papers - and it's so amazing to see my work in print!)
At the time I started my job at the Register, I had been married for one month and had an 11-month old son, Nathan. Several months later, Kelly got pregnant and then separated from her husband who didn't want to be a father. We were friends again - in the same place in our lives, so different than when we had met at school. We talk about being a mom and help each other through things. Her son is now one. Nathan is almost two, and we are so excited that they can play and be friends.
I look back on the crazy day when I randomly picked up the paper and impulsively signed up for design school. I am still paying off $7,000 worth of loans and couldn't design anything if my life depended on it. But I look at where that experience has brought me, and all the people I met through it. It makes it all worth it.
And I realized that while it may take a while to see the purpose in some things, nothing in life happens by accident.
Everything happens for a reason. Everything has its purpose. And that is beautiful.
____________________________________________________________________________________
"$7,000 for a Future"
It was a Tuesday in the spring of 2000. I was 25 and my life was at a standstill. I was tired of being a receptionist, working at temporary jobs answering phones, filing, and sorting mail. I was looking in the classifieds for a new job when a large square ad at the top of the page caught my eye. The ad was for Platt College, a design school in Newport Beach. The wheels in my head started to turn.
I wanted a creative job, something more fulfilling than office work. I wanted to eventually work for a magazine, and going into graphic design could be a back door into writing, I summized. I called right away and made a 1 p.m. appointment that day to visit an admissions counselor.
The recruiter was perfect for her job. She was a personable, upbeat lady - the type of person you want go to lunch with and chat with, in hopes you'll catch whatever it is she's got. After talking with her and taking a tour of the school, I decided going to Platt was the right next step in my life, and I signed up for the one-year program on the spot, and then signed papers for about $7,000 worth of loans.
Classes were held from 6-10 p.m. Monday through Thursday. At the first meeting, we got our art kits: a tackle box-looking bin filled with graphic arts pencils, tools, erasers, markers, and other tools. It felt like the first day of kindergarten... It was great.
Pinned up above the chalk boards in the front of the room was student artwork - great art work that was both inspiring and intimidating. I hoped I could rise to the challenge. I am not a natural artist, but I wanted to create the art projects I saw when I closed my eyes. I hoped I could.
My first semester was with graphic artist Tony Colombini, the principal of Corner, a design firm in Costa Mesa. His teaching style was like comedy traffic school - very laid back and personable, with a goofy yet entertaining sense of humor and an endearing laugh. He brought the world of graphic arts alive and within our grasp - form and color and perspective. We all worked diligently hunched over our green design tables, tracing, drawing, coloring or stipling (creating images with dots).
The room was filled with 25 or students. I remember most of the faces, it's names I don't remember. Many left or were ahead of us, but there was a core group of us - seven or so of us who started together and became a little group.
During our nightly 30-minute break, we would stroll over to the nearby Deitrich's for coffee, and sit around at the outside tables and talk. What we talked about I can't remember - movies, music, life - whatever. I loved it. It was the first time I belonged to anything like that in a long time. I didn't have to struggle or try. It was a nice feeling. If break had started and I was lagging, they waited for me. I was so used to just being left behind. But they didn't leave. They waited.
We were an interesting, diverse bunch - a group brought together by our desire to create art, and brought together outside of it by our different personalities that all just seemed to click somehow.
Sitting around the two black rod iron tables dragged from their places to be closer together, there's Yen, a designer best known in class for his simple, chic monocolor designs. He is now a designer at the Cannery firm in the heart of Hollywood, at a building next to the El Capitan Theatre at Hollywood and Vine, and making mega-bucks. He wears funky looking Nike's and loves pug dogs. He recently got married to his long time girlfriend, Tess.
And there's Matt, a student whose work I don't remember, but who was and is a friend, who flirted relentless with me until the last time I talked to him before I got married. We are friends again, see each other now and then.
And ah, Nate, a tattooed bad boy slightly younger than me, who had the whole rock-a-billy thing going on, drove a hot classic car, had a longtime on-again off-again girlfriend (a black-haired, red-lipped beauty), and played upright bass in a band. He talked openly about how much he loved sex, and while at school got a job at a porn store. Red flags waved wildly all around him, but he gave this (then virgin) girl a hot, fluttery feeling, and I flirted with the thought, that if the chance ever presented itself, he could me take over to the dark side with him, if only for a moment.
Joel was a professional skater, a nice clean-cut guy who drove from San Clemente where he lived with his cute but air-headed girlfriend to Newport Beach every night so he could one day be a designer for a skateboarding magazine.
And Kelly, a girl with short black-bobbed hair, who had a hard edge that turned me off at first.I thought she was harsh, boorish, rude. But to get to know her, she was a caring person, a gentle personality with a heartfelt laugh. She was beautiful, with china doll skin and makeup to match, and always looked neat and fashionable, even if was wearing a t-shirt, jeans and converse. You knows those types? I don't know how they do it. I am the type who without fail has a stain on my shirt by lunch.
Kelly, who was about 30 then, had recently graduated accounting school, and decided crunching numbers was much too dry. While going to Platt, she worked as a human resources assistant at an internet certification company in Santa Ana called Prosoft Training.
She met a guy on-line and fell in love. The second time they saw each other, they married at a drive-thru chapel in Vegas. Crazy kids. She quit Platt to join her new husband but before she left, she referred me for her job at human resources assistant.I interviewed with her boss, Anna, who I instantly thought was terrific, and got the job - with full benefits and making the most I had ever made in my life!
But I didn't see Platt to the end -- I left just a few weeks shy of graduating. I realized that while I loved art, someone else needed to create it. And after realizing this, I just couldn't endure the schedule anymore. I wanted to write out all of my ideas, and the computer programs didn't stick in my brain as well as I hoped. Yen, who was a natural, had to tutor me so I could move on to the last semester. It was a difficult and costly decision - $7,000 down the drain I thought. But the hardest part was saying goodbye to the break bunch.
Right before I left school, I started a copywriting internship for Tony, and from there met his creative coach, RaShelle Westcott, and started writing for her, bartering coaching for writing. She helped me learn to write down my goals and not be afraid to ask for what I want. I continued to take on writing jobs with other designers, making pennies but gaining valuable experience and a portfolio of writing samples.
Fast-forward about two and a half years...
Prosoft is close to closing its doors. I'd be getting laid off soon but couldn't bear getting yet another job where I'm not writing.
Providence steps in - in the form of a mass e-mail sent to Prosoft folks. On the list of e-mail addresses, I noticed that a laid-off Prosoft employee, an editor named Tom Graves, had an Orange County Register e-mail address. I emailed Tom and told him how jealous I was he worked at the Register. What a dream come true that would be, I told him.
