Lucky Jai

Pretty in Venice

2012-01-21T12:19:00.000-08:00

I love where I live.
Venice, CA...its a beach town that's small. You know your neighbors. There's crazy street performers to yuppy designers and everything in between. Mostly its just people who are looking for normalcy with a hint of beachy culture in the hectic buzz of La La Land.

The thing I love most about Venice is the community aspect of living here. I grew up in Hawaii and San Diego, and both places were very tight knit, where your neighbors were your family. Venice is the first place I have lived where I feel like it could be my home, possibly forever.

So I've started to venture out, make new friends, discover new places. After a year of living here, I've found my favorite dry cleaner, bar, coffee shop, pedicurist, hair lady, you know the day to day living essentials.

This week I wanna give some shout outs to two places in one spot. If you wanna look good and go to the best, you wanna go here. And they are next door to one another right off Abbot Kinney.

Lavish Tan and Kelley Baker/ Brows & Beauty are two spots you want to add to your favorites list. The girls at Lavish, and Kelley and her team, are the kind of chicks you want to hang with, and they just happen to make you look good.

Lavish Tan is owned and run by the adorable Kelsey and Alex. Former college pals, they reconnected after Kelsey was diagnosed with skin cancer that she got from old school tanning beds. She was out to make a difference and find an organic solution for tanning. They have an incredible charm that makes you feel right at home, even though you are naked! And their products, derived from brown sugar so it never gives you that orange hue you sometimes shy away from when blinded by it on the streets...they have mastered the art of the airbrush tan and done it with integrity for your body's well being. Oh and you can get your teeth bleached there as well. You know, the whole package:O) and did I mention the benefits of organic spray tanning? Heres just a few: Custom blend solutions for each client, helps tan lines, body contouring, no bad smell, covers stretch marks, spider veins and cellulite!

I had recently gotten quite tan on a hike, so they suggested since I always sunscreen my face, and that my face was slightly lighter than my body, to spray tan only my face. It was incredible! I looked like I had a sheer natural foundation on and my face actually matched the rest of me...and it lasted almost two weeks. Pure. Genius. They got a customer for life here.Thanks Kels and Alex for your enthusiasm and cheer as you tan each passing local and customer.

Right next door is Kelley Baker's Brows & Beauty. Same deal here. Fantastic environment, cozy atmosphere, and uber great personality. You feel like your best friend is doing your brows while you sit comfortably in their relaxing tilted chairs. The way they describe what is going on with your brows, how to best alter them and trim them and what if anything you may need to do to achieve perfection is quite remarkable. It's certainly a science in its own right.

There's something about a perfectly arched brow that is natural and kept that makes every face look strikingly beautiful. Thanks Kelley for having a great space for local Venitians to perfect their brows and feel at home.

What I love most about these two spots is its low maintenance. You get a tan, brighten your teeth and tweeze your brows, and voila! You don't need to wear make up or do anything else to look good. Its a natural glowing beachy look. Perfect for Venice, or the girl who wants that beachy clean look without trying too hard.

Like I said, I love where I live. You may just want to consider relocating...or just pop on by for a visit. Mahalo!

Jai

Ending the wait.

2012-01-02T10:23:00.000-08:00

I've been on vacay for the past 4.5 days. Wondering what my first blog of the year would be about. Waiting.

The thing that persistently comes to mind is this. Waiting tables. Yep I know. Follow me.

What I want more than anything in the world is to retire from waiting tables. Don't get me wrong, it has been the perfect job while I have been busy writing and acting and modeling and building the foundation of a career. It has given me the one thing I needed most since becoming a single mom. Survival.

2011 for me was about surviving. I didn't set any goals, I didn't make any resolutions. Why? Because all I cared about after getting divorced, was surviving. Having food and shelter for me and my son. Anything beyond that was to me a miracle. Looking back at the past year, I am grateful. Part of me feared that I would fail in the basic ability to provide living for me and Riv. But by the grace of God, and yes by waiting tables. I did it. Rocky at times, scared out of my mind, I kept my poker face and table by table paid my rent and bought River new shoes.

Waiting tables is like going to the gym. I think about it all day, I have to go. I put the outfit on, I drive to work. I don't want to. I hate it. But I walk in, I see some familiar faces. I start to bring people stuff. I smile. Its not so bad. Half way through I'm actually enjoying myself, and its almost over. Then it ends, and I drive home. I count my cash. Car payment made. I thank God that I have enough money to live. And I go to bed, only to start over again the next day. But somehow, even on the roughest days, when I get thrown an unruly customer or drunken guest, I still find the joy in it. Maybe not during that shift, but somewhere, I can honestly say I have found happiness in waiting.

I've been waiting for 10 years in Los Angeles. As a server, as an actor, as a writer. I believe everyone gets a turn here. I try to imagine what it will be like when I get my turn. To act and write as my profession. As the thing I do to pay the rent. So yeah this would be my goal for 2012. I can hardly imagine it. But I'm willing to have it.

As I sit here and think about pulling on my converse another day, bringing martinis and calamari to another table of faces, I am thankful for my job. And I imagine that one day soon Ill be pulling on my wardrobe on set, and walking to rehearsal. And sitting at my desk writing another chapter of another novel.

I'll never forget the labour of waiting. For the dream. Because without this journey of serving people, I would never have found peace with the mundane. Peace with strangers. Peace with the wait. Waiting tables has taught me alot. Most importantly it has been the quiet gift that has paved a way for me to walk into the life I have imagined.

Next time you order another round, remember your server is there waiting for their turn.

As I walk into 2012, I intend one thing. To end the wait. That this is the year I get on with it. Telling stories becomes my primary daily experience. My survival depends on it.

Happy New Year everyone.

All my love

Jai

I miss you Oprah. For real.

2011-12-08T09:22:00.001-08:00

It's been a long while since my last post. Why? I been busy yo.
I've been a working actor, a painter, and of course a mommy. And I havent had a moment to stop. Really. I used to stop every day, at 3. For Oprah. My daily dose of inspiration. By 3 pm I was due, and would stop and remember to be grateful, get moved by someone's story and proceed with my day with a kick in my step. But Op is gone. And I miss her.