A few weeks later, he emailed me about a news assistant position that was open at the Fountain Valley bureau. I applied, faxed my writing samples to editor Iris Yokoi, and was hired several weeks later - over the phone!
Two other news assistants had been hired, but for whatever reason, couldn't take the job. That's because it was meant to be mine. I worked part-time at the Register and part-time at Prosoft until I was laid off from there in October, 2003. (I'm writing for about four community papers - and it's so amazing to see my work in print!)
At the time I started my job at the Register, I had been married for one month and had an 11-month old son, Nathan. Several months later, Kelly got pregnant and then separated from her husband who didn't want to be a father. We were friends again - in the same place in our lives, so different than when we had met at school. We talk about being a mom and help each other through things. Her son is now one. Nathan is almost two, and we are so excited that they can play and be friends.
I look back on the crazy day when I randomly picked up the paper and impulsively signed up for design school. I am still paying off $7,000 worth of loans and couldn't design anything if my life depended on it. But I look at where that experience has brought me, and all the people I met through it. It makes it all worth it.
And I realized that while it may take a while to see the purpose in some things, nothing in life happens by accident.
Everything happens for a reason. Everything has its purpose. And that is beautiful.
Monday, June 9, 2008
The Man Haters Club
So a girlfriend of mine recently joined the ephemeral "Man Haters Club." You know the one.
We were chatting it up last night all about the ridiculousness of the male sector, getting some good laughs (and punches and jabs) in.
In case you're wondering, girls join this club because we fall for the wrong guys. The guys who stand us up. The ones who never call or email back. Or their hearts are cold and black like the Grinch. The ones who say they want a someone real but really just want to bang the girls from the pages of Maxim. The ones who toy with our hearts like we're yo-yo's.
We know better than to lump all guys in one batch. There are some good ones out there, we know. I hope to become a member of the "I've Found True, Real, Madly In, For Keeps Love" club one day.
I know my friend does too.
We were chatting it up last night all about the ridiculousness of the male sector, getting some good laughs (and punches and jabs) in.
In case you're wondering, girls join this club because we fall for the wrong guys. The guys who stand us up. The ones who never call or email back. Or their hearts are cold and black like the Grinch. The ones who say they want a someone real but really just want to bang the girls from the pages of Maxim. The ones who toy with our hearts like we're yo-yo's.
We know better than to lump all guys in one batch. There are some good ones out there, we know. I hope to become a member of the "I've Found True, Real, Madly In, For Keeps Love" club one day.
I know my friend does too.
Monday, June 2, 2008
And the pendulum swings...
I’m going through a lot of changes right now.
A lot of gains and losses.
People coming in my life, and leaving it.
Some are easy come, easy go.
Others - hurt.
It's like a pendulum, my mom told me yesterday.
Swaying from one extreme to the other.
I’m just trying to find my center.
To find my true north.
I heard that line in a movie -- I'm sure you know it.
I'm finding out what I really want in life.
I know what I want.
It's figuring out how to live life until I find it...
Or it comes to me.
..........................
I think the best thing to do is simply stop talking.
To not figure out life with words gushing out of my mouth like a spigot before my brain and heart have had a chance to catch up, and filter out.
I can be so black and white. Reign myself in so hard that I buck.
The point of this new chapter of my life is to spread my wings and explore all that life has for me.
Not to box myself in, or cage myself up...
There’s so much life to live.
I want to live a full life.
An honest life. A happy life.
And I don't want to hurt others as I live it.
A lot of gains and losses.
People coming in my life, and leaving it.
Some are easy come, easy go.
Others - hurt.
It's like a pendulum, my mom told me yesterday.
Swaying from one extreme to the other.
I’m just trying to find my center.
To find my true north.
I heard that line in a movie -- I'm sure you know it.
I'm finding out what I really want in life.
I know what I want.
It's figuring out how to live life until I find it...
Or it comes to me.
..........................
I think the best thing to do is simply stop talking.
To not figure out life with words gushing out of my mouth like a spigot before my brain and heart have had a chance to catch up, and filter out.
I can be so black and white. Reign myself in so hard that I buck.
The point of this new chapter of my life is to spread my wings and explore all that life has for me.
Not to box myself in, or cage myself up...
There’s so much life to live.
I want to live a full life.
An honest life. A happy life.
And I don't want to hurt others as I live it.
Monday, May 26, 2008
Remember
(Yes, three blog posts in one day. I've been neglecting my post, and making up for lost time)
Today is Memorial Day. It's a day to stop and think about these young guys in their 20s who are dying for the cause over in Iraq - whether or not you agree with the war. Their young lives are over. It's a chilling realization.
I also think about my great-uncle Tom, who died as a young officer during World War II. I never got to meet him, obviously, but I got to visit the monument erected in his honor in the French village of Wissous, just outside of Paris.
His aircraft underwent enemy fire and went down over the village, and the pilot steered the plane away from the church and crashed into a wall instead. It was a Sunday morning, and the entire village would have been killed had the plane crashed into the church. The villagers streamed out of the church, I am told, to see what happened. My great-uncle was shot by German artillery as he jumped from the plane. He never had a chance. The villagers thoughtfully buried the men in shallow graves until the bodies could be transported to their final resting places.
One of the villagers, who was just a child at the time, contacted my grandfather and invited him to Paris for the unveiling of the memorial. This was about 17 years ago or so. My grandfather learned French and accepted the honor on his brother's behalf, speaking fluently. (My grandfather is the smartest man I have ever known).
My grandparents made friends with several of the villagers and these are the people I was able to meet and spend the day with on my trip, which was about 13 years ago now. They showed me a model of the aircraft that went down. We visited the crash site, and I saw the church. And I saw the beautiful memorial, and traced along the letters carved in marble with my finger... WILKINS.(I'll try to scan and add some photos soon).
Losing someone you love is a wound that time can numb but can never heal, and I know my grandfather never stopped missing his brother. I often think about the cousins I would have had, and how our family would have been even fuller and happier with him there. All we have are his medals and photos, and a gorgeous oil painting of him that my grandfather painted. And now my son (Nathan Thomas) bears his name, in honor of the brother my grandfather loved so much. The war hero.
Happy Memorial Day.
Today is Memorial Day. It's a day to stop and think about these young guys in their 20s who are dying for the cause over in Iraq - whether or not you agree with the war. Their young lives are over. It's a chilling realization.
I also think about my great-uncle Tom, who died as a young officer during World War II. I never got to meet him, obviously, but I got to visit the monument erected in his honor in the French village of Wissous, just outside of Paris.
His aircraft underwent enemy fire and went down over the village, and the pilot steered the plane away from the church and crashed into a wall instead. It was a Sunday morning, and the entire village would have been killed had the plane crashed into the church. The villagers streamed out of the church, I am told, to see what happened. My great-uncle was shot by German artillery as he jumped from the plane. He never had a chance. The villagers thoughtfully buried the men in shallow graves until the bodies could be transported to their final resting places.
One of the villagers, who was just a child at the time, contacted my grandfather and invited him to Paris for the unveiling of the memorial. This was about 17 years ago or so. My grandfather learned French and accepted the honor on his brother's behalf, speaking fluently. (My grandfather is the smartest man I have ever known).
My grandparents made friends with several of the villagers and these are the people I was able to meet and spend the day with on my trip, which was about 13 years ago now. They showed me a model of the aircraft that went down. We visited the crash site, and I saw the church. And I saw the beautiful memorial, and traced along the letters carved in marble with my finger... WILKINS.(I'll try to scan and add some photos soon).
Losing someone you love is a wound that time can numb but can never heal, and I know my grandfather never stopped missing his brother. I often think about the cousins I would have had, and how our family would have been even fuller and happier with him there. All we have are his medals and photos, and a gorgeous oil painting of him that my grandfather painted. And now my son (Nathan Thomas) bears his name, in honor of the brother my grandfather loved so much. The war hero.
Happy Memorial Day.
What I did this summer...
I'm extremely excited about summer this year, like a kid who's antsy to get out of school. There are so many things i want to DO and experience and explore. I've been mulling this list over for weeks, and keep telling myself I need to write it down so I don't forget anything.
So here's my list:
-Angels games
-Catch up on the movies I'm told are terrific but I've never seen... (the list is way too long)
-Conquer my fear of heights... maybe.
-Music gigs with Justin, the amazing guitarist
-Cosmic bowling
-Safari or sleepover at the Wild Animal Park
-Go to the zoo by myself to sit and watch the gorillas
-Lots of walks on the beach
-Lay out on the beach and work on a good tan
-Go swimming
-Teach the boys how to surf or boogie board
-Teach the boys how to skateboard
-Learn to surf
-Learn to skateboard
-Play put-put golf
-Go rollerskating (old fashioned 8-wheels)
-Regular walks to Dana Point Harbor
-Bike on the boardwalk in HB and Newport weekly
-Hike at Crystal Cove and in the back country of Laguna
-Snorkel at Catalina
-Read some really good books
-Symphony at Verizon or Hollywood Bowl
-Lots of indie rock shows
-Go on a sailboat
-See Wicked again
-Dance like a feign on the dance floor
-"Murals Under the Stars" at MOLAA in Long Beach
-Art Walk in Santa Ana
-Trip to the Getty
-Weekend (booze) cruise to Mexico with Rach
-Explore my artistic talents at Color Me Mine (haha)
-Ride roller coasters at California Adventure
-Wine tasting/beer tasting
-Learn more about cheese
-Sushi eating
-Cook my own food at one of those Thai restaurants, is it?
-Learn to cook something in my own kitchen
-Tennis
-Watch the game at a sports bar
-Kayak with Rach
-Camp out by the beach
-Star gaze
-Road trip to Santa Barbara to see Hearst Castle
-Trip to Seattle
Shana and Hdz - you are my two faithful readers ;) If you have any other fun ideas, let me know!
So here's my list:
-Angels games
-Catch up on the movies I'm told are terrific but I've never seen... (the list is way too long)
-Conquer my fear of heights... maybe.
-Music gigs with Justin, the amazing guitarist
-Cosmic bowling
-Safari or sleepover at the Wild Animal Park
-Go to the zoo by myself to sit and watch the gorillas
-Lots of walks on the beach
-Lay out on the beach and work on a good tan
-Go swimming
-Teach the boys how to surf or boogie board
-Teach the boys how to skateboard
-Learn to surf
-Learn to skateboard
-Play put-put golf
-Go rollerskating (old fashioned 8-wheels)
-Regular walks to Dana Point Harbor
-Bike on the boardwalk in HB and Newport weekly
-Hike at Crystal Cove and in the back country of Laguna
-Snorkel at Catalina
-Read some really good books
-Symphony at Verizon or Hollywood Bowl
-Lots of indie rock shows
-Go on a sailboat
-See Wicked again
-Dance like a feign on the dance floor
-"Murals Under the Stars" at MOLAA in Long Beach
-Art Walk in Santa Ana
-Trip to the Getty
-Weekend (booze) cruise to Mexico with Rach
-Explore my artistic talents at Color Me Mine (haha)
-Ride roller coasters at California Adventure
-Wine tasting/beer tasting
-Learn more about cheese
-Sushi eating
-Cook my own food at one of those Thai restaurants, is it?
-Learn to cook something in my own kitchen
-Tennis
-Watch the game at a sports bar
-Kayak with Rach
-Camp out by the beach
-Star gaze
-Road trip to Santa Barbara to see Hearst Castle
-Trip to Seattle
Shana and Hdz - you are my two faithful readers ;) If you have any other fun ideas, let me know!
Monday, May 12, 2008
Jimmy Fallon taking over for Conan
I think Jimmy Fallon is so adorable. Now I get to ogle him nightly, as soon as Conan takes over for Jay. Looks like it's time to get a DVR! Read the story here.
Wednesday, April 16, 2008
paper soul
I found my old zines and poems today, circa 1995. This is one poem that I had forgotten I had written.
I think the beauty of a scar is that it's a wound that has healed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ever since I was a child
i set in my mind
that one day I would climb trees with him
his partner and his best friend
and we would not be
separated by that great divide...
It would be real.
And you told me the story
of how you walked away and
you wanted him to fight for you
to fight for me
but he just let us go
and I have heard your pain
muffled under the words you spoke to me
so calmly and frankly
and it became so clear
like looking in a mirror...
did we both let fear
a terror beyond
what we could ever explain...
did we let it make us run
and turn our backs
on the world that we had
...because we had the world...
how could two who are so sensitive
who hold such wild dreams
be so blind to all
that is in front of us
mother, i can not hold it against you
we both carry inside a deep regret
for i too
let the love of my life
slip out of my hands...
I think the beauty of a scar is that it's a wound that has healed.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ever since I was a child
i set in my mind
that one day I would climb trees with him
his partner and his best friend
and we would not be
separated by that great divide...
It would be real.
And you told me the story
of how you walked away and
you wanted him to fight for you
to fight for me
but he just let us go
and I have heard your pain
muffled under the words you spoke to me
so calmly and frankly
and it became so clear
like looking in a mirror...
did we both let fear
a terror beyond
what we could ever explain...
did we let it make us run
and turn our backs
on the world that we had
...because we had the world...
how could two who are so sensitive
who hold such wild dreams
be so blind to all
that is in front of us
mother, i can not hold it against you
we both carry inside a deep regret
for i too
let the love of my life
slip out of my hands...