I'm definitely not complaining. I love being busy. LOVE. IT. When I'm not busy, I'm a wreck. My only problem is I sometimes forget how to balance it all. So I'll burn myself out. Which was the case this past week.

I needed space, time for me. So I went to yoga and the next day, for a run. Both events were heavenly. I didn't have to get anything for anyone. I didn't have to smile or say yes or do nada. I could just be.

I started thinking about manifestation, inching towards what it is I want. And how to get there. I know most of it lies in who you are being and the actions you take. It made me think of that quote...

“Our deepest fear is not that we are inadequate. Our deepest fear is that we are powerful beyond measure. It is our light, not our darkness that most frightens us. We ask ourselves, Who am I to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, fabulous? Actually, who are you not to be? You are a child of God. Your playing small does not serve the world. There is nothing enlightened about shrinking so that other people won't feel insecure around you. We are all meant to shine, as children do. We were born to make manifest the glory of God that is within us. It's not just in some of us; it's in everyone. And as we let our own light shine, we unconsciously give other people permission to do the same. As we are liberated from our own fear, our presence automatically liberates others.”

I love this quote. And I hate this quote. I love it because in the very core of me I know it to be true. It resonates truth. You could say it resonates God. However, my mind, my unkind chatter in my mind, that loud voice that never stops, likes to argue with this. How or who am I to be brillilliant, gorgeous, talented and fabulous?? As a kid I felt this way, and then other kids called me conceited. I was crushed, my light burnt out. And now as an adult I'm terrified to excude that kind of raw beauty, that confidence that I have something unique to offer. I've been resisting growing up, being more responsible, taking ownership of all the areas of my life and getting them in order. I've been thinking I need to do more, check more off my to do list, and then I'll be a mature adult. Yeah, thats partailly true. But maybe what if growing up, what if being a real adult is becoming someone who is comfortable with being brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous? What if residing in those qualities, and expressing with authenticity that way of being is actually a real adult. Showing my son that growing up is only a continuation of how he, at 3 naturally feels. That there is nothing to fear in his future, and being secure in his own uniqueness is what will carry the day and lead him down his perfect path.

Perhaps this is what there is for me to surrender to. Maybe that's what I want for Christmas. I want to feel the way Marianne Williamson describes. I'd be lying if I said I felt this way. I have good days, I have great days. Days where I'm flying high and anything is possible. And yeah I have bad days, where all I want to do is lie down and quit. But to honestly own my own uniqueness, my own beauty, my talent. That would be a true gift. That would be better than my old 3pm appointment with Oprah.

I miss you Oprah. But today, I'm my own inspiration. I'm gonna gift myself. The permission to be brilliant, gorgeous, talented, and fabulous. I have no idea how long this may take for me to receive, to feel, but I'm at least willing to give it a go. Yeah. I am.

With love,
Jai

PS: You can see my artwork for one more week @Nikki's in Venice.

Aunt Flo, a Mountain bike, and an onion.

2011-09-28T22:21:00.000-07:00

Today was one of those jaw dropping, emotional, beautiful, heart opening days. And how I needed one.

I'm an emotional one. Yeah I cry at Tampax ads and I tear up at the smallest insult. What can I say, I'm uber sensitive. Ive actually made peace with this part of me. Because the gift in it is so golden. It allows me to be in touch with some deep shit. Seriously.

I've been tracking my menstrual cycle for the past year, taking notes on my moods and feelings. It's become something really facinating to me. And one thing Ive noticed, that I noticed today, is most of my big aha moments, or growth spurts of the emotional or spiritual kind, occur when I get the visit from Aunt Flo. So maybe PMS isn't just tiredness and bloating. Maybe the reason for the irritation and wanting to be alone to hibernate is more about getting quiet, slowing down, and taking the time to feel what is actually going on with me/you. Its only been in the past year I have been able to articulate my needs, and actually allow myself to have those needs met...whether its some time with my sister, or a back rub, or time alone. I've slowly learned that articulating my needs and letting others take care of me has had me become more of an adult than I have ever been. So long "Independant I can do it myself and I don't need you" girl...that was just a defense because I was terrified of love.

As I entered into my 30s (Yes I'm 31 mmkay) I started to really worry. A lot. About this concept of success. And I have woken up every morning, worried. How am I gonna make all my bills? How can I take care of me and my son and still pursue a career in Acting and Writing. How How How will I ever become the kind of success I set out to achieve? I have had many days where I want to scream expletives and shake annoying customers heads and tell them to "stop complaining! Life is good! You are in the job you want and you live in a beautiful place!!! You have no idea the pressure I'm under, OMG!!!" My irritation/My PMS/My worry was all stemming from the same place. This giant humongous barge of pressure that I had taken on. If I don't succeed, my family will be homeless...we will be effed. The problem was that the pressure was so real to me. For the past decade I've peeled back the layers of that dang onion. I have read every self help book, seen a therapist, taken course after course to figure out why I don't have what I want in my career. And as each year passed and I didn't get what I wanted, well, the pressure just continued to grow. It's been a recipe for anxiety filled craziness for years. I've been a walking spaz.

Today though. I didn't peel the onion. I freaking found the onion. My mom has been my greatest champion, my number one fan. And I love her like no other. For years though, she has said when I get famous, I can buy her her dream house, car, etc etc. And in the past 5 years she has faced bankruptcy and foreclosure, and the pressure I have felt to succeed so I can take care of her has literally stopped me. The truth is I have resented her for telling me her plans of what she will do with all the money I will make. I have been pissed every time she calls and asks how much closer I was to getting that audition or booking that part, and how she will need me to build her a guest house. Don't get me wrong, I adore and cherish my mom and I of course would do all of those things if I had a lot of money. Of course. But the problem is that I have just been so angry at her for all these years. And it s not her fault, she just has a big dream for me and for her. But I couldn't see it until today.