Sunday, April 13, 2008
Friday, April 11, 2008
My new favorite song: Nothing
Pedro The Lion: Nothing
If only the rules were
built upon philosophy that I embraced
I'd hug your neck and kiss your face,
but it's very obvious
that your ideals are not for me.
You'll tell me what to do
but you will see that I do as I please.
Cause I want to
do it my way,
and I want to fly,
I want to
do it my way,
cause I want to fly.
The problem with rules is
they alienate the criminals
when whose to say
if what they did was wrong that day.
If you'd open your mind up
you'd see that there is nothing
that's always wrong.
No matter what you say,
it's just not true that
there's only one way.
Cause I want to
do it my way,
cause I want to fly,
I want to
do it my way,
and I want to fly.
I hope we have ourselves
an understanding.
I hope we have ourselves
an understanding.
I hope we have ourselves
an understanding.
If only the rules were
built upon philosophy that I embraced
I'd hug your neck and kiss your face,
but it's very obvious
that your ideals are not for me.
You'll tell me what to do
but you will see that I do as I please.
Cause I want to
do it my way,
and I want to fly,
I want to
do it my way,
cause I want to fly.
The problem with rules is
they alienate the criminals
when whose to say
if what they did was wrong that day.
If you'd open your mind up
you'd see that there is nothing
that's always wrong.
No matter what you say,
it's just not true that
there's only one way.
Cause I want to
do it my way,
cause I want to fly,
I want to
do it my way,
and I want to fly.
I hope we have ourselves
an understanding.
I hope we have ourselves
an understanding.
I hope we have ourselves
an understanding.
Sunday, April 6, 2008
Drunk guys are dumb
So last night I met my friend Courtney for a quick drink in Newport Beach. (I felt a little guilty since my BFF Rachel was having a dinner party I had to pass on due to the travel time and babysitting cost...) But a cocktail? I was sitting on my bed shredding old bills when Court sent the text around 7 p.m. Couldn't pass it up.
So we met at Gulfstream (Rach's old restaurant - and I'm sorry to say the service sucked - they need you). I hadn't even reached the front door before this drunk dude started hitting on me. He was amusing at first, but it quickly crossed over to obnoxious. In a sober state, he seemed like he may be a cool, sincere (though not at all my type) guy. But drunk, he was just an idiot.
Guys, if you're in your 30s (or a 35-year-old MBA student, as this guy was), why on earth would you think smart, professional women would be interested in a dude acting like a frat boy? Seriously. We're old enough and smart enough to know not to be impressed by that.
I speak for myself, and my girlfriends, that women want a guy we can carry on a good conversation with. Sparks are important, of course, but we want a level playing field, not some guy falling and fawning all over us. So, take note: we're not impressed by your excessive compliments or flattery - or outlandish drunken behavior. If you want to meet us, stay sober and show a little maturity. Or go out with your guy friends and spend the evening hitting on 20-somethings, or whores. But leave us quality girls alone.
So we met at Gulfstream (Rach's old restaurant - and I'm sorry to say the service sucked - they need you). I hadn't even reached the front door before this drunk dude started hitting on me. He was amusing at first, but it quickly crossed over to obnoxious. In a sober state, he seemed like he may be a cool, sincere (though not at all my type) guy. But drunk, he was just an idiot.
Guys, if you're in your 30s (or a 35-year-old MBA student, as this guy was), why on earth would you think smart, professional women would be interested in a dude acting like a frat boy? Seriously. We're old enough and smart enough to know not to be impressed by that.
I speak for myself, and my girlfriends, that women want a guy we can carry on a good conversation with. Sparks are important, of course, but we want a level playing field, not some guy falling and fawning all over us. So, take note: we're not impressed by your excessive compliments or flattery - or outlandish drunken behavior. If you want to meet us, stay sober and show a little maturity. Or go out with your guy friends and spend the evening hitting on 20-somethings, or whores. But leave us quality girls alone.
Monday, March 31, 2008
Cheeses that please us
I don't like wine (I've tried to no avail) but I love cheese. I'm not a fromage connoisseur by any means, but I'm learning. My favorites are Idiazabel, a sharp, smoky cheese from Spain, and Tilston Point, a nutty Wisconsin blue cheese.
I always want to try new varieties, so please share! Are you a cheese lover? What are your favorites?
Saturday, March 29, 2008
Turn the Lights Out!
Help save the earth today by simply flicking off your light switches and kickin' it in the dark for an hour. It could actually be fun - especially if you're with your hunny, am I right?
Earth Hour invites people around the world to turn out the lights from 8-9 p.m. tonight in your local time zone, in an effort to conserve energy and our priceless earth.
For more information, click here.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
Shout out to Shana
I want to send this shout out to my far-away BFF Shana for her constant support, and for being one of The Paper Posy's most loyal readers - and commenters! Shana and I met at school in Austria. I remember the first day I met her, she tackled me with the hugest bear hug. It was rather uncomfortable for me at first, but I soon grew to love her hugs. We have so many great memories eating pizza and coke with no ice at the local cafe in our small Austrian village. I look forward to getting back up to Seattle to visit her soon. She's one of the sweetest, kindest people I know - and you'd be lucky to know her too!
(This is a photo of Shana as a little girl, posing for an animatronic figure for Epcot Center in late '70s/early '80s (date?). Her dad, George, is an amazing designer for The Walt Disney Company and responsible for some of the amazing features and attractions in the parks!)
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
My job hunt...
I've been looking for a new job the past few weeks. There's a reason they call it Monster.com. It's a grueling process. Can't I just nap instead?
When my full-time position at SqueezeOC was cut, I just couldn't bare doing event listings 20 hours a week anymore. I wanted a change, so I cut back to part-time (writing for the Family/Life section + OCMoms) and started freelancing for local pubs.
Freelancing paid off for a few months but as the new year rolled around, the market seemed to freeze on me. I know freelancing takes time and tenacity, but I'm a place in my life now where smooth and steady is what's required. So, with that said, I'm looking for a full-time job.
I appreciate your prayers and positive thoughts...
P.S. Today marks the three month anniversary of this blog! Woo-eee!
When my full-time position at SqueezeOC was cut, I just couldn't bare doing event listings 20 hours a week anymore. I wanted a change, so I cut back to part-time (writing for the Family/Life section + OCMoms) and started freelancing for local pubs.
Freelancing paid off for a few months but as the new year rolled around, the market seemed to freeze on me. I know freelancing takes time and tenacity, but I'm a place in my life now where smooth and steady is what's required. So, with that said, I'm looking for a full-time job.
I appreciate your prayers and positive thoughts...