Last week I was in Big Bear. And I went on a mountain bike ride. I wasn't prepared, but I went, because I had to succeed at it. At least in physical challenges, I know I can push myself and win. There's no casting director at the end of the climb that can tell me "no you did not climb the mountain." That's what I love about being physically challenged, its just me and my body and mind. Against that mountain. And I hated it. Every turn on that bike, up every curve of that cliff. between every boulder. I wanted to quit. I wanted the self imposed pressure to go away. But it wasn't the mountain I was mad at. Or my boyfriend for taking me on the ride. It was the mountain of pressure in my life that I was fed up with. I was so furious by the time I got to the top. I had to stop several times, to find my breath, to not throw up. I was so overwhelmed by how hard it was. How hard I had made my own path to success for myself. But there I was sweating in my helmet and wishing I was off the mountain. My man looked at me, and asked if I was okay. I replied, "I am in my own personal hell." I was half kidding and half serious. Looking back I was merely describing the context I had been living in in regards to my career. (an important side note: He has no idea how much grace and learning he has brought into my life. With him, I aspire to be my raw-est, my most vulnerable, my most loving. There is absolutely no pressure with him. I am tremendously thankful.)

Living with that made up pressure, making my mom out to be the reason for the pressure....and climbing an impossible mountain finally took me out at the knees. I crumbled at the top of that mountain. I could no longer keep up that game. As I followed my partner back down the winding path, I cried alot. Tears for the years of frustration and suffering. I spent the next two days letting someone take care of me, hold me. I watched as the firm grip of that pressure lessen its hold and set me free back onto the path that the universe has laid out for me. I let it all go. The pressure to succeed. The house in the hills for my mom. The awards, the accolades, the fantasies. I said I had become more of an adult by stating my needs. So here you go. I need to entertain. I need to tell stories. That's it. Its that simple. What gives me the greatest joy if you strip away all the BS around what it means to be an actor or a writer. I am happiest when I get a laugh and I don't care if the laugh is with me or at me. I am happiest when someone reads something I wrote and they chuckle to themselves because I've just captured a moment that they know. I am happiest when I'm telling a story that makes me cry, you cry and people who never cry, cry. I am happiest in those moments.

So what now? There's no pressure to succeed at telling stories. I'm just gonna keep telling them. Until the day I die. And tomorrow, I'll call my mom, have a heart to heart. Tell her that house in the hills may never happen. Ask her to stop asking for one. And Ill pay my bills, and go to work and smile. And thank my lucky stars that I don't have to climb that impossible mountain. But I can ride to the top one gentle push at a time, and trust that my mind, body, and soul will take me there. And know that every month, when that irritation begins to build, to get quiet and wait for the beauty of my period to release and let me see something new.

I just realized it was the Jewish New year. How perfect. Beautiful, actually. In honor of the Jewish New Year I have a resolution: To live pressure free. To live in joy of the climb to the top. To continue to fall more in love with life and the people I share it with. To say thanks daily. To smile more. To hug more. And...to entertain you with my stories. Thanks for reading. Truly. Baruch hashem!!! xoxoxo Jai

My 10 most random jobs: The road to success.

2011-09-21T20:46:00.000-07:00

I love to work. And Ive got ADD I'm sure, so I like doing work that keeps me busy. Super busy. And when focused, I can multi-task like no other.

My first job was as my mom's receptionist at her salon starting at about age 8. I would sit all day and answer the phone in my most adult voice, sometimes imitating my mom's Thai accent thinking I was hilarious. I'm sure all her clientele knew it was me. Needless to say I would make 5 dollars for the whole day plus lunch. Okay, that's totally breaking every child labor law, but it was the 80s. And all I wanted was to hang out with my mom. So I did it. Every Saturday. Just to be with her. Love you Mom.

Alrighty, so here's my top 10 list...of my most random jobs.

1. Handy Man. Yup. It started as a muralist's assistant, but the work soon required refinishing floors and walls rather than touching up paintings. And lots of trips to Home Depot. I can Spackle like no other and rock a pair of overalls like no body's business. The best part about the job? I actually LOVED the physical labor. And completing of projects...it was a very fulfilling job. I may return one day to this career, or at least be a lifelong Do-it-yourself-er around the house.

2. Librarian's assistant. Though I prefer to say I was a Librarian, just sounds fancier. Only you actually have to get a degree to call yourself one. Yep. When in college I was in the work study program. I was given two choices, work in a photo lab developing prints...or work in the library. Duh. I chose the library. Honestly being paid to listen to Howard Stern on my Tape Player whilst re-shelving slides and books for hours on end, leafing through every book that peaked my interest was probably the best education in life I ever received. I read what I wanted to read and Mr Stern educated me on me, sex, money, love, and every other taboo subject benounced to man. Funny thing, the library was a busy place with lots of new faces while I worked there. I like to think I inspired reading:)

3. Car Detailer. I was maybe 11. And I used to walk past the local Burger King to the local movie theatre. On the way was a tiny clothing boutique. In the glossy window seemed to sparkle the best pair of acid wash overalls you could ever lay hands on. I detailed every car on my block for an entire summer to buy those overalls(again it was the (80s). The day I finally bought them, I raced home and flew to my room to try them on. They fit weird. Tight on my calves and pouchy in the stomach. Not very cute at all. But I wore them. I had vacuumed and picked lint out of one too many car seats not to sport those overalls. Now I swish I still had em. I would def wear them.

4. Professional Labeler. A.K.A personal assistant. I worked for many years for a designer who ran a successful company from her home. Walking into her abode, you wanted to know how she lived so organized. Everything was labeled and had a place. It was the most pristine environment I had ever been in. And thus, I labeled. With her vintage P-touch. And I loved it. The Virgo in my charts had found its way. There I was, not neurotic, I was perfect. I miss that labeler...

5. Bus Driver/Underpaid babysitter. I was a camp counselor for 4 weeks. In the Pacific Palisades. Talk about a S*&T job. I took it because I had wanted to be a camp counselor ever since I saw Camp Cucamonga. Hello!. So I did it, and they gave me the task of picking up 14 kids from the hills of Hollywood and driving them to camp and picking them up every day, during rush hour, and only allowed to listen to the Disney station. Forget Green Day, I was in perpetual hell. Not to mention I had to study and pass to get a class C license. Which meant I was certified to drive a Semi. WTF. Worst job ever. Bratty kids, stinky hours, underpaid, no thanks. Definitely not Camp Cucamonga.

6. Online Porn Reviewer. Gawd the Catholic sent school girl in me is bashful about this one. But its true. For 15 dollars a review, I watched bad porn and rated the sites as user friendly, pic resolution quality and, well, err, um. Was it hot. Bizarre bizarre experience. Haven't wanted to watch porn since. Too much of a critic now. And of course, I had an alias. And I was generous, some sites got 4 stars when they should have gotten 3! Ha!