P.S. Today marks the three month anniversary of this blog! Woo-eee!
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Jean shorts and black tights?!
According to the style makers-and-shakers, jean shorts worn with black tights is a hot trend this season.
Are you kidding me?? I wore that look during my "goth" days in high school. The tights were shredded, but still...
I think I'll pass on the light-washed denim trend too. Some things are best kept in the past. Am I right?
(photo from WhoWhatWearDaily.com)
Thursday, March 20, 2008
Virgin Galactic!
You've got to hand it to Sir Richard Branson. The Virgin mega-tycoon is living proof that doing your own thing, thinking big, and being slightly crazy can truly pay off.Not only is he the head honcho of an uber-chic airline (Virgin Atlantic), not to mention a thriving music biz (Virgin Records), he's now offering the chance for the average (super-rich) Joe to head into outer space!
Mr. Branson will soon be offering trips to outer orbit via a an actual spaceship, that will allow you two hours of hovering over our beautiful planet, while experiencing zero gravity as you float about the vessel. The price tag? A whopping $200,000 per passenger! (I'm OK looking up at the moon, thanks though).
He's also charting new "green" territory by introducing the first jet run on bio-fuel. Some environmentalists are protesting, but here's to hoping the crazy-cool Brit has the right idea!
Wednesday, March 19, 2008
A 'pregnant' pause...
Since I was six months pregnant with Jake, it's been my dream to create my own line of cool, innovative products for moms-to-be and new moms.My company, Mommi & co., has been in the works for the past several years, during which I spent countless hours of my free time doing R&D for an original product idea I have -- and still love! But without the start-up cash required for such a venture, it's difficult to do it right so I kept putting that idea on 'pause.'
Not wanting to give up on my dream, I shifted my focus from creating my own products to becoming a retailer myself, opening an online mommy-baby boutique. However, money is still an issue, so I'm deciding to shutter my business until I'm able to bring Mommi & co. into full bloom. It will happen all in due time -- no pun intended.
I do have some adorable inventory though, if you're looking for a beautiful, thoughtful gift for new mom and baby. Soft and washable baby blankets by Ellabalou (shown above) come in adorable and reusable packaging, and are a fabulous find! I have blankets in Bean (brown), Splash (blue), Dill (green), and Dot (purple). I'm giving my brother the Bloom (pink) for my new baby niece. My boys love the one we have (in Bean). I use the container to hold small toys.
I also have an array of nursing covers by Bebe Au Lait in fun and fabulous patterns, with matching burb rags to boot. I have the new pink organic style, as well as the turquoise Monaco brocade pattern. It's gorgeous!Let me know if you're interested in any of these items and I will send you information.
Much thanks!
Saturday, March 15, 2008
Trading Sunshine for Gold
It's been a while since I've posted. I've been going through a lot lately...
My sis Rebecca is in town for about 10 days, which has been so -- such a God send, truly. I believe I may have convinced her that California is her home-away-from-home. If we can find her a job, maybe she'll actually take the same plunge I did about 12 years ago and move here from Florida. Trading "sunshine" for "gold."
I never understood the true importance of family until I had my boys. And the fact that my family is so far away - and they couldn't be here to experience my children growing up. And I could no longer simply hop on a plane and come home every six months. Instead, our lives are relayed in photos, e-mails and phone calls. And the rare but priceless visits. Just having my sister here this past week or so -- I can't even tell you what it's meant to me.
My sis, friend Rachel, and I went out Tuesday night - and one of our stops was La Cave, a cool underground bar/restaurant. It's one of those places you can always count on for a chill lounge vibe and cool entertainment. The night happened to be open mic. I still don't play an instrument, but had just enough martinis in me to have the courage to get up there and belt out my songs a capella.
I sang my favorite of the songs I've written, "Watching and Waiting." You could hear a pin drop in the place, and I was very appreciative of everyone's kindness.
Then I sang "Golden State," a song I wrote for my family, especially my sisters. It's a song about how far away they are, and how they are the treasure that my life is missing because they are so far away. I know that California is where I'm supposed to be. But sometimes I wish I could fold up the United States map like a paper napkin, making the ends touch. So that way all I have to do is jump in my car and drive a few miles and be where they are.
Monday, March 10, 2008
If I had the kitchen of my dreams...
If I had the kitchen of my dreams (and one day I will), I hope I'll have other options that the typical stainless steel appliances, dark wood cabinetry, and granite counter tops.I want my kitchen to have a charming, Western European vibe - with a touch of Tuscany too. I love bright kitchens! White cabinets with brushed chrome hardware - like my mom's kitchen (so beautiful!).
My kitchen now is from the '60s and not too great, but I love my newly painted avocado-colored walls (think mint avocado, not '70s appliance avocado). I love my "happy" plates too and colorful accents around my kitchen. Mix and match stacks of solid blue, yellow, and green dishes. Colorful vintage posters.
If I had my dream kitchen, the first thing I'd do (besides taking a cooking class, or three!) is to fill my cabinets with Emile Henry bakeware! Have you seen the stuff? It has such a classy European vibe in amazing bold colors. I drool over the line (and everything else) every time I step foot inside a Williams-Sonoma.
Ahhhh... I love that dreaming is free!
Wednesday, March 5, 2008
A short story
This is a macabre little something I wrote several months ago. I found it today and thought I would share it....
He left her on a Tuesday. The day seared her like a brand.
A heavy plastic bag of groceries hung in the fold of each arm as she fumbled with her keys to unlock the front door, her toe-headed twins ambling behind her on the lush, winding walkway.
The living room was dark; the air stale and balmy, like no one had breathed it in for years. She called for him questioningly, but he did not answer. She crossed briskly to the kitchen and snapped on the light with her elbow. The bags slumped as she dropped them on the kitchen counter. Tomatoes and cucumbers tumbled out and rolled to a stop at the edge of the sink.
“Go watch TV,” she said to the boys, who scrambled, cheering, to the living room and within seconds sat glued to the screen, its white plasma glow illuminating their content faces.
His key ring hung on the hook on the kitchen wall. She dropped her keys on the table, slipped off her snakeskin pumps, and walked in what felt like slow motion down the hall. It was the last door on the right; the place where it all began four years ago. Where they first expressed their love, and soon after, conceived their children.
She called out to him again. Her heart pounded as she turned the knob and opened the door.
She gazed in horror at the claret trail sprinkled across the tan Berber carpet from the bathroom to the bed. The bed side table was a messy plate of works to feed his habit. A bloodied straight razor lay abandoned on the bathroom floor.
And him, laying face down on the bloody white sheets, his dark blond hair pasted against his sweaty brow. His thin frame was bare and clammy; his Levi’s slumped down around his hips revealing his crack. Blood trickled from his spindly wrists and dripped in small drops, soaking into the carpet.
“Oh my god… what did you do?!” she cried, leaning over him, pleading for the answer she already knew. “Oh my god…”
His head flopped to the side as she rolled him over. His aqua eyes were half-moons. His breathe shallow. She ran to the tall dresser and pulled out one of his white undershirts. She bit into the fabric with her teeth and then ripped it into jagged strips and fashioned a tourniquet around his wrists.
The black butt of the phone stuck out from under a bed pillow. Her trembling fingers frantically pressed 9-1-1. It rang and rang. Seconds felt like weeks.
She climbed into the soggy bed and propped his heavy head against her thigh. She rested her head back against the headboard, and cried short, deep sobs, the phone resting on her chest.
He was her Romeo. Her poet. Her crash. She had hoped, and he had tried. But she knew. She knew he would not keep his promise. This thing was bigger than him.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?,” the operator asked calmly.
“My husband tried to kill himself…” she gasped.
He would live, she told herself. He would not die today.
But he had left her. He had gone, again.
He left her on a Tuesday. The day seared her like a brand.
A heavy plastic bag of groceries hung in the fold of each arm as she fumbled with her keys to unlock the front door, her toe-headed twins ambling behind her on the lush, winding walkway.
The living room was dark; the air stale and balmy, like no one had breathed it in for years. She called for him questioningly, but he did not answer. She crossed briskly to the kitchen and snapped on the light with her elbow. The bags slumped as she dropped them on the kitchen counter. Tomatoes and cucumbers tumbled out and rolled to a stop at the edge of the sink.
“Go watch TV,” she said to the boys, who scrambled, cheering, to the living room and within seconds sat glued to the screen, its white plasma glow illuminating their content faces.
His key ring hung on the hook on the kitchen wall. She dropped her keys on the table, slipped off her snakeskin pumps, and walked in what felt like slow motion down the hall. It was the last door on the right; the place where it all began four years ago. Where they first expressed their love, and soon after, conceived their children.
She called out to him again. Her heart pounded as she turned the knob and opened the door.
She gazed in horror at the claret trail sprinkled across the tan Berber carpet from the bathroom to the bed. The bed side table was a messy plate of works to feed his habit. A bloodied straight razor lay abandoned on the bathroom floor.
And him, laying face down on the bloody white sheets, his dark blond hair pasted against his sweaty brow. His thin frame was bare and clammy; his Levi’s slumped down around his hips revealing his crack. Blood trickled from his spindly wrists and dripped in small drops, soaking into the carpet.
“Oh my god… what did you do?!” she cried, leaning over him, pleading for the answer she already knew. “Oh my god…”
His head flopped to the side as she rolled him over. His aqua eyes were half-moons. His breathe shallow. She ran to the tall dresser and pulled out one of his white undershirts. She bit into the fabric with her teeth and then ripped it into jagged strips and fashioned a tourniquet around his wrists.
The black butt of the phone stuck out from under a bed pillow. Her trembling fingers frantically pressed 9-1-1. It rang and rang. Seconds felt like weeks.
She climbed into the soggy bed and propped his heavy head against her thigh. She rested her head back against the headboard, and cried short, deep sobs, the phone resting on her chest.
He was her Romeo. Her poet. Her crash. She had hoped, and he had tried. But she knew. She knew he would not keep his promise. This thing was bigger than him.
“9-1-1. What is your emergency?,” the operator asked calmly.
“My husband tried to kill himself…” she gasped.
He would live, she told herself. He would not die today.
But he had left her. He had gone, again.
Tuesday, March 4, 2008
Thursday, February 28, 2008
Free food at McD's
I apologize for the lull on posts this week..
This post is a day late (more apologies), but if you're passing by a McDonald's tomorrow morning on your way to work, school, or running errands, consider this:
McDonald's is offering customers a free McSkillet Burrito today and tomorrow, Feb. 28-29, with the purchase of a medium or large beverage.
If you grab one, let me know what you think of it.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
Lipstick Jungle vs. Cashmere Mafia
Am I the only one who gets the plot lines of these two series crossed in my head?
In the last episode of Cashmere Mafia, when Caitlyn Dowd (Bonnie Somerville) was desperately looking for a 'fresh designer' for Fashion Week, I wondered why she wasn't calling Victoria Ford (Lindsay Price). Oh yeah, duh - that's "Lipstick Jungle."
I must say, I had higher hopes for LJ since it's based on the book by Candace Bushnell, writer of Sex in the City. The premises of both shows are weak, and so similar I sometimes wonder if there's a mole in one of the studios leaking plot info to the other camp. Or maybe being pursued by a billionaire is a typical day in the life of a high-powered NYC woman? Hmm, I doubt it. But I keep watching anyway.
How about you?
Thursday, February 21, 2008
Tote the Rainbow
Colorful bags are a hot trend this season. These ladies can afford to splurge on their bags. I'm sure I can find some great options at Forever 21.
Tip and photo from WhoWhatWearDaily.com
Tip and photo from WhoWhatWearDaily.com
Wednesday, February 20, 2008
Hello, Hawaii! (I wish...)
If you've been daydreaming about basking in the sun and nibbling on pineapple in Hawaii, now is the time to go.Spring is the season for savings on trips to the Hawaiian Islands. Airfares start around $360 from the west coast. Room rates also reportedly drop about $15-$20 per night too.
I wish I was in a position to jump on a plane tomorrow, don't you? (I live right by the beach though so I can't complain too much).
If you go, send a postcard!
Monday, February 18, 2008
Spring Safari - Splurge or Save
It's hard to believe its time for Spring fashions again. Doesn't it seem like just a few months ago we were donning natural-toned wedges and wood bangles?
Safari is a hot look this season, as showcased by DVF's fabulous Spring 2008 Collection.
Splurge on her style:
Diane von Furstenberg - Trinia Safari Shirt Dress, $398. saks.com
Or score this look for less:
Old Navy - Safari Shirt Dress, $34.50. oldnavy.com
Safari is a hot look this season, as showcased by DVF's fabulous Spring 2008 Collection.
Splurge on her style:
Diane von Furstenberg - Trinia Safari Shirt Dress, $398. saks.comOr score this look for less:
Old Navy - Safari Shirt Dress, $34.50. oldnavy.com
My Bio-sphere
So I'm back on my feet again after about five days of illness.
Except for a brief walk to our nearby beach park for some much needed sunshine, I've been in the house. I'm bored stiff, but I know not to push myself. I still have to rest every three hours. Ugh.
Thoughts of my recent boredom lead me to ponder something I encountered several times over the last few weeks...
I was a contributing writer for a few local magazines recently and the editors asked me to write a brief bio. I also had to write a bio for my new Mom blog at OCMoms.