7. Fake Shot Girl @Dublin's. Remember that place on the Sunset strip? Back in the day it was a hot-spot. I somehow found my way there and began working as a shot girl. In my crop top t-shirt and pig tailed hair, I would crunch along the peanut shell floors and let people buy shots and buy me shots. Now if you know me at all I'm quite the lightweight, so what no one knew is I would fill one whole row of shots with just juice. And when a group of rowdy partiers would insist on buying me a shot, I would swig a cranberry and OJ mixture and scream with them in unison, "whoooohoooo parrrtay!!" I was dead sober. The entire time.

8. Photographer at a Kids Lame Studio. OMG I cant believe I did this job. I had to wear a hat with a freaking spinning plastic thing on top. Horrific. And getting a 10 month old to not flop over and then smile while their fussy mom barked over my shoulder was too much for me to handle. Was great birth control though. I think I only lasted a few weeks there.

9. Sales Person at Michael's Arts and Crafts...for one day. Yep. One Day. Not even a full shift. I left at my break. I was actually really excited to work there, great discount on art supplies and endless amount of crafty ideas to be inspired by. Only I showed up to my shift and was handed an ugly smock and a basket full of items with the only instruction to put it all back and after 4 hours, use the speakerphone to announce my 15 minute break, in which I would return from and continue to put s*&^ back. Uhhhhh. Not exactly what I had in mind. Those 4 hours were the longest of my life. EVER. All I could think about was using that speakerphone. It was the only thing that was exciting about that job. As my break approached, I grabbed my backpack and left the smock in the back room. I marched towards that speakerphone and announced, "Jai Franklin....leaving for break. Not coming back!" Yea. No thanks Michael's Arts and Crafts, I'll craft on my own time.

10. Painting Portraits. And Murals. And whatever else I could get commissioned for. I rented a artists loft in the Santa Monica Airport and partnered up with another artist. We mainly painted for businesses, table top murals for a restaurant, a mural in a baby's nursery, refinishing with gold leaf on a fancy never to be used fireplace. It was a fun job. I loved the detail of the work, getting the images or patterns to be exact. And the money was great. I just sucked at marketing and keeping it going. But it was good to use the skill set i had as an artist and get paid for something I enjoyed. Until my partner left for France, and I had to give up the studio. It was a good run. And I made some great art.

This portrait was done for a very good friend of mine, as a gift actually. Its by far my fav.

Needless to say there were many more jobs but these are the most random, some I loved, some I hated. There will be a day soon, where all I do is get paid for what I love. And I'm happy with the journey. All these experiences have only had me walk in different shoes and learn about people. And about me. And in the end, has only made me a better story teller. And that's really the point. As long as the stories I tell come from a foundation of truly understanding people and the human experience, and if I can translate that through acting and writing, well, I will die a happy lady.

Cheers to the journey. What were your most random work experiences??

xoxo
Jai

A Cabin, Two Days, Two bottles of wine, and a deadline.

2011-08-19T20:43:00.000-07:00

I got called out. And I'll forever be grateful. Serious.

I had been writing a novel for the past 3 years. And I've talked about it some, written a lot and obsessed over ever last word I have put on the page.

And then I met someone. He's changed my life. In the most tremendous way. He said, "We don't talk about it, we do it, and we finish." He was right. I was tired of talking about how I had been editing my novel. At the pace I was going, I would finish in another year, maybe.

I had so many excuses to not finish it. Laundry, taking care of my son, auditions, you name it, it was an excuse. All valid, and some very important. But I was being a productive procrastinator.

God love my mom, but EVERY time I talked to her, she would ask, How's the book? When will you be done? She's a rock like that and when you promise her something, she is relentless. I promised you I would finish it Mom...

I didn't have an answer to her questions though. I had no deadline. There was no reason for one...until I started to notice the magnetic pull for the completion of my book. Emails from friends who knew of a publisher, producers who sparked interest at making the film when it was done, other publishers who wanted to read it. I couldn't ignore the overwhelming and daily messages I was receiving to just get it done.

And then I got called out. I got a deadline. And 3 days in a cabin.

It took a village to get this thing done. You know who you are. Thank you for what you did to get me to that cabin.

I left Tuesday night for the mountain. Half way there I got a call that I had a 3rd callback the next morning. For a Bud light Commercial. I was passing the Bud Light Factory right then. I took it as a sign and turned around. Rather than writing that night, I made a plan. I scheduled every minute I would be at that cabin and I figured out what I really had left to do. Once I took a real look, it wasn't as overwhelming as I thought it would be. I was clear, and ready to finish.

The next morning, I went to the callback and the moment I was done, shifted gears and took off. Solo road trips are great for clearing the mind. I mulled over so much on that two hour ride. And I started to let go. Of my worries, my responsibilities, my plans for the future. And I started to let my mind become immersed in my story.

By the time I pulled up to Knotty Pines Cabins in Idyllwilde, CA. I was present.
I settled into my room, even unpacked my favorite pairs of sweats and tanks into the cute dresser, and I got to work. Immediately.

I had two days, two bottles of wine, and 300 pages to sift through.

I wrote for almost 11 hours straight that first day. My hands going as fast as my thoughts, the excitement building as I watched, chapter by chapter, my plot and story getting tighter and finding an even flow. I was actually having fun. Laughing out loud at the quirks of each character, the surprises my mind would find and the perfection of how it was all tying together.

By the end of day one, I had revised the first two acts. 182 pages ready for anyone to read. And then I had some wine, and read over my plan for day two. Seemed like a piece of cake. 100 pages to edit, Could be done as early as 4, and time to spare to enjoy the mountain.

Problem was I couldn't sleep. I mulled over the plot for Act three and just wasn't satisfied. It wasn't cohesive. I wasn't inspired. I re read the notes from my mentor, and she said...just write scenes when you are stuck, and like dominoes, it will all fall into place. So I decided to throw out the last act. Start it over. And I had one day to get it done.

I woke up early and went for a run. Found a candy shop in the quaint town where I bought my son some chocolate(at his request) and a spot to dine for my celebratory meal once I was finished. I sprinted back to my little cabin and set up my station: my laptop. My notes. And a blank page. Act Three, page one.