[Insert deer in headlights gaze here]. Honestly, there's no worse writing assignment than having to write about myself. I sit and stare at the blank screen pondering what it is that I exactly do from sun up to sundown every day. What makes me interesting? It's enough to evoke a sort of quasi mid-life crisis.
I enjoy my life. I keep busy doing those things that I enjoy, but I'm not sure how interesting they are to read about. This is what I love to do - write. It's the reason I'm in these magazines in the first place. The books I read are about how to write better. I read magazines to spark ideas for other stories. I circle my favorite words in magazines, and I make lists of words I want to use in future articles. I am, in short, a nerd.
The stuff that I used to identify with was a long time ago, I feel like. Before kids, or when I was in my 20s. Much of that is either stale to me now, too expensive, or there's simply no time.
Does my life now read like some kind of stereotypical personal ad? I enjoy walking on the beach. I stay busy being a mom to my kids. I write. I struggle to keep my house clean. I love hanging out with my girlfriends when I can. I miss my family. I enjoy shopping when I can. I want to really believe in something again.
It's sparked a desire to fulfill those things I want to achieve - like my music, which is at a current stand still, again. And my book, which I've only written one chapter of so far.
I want to live a fuller life. I want to embrace each day for the potential it offers me. And I want to know I didn't shortchange myself at all.
(Photo by my sis, Rebecca Wilkins)
Thursday, February 14, 2008
The Work-At-Home Conundrum
I've been sick these last few days, but I don't want to lag on posting. I decided to repost something I wrote the other day on the OC MOMS forum on OCRegister.com (slightly revised):
My career as a writer allows me the flexibility to work from home, a set-up that's allowed me the luxury of putting my boys in daycare no more than 10 hours a week, if that. I'm lucky, I realize. But working from home has its own set of challenges, am I right?
It's hard to find "quiet" time. And having an uninterrupted phone interview - forget it. I always have to preface any interview with "I work from home and I have a 2-year-old." And I often feel it takes me seven days to do what I otherwise could do in four.
Another unexpected obstacle is the struggle to convince my spouse that although I'm physically here, I'm working, and can't focus on keeping the house clean during the day. The boys make messes and I can't stay on top of it right away. I just can't work at Superwoman-like speed, doing everything my household and job requires day in and day out, or I'll burn out. And I do -- hence my current illness. (And a nanny isn't in the cards - too expensive).
My mom never worked so my perceptions of her are different than I believe my childrens' perceptions are of me. I recall a day when I was cleaning the house and told my 5-year-old, "Not right now, Mommy's working." He replied, "But Mommy, where is your computer?" Enough said.
I do try to take time out and do fun things. Like today, after I picked up my son from school, we went to a pizza place for pizza and milk, then made a quick trip to the Dollar Store. I couldn't do that if I worked in the newsroom full-time, and I'm so thankful I have the flexibility.
Work-at-home parents, how do you make working in a home office work for you?
My career as a writer allows me the flexibility to work from home, a set-up that's allowed me the luxury of putting my boys in daycare no more than 10 hours a week, if that. I'm lucky, I realize. But working from home has its own set of challenges, am I right?
It's hard to find "quiet" time. And having an uninterrupted phone interview - forget it. I always have to preface any interview with "I work from home and I have a 2-year-old." And I often feel it takes me seven days to do what I otherwise could do in four.
Another unexpected obstacle is the struggle to convince my spouse that although I'm physically here, I'm working, and can't focus on keeping the house clean during the day. The boys make messes and I can't stay on top of it right away. I just can't work at Superwoman-like speed, doing everything my household and job requires day in and day out, or I'll burn out. And I do -- hence my current illness. (And a nanny isn't in the cards - too expensive).
My mom never worked so my perceptions of her are different than I believe my childrens' perceptions are of me. I recall a day when I was cleaning the house and told my 5-year-old, "Not right now, Mommy's working." He replied, "But Mommy, where is your computer?" Enough said.
I do try to take time out and do fun things. Like today, after I picked up my son from school, we went to a pizza place for pizza and milk, then made a quick trip to the Dollar Store. I couldn't do that if I worked in the newsroom full-time, and I'm so thankful I have the flexibility.
Work-at-home parents, how do you make working in a home office work for you?
Tuesday, February 12, 2008
Silence is Golden
I'm sitting here at my computer this morning and I pause to listen. It's quiet.
Nate is at school. Jim is at work. Jake is still asleep. The TV is off. No children are screaming. Jim is not riddling an insurgent with virtual bullets in one of his XBOX games.
The house is still. I feel still.
Inhale...Deep breath out...
I'm going to enjoy this calm for the few short moments I have it.
Nate is at school. Jim is at work. Jake is still asleep. The TV is off. No children are screaming. Jim is not riddling an insurgent with virtual bullets in one of his XBOX games.
The house is still. I feel still.
Inhale...Deep breath out...
I'm going to enjoy this calm for the few short moments I have it.
Monday, February 11, 2008
My first step on the red carpet - kinda'
I covered my first big fashionable event on Sunday, the 50th Annual Grammy Awards. I wasn't on the red carpet, no, I was working feverishly in the Orange County Register newsroom in Santa Ana. For a behind-the-scenes scoop of the Grammys, click here. For a behind-the-scenes look at my experience covering Grammy fashion, keep reading...
I've written a fashion blog for SqueezeOC for over a year (not so much these days), but covering Grammy fashion was something else entirely - for me anyway. I arrived at 3 p.m. and got to work visiting sites (CBS.com) that offered live Web previews. We didn't get the East Coast TV feed in the newsroom, so without the Web I would've been stuck in real time.
As I'm sure you know, newspapers have a tight deadline sched. Online too. The Web editor on duty, Cindy, and I hurriedly checked the AP photos of the red carpet arrivals. I chose several photos and wrote complimentary or snarky captions (depending on the respective look) while she loaded them online and handled the polls. The pace was quick. Fingers were flailing on the keyboard. I had minutes to form an opinion about each look, think of an interesting way to say it, Google to verify spellings and in some cases, who the person is and what they do.
Around 5:30 p.m., I walked over to see photographer Jebb and designer Kelly to help choose what photos would go on the print page. They looked to me for my picks of good and bad. Both were pretty easy - I think the "hots" and "nots" were pretty clear-cut this year, how 'bout you? But I felt a small flutter of butterflies in my tum knowing that in that moment (and online, and tomorrow, in the paper), I had that authority.
Then it was time to write my piece - to bring all my opinions and observations together, and in about 30-45 minutes turn out a solid block of copy for the print product. I worked with editor, Andre, to edit my piece and then went back to my desk to make it read a little lighter. [Cardinal rule of writing: edit, edit, and edit some more. You'll never get it right on your first try, and it's OK. Stay open to input and changes by editors and you will learn so much].
CCI (the writing/layout program) didn't save my changes, so I had to re-input my edits a second time which set me back. (It's not the first time that's happened to me - thank God for my semi-photographic memory).
After those kinks were worked out, Andre and I finalized the changes, captioned the photos, and then he sent the file to the copy desk. Now I was working with copy editor Nikki who hit the article with more a few edits, like two spelling errors I missed and changing "Day-Glo" to "neon" because the former is a trademark (a point that varies by editor).
[Side note: I've learned that when it comes to writing stories, I have to see the forest and the trees, so to speak. The big picture down to the smallest detail. My greatest struggle is hitting all the details. (I also struggle to create a fact-checking system I use without fail - it's part of my ongoing struggle with routine). But when it comes to writing, the smallest details are the things that stand out, like, well, neon, if incorrect. And they negate the credibility of your piece. The two names I failed to double-check spelling on, for example (if they had run). Sometimes deadline is an issue, but accuracy is a key part of journalism. (And despite popular belief, journalists care about getting things right). I work on this skill daily. Even for a piece as fun as fashion coverage. And this blog. I edit my blog posts like mad.]
I finally headed home around 10 p.m., but only so late because I lingered to make absolutely sure my role was completely wrapped. I'm glad I did because I finally got info on who designed Beyonce's dress. (Reminds me of my 'zine days in my late teens/early 20s when I lived at Kinko's).
I've always worked for weeklies, and am not used to the hectic pace of a daily paper and turning out stories quickly but I pulled it off. I love the pace and I know if I wasn't a mom I would thrive on it. Because I am a mom, I haven't stepped up into a daily reporter job because it simply wouldn't work schedule-wise. (I write from home where cartoons are my mood music). But last night - working so closely with the daily staff - was one of those validating moments that reminded me I'm doing exactly what I was born to do.
So, no snarky comments yet on my online story - about my fashion opinion anyway. But the day is still young ;)
What do you think? Did Carrie bloom or bomb? Was Nelly fab or fug?
To check out my story, click here.
(PHOTO: Carrie Underwood in a floral Badgley Mischka gown. Credit: Chris Pizzello, The Associated Press)
Saturday, February 9, 2008
A Pause ... + Grammy Fashion
I'm on day 16 of this blog, and am proud that I've posted a new entry every day, sometimes twice a day. But now I'm taking a little break. I plan to start again fresh and rested on Monday.
Quick note: I'll be covering Grammy fashion for the OCRegister tomorrow, so check the Web site to see if you agree with my picks for who's lookin' hot, and who's so not.
See you Montag!
Quick note: I'll be covering Grammy fashion for the OCRegister tomorrow, so check the Web site to see if you agree with my picks for who's lookin' hot, and who's so not.
See you Montag!
Friday, February 8, 2008
Just Say No
...to wearing socks with sandals. It's horrid. And shame on you, Hanes, for condoning it.
[I took this photo last September at a convenience store inside Grand Canyon National Park, where I was visually accosted by the sock-sandal combo everywhere I turned].
Thursday, February 7, 2008
Get a celebrity 'do
Bored with your current coiffure?
InStyle.com has a fun online feature that allows you to "try on" a variety of celebrity hairstyles sans scissors and hairspray or a trip to the wig shop. Simply upload a photo of your face, or pick a model that resembles your visage, and get started.
Because each hairdo is a virtual translation from a celeb photo, don't be shocked if it looks like garish cartoon hair glued atop your forehead.
You can get an idea of what styles may work on you, but it's probably not the best way to actually choose a new one (and I doubt it's intended as such). It's a fun waste of 20 minutes though.
My best look: Cameron Diaz's carefree shoulder-length style (shown in photo).
Try it here: Hollywood Hair Virtual Makeover
Wednesday, February 6, 2008
I Killed the Nintendo
At least once a year, my boys and I make the grueling 10-hour trek from Cali to Florida to visit my family. To ease in-flight boredom, we bought our son, Nate, his first Gameboy.That was a year or so ago, and we were impressed by how well he cared for the machine and his games. In November, we upgraded him to a fancy Nintendo DS for his 5th birthday.
Nate's love for all things Nintendo was pretty well established by this time, and I should have seen the signs. But we were being doting and indulging parents and wanted him to have what he wanted. And we allowed a very bad habit to form.
Nate's love for video games was turning him into a kid I knew he wasn't. A kid with no other interests than to sit on the couch glued to a machine. It's all he talked about with his father. It's all he talked about with friends. He wanted to take his game to the park or beach to play it there, and it was a fight to make him leave it at home. He demanded it from the moment he woke to the moment he slept.
Throughout the Gameboy era, as I call it, I didn't keep a strict, consistent time limit on the amount he played. That, of course, crossed over to the DS era.
I finally wised up and last month applied a one-hour time limit, which he could use in a single sitting or in segments. I'd set the timer so Nate - and I - would know when time was up. I set up a chore chart for him to earn time on the Gameboy. Nate took pride in being good at the games, so I tried to turn that into a positive life lesson as well.
It was all good and well, but it didn't solve the bigger issue at hand - my kid was addicted to video games.
So a week ago, I rid the house of the beast. No more Nintendo. Period. My husband took the DS to his office so he could play it on his lunch breaks. The Gameboy is around here somewhere, and when I find it, that's gone too.
Nathan pitched a fit at first, of course, but it hasn't been as bad as I thought it would be. I explained to him that I took the DS away not because he was naughty or in trouble, but because I'm concerned by his need to have it.
He now tries to compensate by playing games on Noggin.com, so I still have a challenge on my hands. But I'm starting to see an improvement - he's interacting with us more, playing with toys and his train set, and being a real kid.
I know that video games can be fun in moderation. And when Nate gets older (age 7 or 8) and can handle playing in moderation, I'll reconsider the ban.
For now, I'm just happy to have my kid back from the clutches of Mario.
Sayonara, dude!
Tuesday, February 5, 2008
Winston Churchill was fictional?!
I often hear references in the media to the "dumbing down" of America. Our nation as a whole knows increasingly less about important facts, like American history, yet we're experts on the ongoing Britney-Kevin saga.
Apparently, we're not the only ones in need of a V8. Folks across the pond also have a bit of fog in the noggin, according to a London-based article by the American Foreign Press.
Click here to read what I'm referring to.
Monday, February 4, 2008
New York Fashion Week
From shimmery flapper dresses to modern-medieval garb,
check out the Fall 2008 collections stomping down the runway
at Bryant Park this week.
For video commentary, click here: http://www.saksfifthavenue.com/main/FrontRowV.jsp
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