I just started to write. I knew where I was in the story and I knew what had to get done. So I let go, and trusted it. Seven chapters later I had done exactly what I wanted, resolved much of what my main character needed to, but I was left with one last thing. She needed a final obstacle, something that really demonstrated her growth and transformation through the journey she had just gone through. I was stuck again and it was 1 pm. I hadn't eaten anything so I grabbed and apple and went for a walk. I got a text from my sister. It was perfect. She said my guides wanted to help me, and I needed to listen. So I got quiet, and I walked. And 5 minutes later I discovered a perfect surprise twist ending that not only would deliver that final obstacle, but it was something that made the whole story complete. I couldn't have planned it better. In fact in not having a plan for the end, the plan found me. I had unknowingly set up the whole story for this finale. I raced back to the cabin and got to writing.

I didn't look up again until it was done. August 11, 6:00 pm, on the dot. I got chills down my spine as I typed the last words..."He is wild...Yes he is." And the miraculous had happened. I ended my novel with the very words I had begun it with. Full circle. I shot my arms up in pure glee and took a picture of myself. I wanted to capture the joy I felt in this moment. I want to share it.

To finish something, to take it all the way to the end. That's Fulfillment. True Accomplishment. Pure Joy. My story was finally told. And I could now let it out into the ethers. I found freedom in the finishing of it. What it took for it to get done. For me, pressure, love, support, being called out. A deadline.

I began writing this novel when I was pregnant with my son. And I finished it right before his 3rd birthday. River, you may never know the inspiration you have been to me. You led me to write. I never knew I was a writer until I became your mother. You are my muse.

And to Nutbucket, I cant thank you enough for the call to the mat. For the deadline, the place to retreat to, the love and support. You were right, We finish.

There are many people to be thanked who were involved in the process for this getting done. And that I would like to save for the Foreward. There, in printed pages, everyone will be formally and rightfully thanked. For now, you know who you are, and I love you.

What's next, I'm not exactly sure. I'm sending it out. If you want to read it, just ask. If you have advice, please give it. I'm ready. It's much like my third act. I have no plan... but to get it published. How I get there, well, I'm gonna get quiet, listen, and follow the signs to the perfect surprise ending.

And yeah, I ended it old school. Page 248 reads:

The End.

Love,

Jai

My cabin at Knotty Pines, "Sleepy"

The porch where I wrote The End

My Mascot, Mr Butbucket

August 11th, 6pm

My novel, THE SISTERHOOD

B.lo. be love. Finding hidden gems.

2011-08-01T10:02:00.000-07:00

I’m a big fan of finding a great deal, a unique purchase, and something that will last beyond a current trend or season.

Meet:

B.Lo

I’m not talking J-Lo here. Though you’ll probably see her wearing one soon. B.Lo makes one of a kind vintage inspired necklaces that make you think, smile, feel like you have your own little piece of hip treasure. You feel unique in B.Lo. And when I met the owner, I was certain they were going to be a hit.

Blake and his girlfriend Logan started their custom one of a kind jewelery line together. As their love blossomed, the line grew. Inspired by found items, vintage pieces and the simple and small things in life.

They have created a beautifully personal and kitch live/workspace near Silverlake and Downtown LA. Their pieces can be found online at etsy as well as in stores such as Number A in little Tokyo and 600 in Downtown LA.

Whether you're a celeb or a hip office junkie you will love wearing B.lo. I can wait to sport mine around town. Though each piece is individually unique, there is a common thread that makes it recognizable. Maybe its the inspiration or the craftiness. Whatever it is you'll be happy to have one of your own B.lo gems.

Check out the photos from their studio and current pieces...I want them all!

And perhaps you'll be inspired too. As Blake says, "She(Logan) is my muse." May we all be someones.

Jai Jai, Jai Latte, Miss Jai, Jizzle.

2011-07-15T14:12:00.000-07:00

What's in a name? Well I suppose that is up to the individual to decide.

I was born Jeannette Nicole Franklin. A solid name. A strong name. Also makes me think of maybe an African American bus driver's name. But that's just me.

I never felt like a "Jeannette." Growing up I would constantly try changing my name. I remember once in 3rd grade I decided my name would now be Nicole. I wrote it proudly on top of all my papers. In cursive. Dotting the "I" with a heart even. I liked it. My teacher told me I cant just go changing my name. I was mad about that. Why cant I change it?!

15 years later, I did change it, after a series of enlightening events. And yeah, I had become that chick that was all spiritual and changed her name. Gawd, I even was annoying to myself. But there was no mistaking the name I got was the name that was meant for me. (And no disrespect to my parents for the name they gave me at birth. I still have 2/3 of it at least)

I was in Switzerland at a meditation retreat and all these spiritual people in their spiritual outfits had spiritual names. And I wanted one. In fact I wanted one so bad because I thought maybe this was where I'd finally get the name I had been searching for my whole life. It was surely my destiny! Ha! I hope you know I'm really not taking myself serious here. Well, maybe a little...

The name Jeannette just didn't roll of the tongue. Even when I said it, I felt awkward. My mom called me 'Luke" growing up--a Thai word similar to "Mija" in Spanish...and my dad called me "Nette" and mostly "Babe." But "Jeannette?" Hmm. No. Wasn't feelin it.

So I prayed, hard, at the retreat, for a new name. I even asked around. The Guru stopped giving names out in the 70s people said. But I wasn't gonna give up. Nope. I would concur this feat I was sure of it.

When I got back to the states later that year, I went solo to chant and meditate at the local ashram type place. And it was that night that I got my name. Soon as the speaker began to share his story about the word "Jai" I knew it was meant for me.

Just a week prior to this night I had run into an old acquaintance who when I called her by name(which I was thrilled I had even remembered-I'm not the best at remembering peoples names-working on this), she quickly informed me she had recently changed her first name. I remember judging her and thinking she was so lame and weird for changing her first name. Forgetting how badly I had wanted to change mine...and here I was a week later. Changing my name. Gotta love the lessons in humility:)

And I did, and surprisingly it went pretty smoothly. My parents didn't protest, they seemed to just go right along with it. Everyone seemed relieved, like, "Oh yeah, MUCH better fit." It was I think in who I had become, who I had grown into that had it fit so well. I was an angry young girl, irritated and driven, and through life's experiences I found a road to joy. I became lit up again, alive, happy, open, and yes even available. I knew taking the name "Jai" would hold me to account. I would have to maintain that joy. I would have to honor that sweet and generous human that I found within me.

I have been told Jai means praise, joy, and also Victorious. And in Thai, (Which I am half) Jai means Heart. And that's when I knew this name resonated with me. A victorious heart. Its a very fitting metaphor for my life thus far and a perfect path for me to continue on.

I'm extremely sensitive. And I often pretend I'm okay. Strong as bull, right. Nope. I'm not. And I easily get dented, my feelings hurt. I cant help it. But hearing someone call my name, and say "Jai," is a constant reminder to let go and let love. If there's anything I'm sure of it is that I have a giant heart, and when I let the love pour out I'm like an 18th century poet...consumed by and enlivened by love and loving. I just need a reminder to keep it open.

And so therein lies the victory. To live with an open heart.

I welcome the challenge and blessing.

As one chapter closed in my life this week, another one begins. To mark the shift, I got a tattoo. of My name in Thai. As a reminder to live with a victorious heart.

I must thank my son River for being the one who took the last wall down that guarded my heart. It was in becoming his mother that the river could flow. And that what I had inside of me to give could show up. I love you Riv. To infinity and beyond.

Super Human Super Powers...sort of.

2011-06-30T07:22:00.000-07:00

I try to do it all. Have it all. Charge each day with a clean slate, high energy and a general love and appreciation for life.

And sometimes I have a tantrum.

Yesterday, case in point. First day as a bartender at the restaurant where I work. It's kind of a big deal. I'm flattered and honored to be the first female bartender in 12 years! I love my job and I'm very thankful. The worst possible thing happened. I was late. If you know me being late is for me the equivalent of laying in a tub of cockroaches. I HATE it.

But I had 2 castings. One at 12noon and one at 10 am. Problem I had to be at work at 1030. I decided to try to wing it and go to the noon one in Hollywood at 10 am(guessing the session may start at about that time) then race to the 10 am one in Santa Monica right after...not the best plan but it could work if the stars aligned and the freeways parted. Basically I would have to walk on water.

No need to go into details about how it all fell apart. What's important is this. My priority with my son was first. He had a homemade breakfast, cuddle time with me on the couch and a cheerful ride to daycare. Once my munchkin was dropped off I shifted into superhero gear and forged ahead. Hopeful as all get up...And I failed to do it all yesterday morning. But I tried. I gave it my best effort.

I arrived at work late(I called several times of course in utter panic) and settled in behind the bar. It took me an hour or so to let it go. Let go that there are days I can't do it all by myself. That I need help. If Ive learned anything its that. Its okay to ask for help. And so I did, all day. And you know what, it worked.

It does take a village. Maybe even a freaking Colony, really.

A special shout out to a few people:
My ex helped me move my car. Shout out V---Holla! Thx u. My babysitter helped me pick Riv up and take him home and start his nighttime routine before I could get there. Laurel, you are beyond the best. My dad was my hero in more ways than one. Thank you tremendously dad. My mom told me this, "If you never make it Jai, you will always be my star" I cried. Thank you mom. Honestly, that is enough. It really is. It actually gives me more freedom to go for it, no attachment at all. The regulars at Hals welcomed me with open arms...and to Don and Linda for trusting me behind your bar, thank you. Thanks Mikey for coming in and helping me on your day off, you rule. And to French Fry for letting me be me. (The spaz that I am)Thank you so much.

I don't really have a point other than this. Though days can be challenging, no one ever said life was easy. It can be and I love when it is. But going after dreams requires the willingness to do whatever it takes, and to enjoy the ride as much as possible. I'm still learning. I still have tantrums. Yeah, I yelled in the car when I took a wrong turn and ended in a cul de sac. But I showed up. Everywhere I was asked to be. And I'd repeat it a million times over if it brought me one step closer to my goals.

Ill end on this quote:

"Mother love is the fuel that enables a normal human being to do the impossible."
-
Marion C. Garretty

Some food for thought. Chew on it. I sure will. Thanks for reading....seriously.

Love,

Jai: Super mom, Super hero, Super trying:)

Storytelling on the Waterfront and a thousand thanks

2011-06-14T20:07:00.000-07:00

I woke up In Waterfront. Or maybe I didn't go to sleep. Either way it was good.

This past weekend I was fortunate enough to go to the Waterfront Film Festival held for the 14th year in Saugatuk, Michigan. I was there in support of Closing Doors, a Nut Bucket Film. And I was honored to be there to represent and to be a guest. Though I did pose as a guy Named Neil for a bit, you rock Neil.

Completely run by a group of bad ass volunteers, this festival madly delivered. Thank you to each of you who made this event happen. And a special shout out to Bob. Bob volunteers year round with the Red Cross, bringing food and shelter to those victims of natural disasters, and on his 4 days off from that, he drove all us crazy filmmakers around, all the while with an infectious smile on his face. Thanks Bob for all the rides, and thank you Waterfront.

The quality of films, the genuineness of people and the beauty of the small town of Saugatuck swept me off my feet. Not to mention the endless mixers...I definitely let loose and had a good time.

I didn't know what to expect from the Film Festival. And I was totally blown away. From Bob who took us everywhere to the films we got to see. I laughed, I cried, okay and maybe I was in a hot tub in a thong. I don't even wear thongs!!

The weekend kicked off with a champagne cruise, where everyone got a chance to get first names and began to share their stories. Immediately we could tell the weekend was gonna be a good one. There was an insane chicken dip, endless wine if you wanted and smiles across the boat. Once the cruise was over it was time to take the bus back to our room at the Dunes, the local Gay and Lesbian resort. Only our driver got a bit buzzed so we needed a ride. Only no one knew I had a class A license back in the day so I volunteered to drive the bus. OMG> This was way too fun. And just one of the many stories from the 4 days of fun.

But more importantly watching the films and meeting the filmmakers brought me back to one essential truth. Surrounded by storytellers I was reminded I too am a storyteller. I was encouraged to share about my book. Thank you Sarki for your support. And once I did, the floodgates opened. I was antsy to write again.

What I got in Saugatauk, was more than a good buzz, or a poolside laugh, or a moment of being moved. I got my story back.

So here's how I'm diving back in. Here's the story of how I got my story.

To quote Maya Angelou, :“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.”

Well I'm done suffering. In honor of the story that has a hold of me, my novel, The Sisterhood....this is how it was born. And to have you know I'm writing again. I've been writing for hours. I cant stop now. Not when I'm this close to having the whole thing out of me.

I have been obsessed with France since I can remember. Almost Fluent in the language by 17. I basically wanted to be French. But I wanted to exist there during the French Revolution, parading the streets of Paris in my fashionable corsets and taunting the men with my long lashes and witty commentary. This was my wild childhood dream. Or maybe not so wild.

When I was 22 I was on an insane trip. I landed in Paris for a week. I had one week to get it done. A list of 10 or so sights and must dos. First on the list, smoke a cig and drink a cappuccino like a real Frenchie. Done and done. Last on that list, visit the Catacombs, an underground grave site. Thank you Vince for including me on that trip with you. You changed my life.

I arrived at the entrance to purchase my ticket with a hop in my step. I had had an incredibly spiritual experience while in Paris. I arrived on the day of a giant festival, the streets and people welcomed me with utter glee. On the second day it was my Guru's birthday and I found a small gathering of followers in the city who chanted in her honor. It was there the French language came back to me. I sat in a meeting and understood it all. I met a beautiful soul who invited me to stay in his home. He made me the simplest foods with so much love it tasted like divinity in my mouth. We chanted and drummed til the sun cam up in the woods. I was so blissed out I felt like time had stopped and every moment was made from pure love. I walked all day and into the night through every nook and cranny of Pairs. I never needed a map. Ever. I was home. And if you know me at all you know I am perpetually lost. But not in France. Not in Paris. I was deeply connected to this place, beyond anything words can touch on.

As I descended the wooden steps into the Catacombs, I knew I was going deep into an unknown experience. It was 19 meters(62 feet down) to the tiny hallways whose walls were made of tombs. 6 feet tall masses of bones and skulls hovered over me as I walked briskly through the worn dirt path. It was a 45 minute walk thru to the other side. I was only 5 minutes in when the lights went out, and the emergency lights came on. It was super dim. I was mortified. I did NOT have any interest in seeing a ghost or having some spirit crazy experience. So I started to run/walk as fast as I could, without bumping into a skeleton or addressing the insurmountable feeling that there were spirits surrounding me. So I prayed as hard as I could until....bam. Something hit me hard. In my chest, I toppled back, grasping the straps of my backpack hoping that would help. As I turned to look to see what it was that hit me, I saw nothing. Nothing but a plaque. With my birthday on it. Janvier 25. There were plaques every 30-40 feet with dates on them, to signify the date of death of the peoples whose bones were piled there. The moment I read my birthday aloud, my lips quivered and I started to weep. I wept so hard I thought for certain the walls would crumble down around me. It felt like I had found my own tomb. I was buried in those bones behind that plaque. I was certain of it. I had always wondered about past lives, and in that moment I was sure I had one. France had called me home.

I exited the Catacombes lifetimes lighter and now with a clue. The plaque had read:"Ossemens du Covent Du Carmes De La Place Maubert Deposes Le 25 Janvier 1814."

Almost a year later I came home and I developed that picture. And I knew I had a story. So I researched a bit. And then I wrote. I went to a healer and had a past life regression. Thank you Scott for giving me the space to breathe it out. The story, flooded with images, went to my brain and I sought out a writing teacher. It was in a writing class after a deep meditation that the words of this story began to spill out. Onto the page faster than I could write, Rose Josephine de Beauharnais found her way through my hand and onto the page. Her story was obsessed with me as I was with it. Thank you Maia for teaching me to relax and write.

After weeks of writing I had the beginning of a story 50 pages of something. And so I found my way to UCLA to their online Novel writing class. And it was there I learned structure, I needed an outline. I had the story and the characters. And this is where I wrote my book. I finished it. It took 2 years. But I did. And it was beautiful. Thank you Lynn Hightower for teaching me to put it all together.

For the past year I have been editing. Because after I wrote the book, I discovered something. I had written about a real person. A person who existed in real history. And so I had to go back, and to research and to adjust my story accordingly. It has been a painstaking process. I have wanted to quit several times. But the agony of facing not getting this story out in the form it deserves is far too great a pain to carry. And so I continue to write. I continue to edit. And I promise I will get it done.

Thank you Saugatuk and Waterfront for reminding me to tell my story. And to Lije, my gratitude runs deep. Thank you for taking me to a place where stories get told and audiences listen. I am beyond inspired. I am ready to finish what I started.

A special thanks to all the new friends and people of the festival we met...The boys from LEAVE-RG, Frank, Hagerty, Joy, Alison, Chris, Kendall, Matt, Stacia, Kristen, Dana, Dori, Derrick, Kori,Austin, Issaac, Neil, Susan, Bob, the bus crew, all of you-- you each made my experience absolutely splendid. And if I forgot anyone you know I fell in love with you too.

I'm off to write until its done. And then Ill find another story.

Thanks for reading.

Jai

Leap of Faith. Just Jump.

2011-05-27T16:15:00.000-07:00

Leap of Mother #&$$^ Faith.

I jumped off a bridge recently. For real.

It was a leap of Faith.

I learned a lot about me from that jump.

The adventure began with the invite. I said I would go. There was a hike first, then a bungee jump off the "Bridge to Nowhere." It was for a friend of a friend's birthday. By the end of the day tho, we were all friends. Loved meeting each of you! That day was Crazy, and Epic. I love adventure and a challenge, and generally if I'm afraid of it, I'll do it. The only thing that I was not cool with was the public weigh in. No body knows my number. Not even my doctor. The worst of it is they add a bunch of pounds to your weight for safety reasons. Ummmm.

The hike to this bridge in the Azuza/San Bernadino Mountains was balls out. I'm pretty strong and have endurance, and this thing kicked my ass. Not to mention it was raining! And our guide left without us. So all 11 of us followed this river that was supposed to lead to a road to a bridge, where we would jump off. We crossed that dang river too many times to count. It was supposed to be 6 times but it was prob more like 10. And then we missed the road. So we scaled a cliff. I'm serious. That part was gnarly. At one point I was merely hanging onto a dead vine. Scene strait from Mission Impossible. Ha!

Each step of that hike required being present. So many things to be aware of, slippery rocks, a strong current, branches, and remnants of a trail. That's what I love about hiking. You can't get lost in your thoughts really, you have to focus, pay attention, be in your body, grounded. For 2 1/2 hours we hiked. And on that final bend before the bridge, we were so happy to have made our destination. Soaking wet, cold as shit, but dang happy and ready to jump.

After signing our life away and warming up with some hot Gatorade, we began to jump, one by one. It was scary, no one's faces were full of joy or ecstasy when they bounced back up. More like terror, then relief. I was the first girl to go, wanted to get it over with. Plus I hate waiting, esp this kind of wait. As I climbed over the side of the bridge railing and looked over to the rocky river bed below, I actually knew I was safe. I feel safe in life these days, trusting the journey and the process. But I was still scared as eff of the jump. Lets be real here. That's a long ways down! With my arms out like Superman the guide told me to not think. Just Jump. He said there was nothing to think about when it came down to it. He was right. So I did. I lept off best I could with my arms out and eyes wide open.

There are no words to describe the feeling of a free fall. And when that cord flipped me over and caught me, I was relieved, I was not dead. I was very much alive. Happy that the bungee was gently bouncing me up slowly up and down until I grabbed the hook and linked my D ring to be pulled up.

When it was all done there wasn't much to say. Or think about. I definitely feel I conquered something. What it was I would only discover on the hike back. Eff. We still had to hike back, thru the River and down that mountain. My BF and I charged it back, in silence mostly. Quick as our tired legs would take us. The group was further behind us, we were on a mission to get home, get warm and eat some food.

It was hopping across some rocks when I had my aha moment of this journey. I have been editing a book I wrote as many of you know. And I've been stuck. You could say I have been stuck on a bridge to nowhere, looking down, thinking about my next move. The only next move there is is for me to jump. No thinking anymore about what I have left to write or rewrite, no thinking about writing. Just write. Just open the file and type. Just jump.

And so I approach writing as a jump. Because its all I got left. I've thought about it too many times to count. There's nowhere to go but in. Into those pages and I may have to cross a river more times than I thought at first. But that's okay. Because I will get to the end at some point and I may as well enjoy the free fall.

Mom, Mommy, Momma.

2011-05-04T19:10:00.000-07:00

Happy Mother's Day Mom.

This one's for you.

My mother's story is amazing. And I don't say that lightly. She is a true survivor, a real champion.

Anytime I think I have it rough or have a bad day, I call my mom. The moment I hear her voice, and her wisdom, I snap right out of it. She'll listen til I'm blue in the face from talking and with all the compassion in the world, not only will she get it but she always poses the next question. "What's next Jai." Anytime I forget my dreams or think I just cant have them, she boldly reminds me of who I am and what I am capable of. And then she'll push me to dream even bigger and get into more action.
And she does all of this with the greatest sense of humour in the world. Dang she is funny.

My Mom was born on January 28th, the year can at this point be left out. Yes Mom, you are 40 forever:) Her birth name was Thavee Thankgeow. Born to a father who was a farmer and midwife and to a mother who would go on to give birth to 8 children. She was the oldest and the only one who came to America.

She's the classic tale of a young Asian girl with big dreams and hopes of making it to America to live the American Dream, you know marry a movie star and live in a big house in California. And she practically did. My dad was def a looker and she has lived in several big homes in Cali.

At 21 she opened a club outside a GI Base in Thailand with her brother, and called it Club Florida. Of Course. It was there she met my Dad, and it was love at first sight. When you see a pic of these two from that time, you get it. And all my mom could think about was marring him and coming to the USA. And she did.

Shortly after she arrived, she was in a near fatal car accident. Broken back, ankle, bloodied and bruised. She lay in a body cast for 9 months. 9 months! And it was during this time in the hospital in Beale AFB in Northern Cali that she learned English from watching daytime soaps and gained her American Name. Joy. The nurses named her that because in her body cast, the woman exuded joy. Full of life even when told she would maybe never walk again. The woman is something special to say the least.

And so my mom, Joy, would fully recover and go on to create a beautiful life. She became a hairdresser after being turned down to continue her nursing education. They told her that because of her leg, and inability to run after her accident, she would not be able to become a nurse. Though very hurt by this, she decided to learn to cut hair. And for the next 30 years she made men and women beautiful. More importantly she made them laugh. And she changed their lives, one by one, snip by snip, she listened to their stories and made a difference with each and every one of her clients. She was the Queen of transformation from the inside out.

I worked with my mom as her receptionist starting at the early age of 8. I don't know how much help I really was, she was just so infectious I wanted to be around her. And so I spent many of my Saturdays and after school time at her salon. She did something when I was 8 called the Landmark Forum, and it was in that course she was unleashed big time. Already an exuberant and passionate woman, she got something profound in that 3 day weekend...she got that her life was about making a difference with people and that for her, this work was a large part of how. Ending their suffering and or bitching, showing them that they can have anything they can think up, seriously. And So it became her mission to share this education with every one that sat in her chair and eventually with her homeland of Thailand.

Over the years she registered more people personally that I can count. And I watched as person after person stopped complaining about their lives and return from doing the Landmark Forum having found a way to live their dreams. Beyond that, it took her 13 years to fulfill one of her dreams, taking the Landmark Forum to her country. In 13 years she was able to produce the very first Landmark Forum in Thailand and it is now the fastest growing center in the world. Thai people have my mother to thank for giving them the gift that anything really is possible.

She also remained married to my dad for 22 years, and after doing everything possible to make it work, they both chose to complete their marriage and divorce. It was an extremely difficult time for all of us, but she was committed that we remain a family, no matter how it looked. And with time and patience, we did. I can say for certain that it is because of her that my dad, my step dad Jerry, (whom she has now been married to for ten years now), and my sister and I all love each other dearly and spend every holiday, together, present to love and gratitude for our diverse family.

I could go on about my mom, about her life and her story, and her unique love and gift she is to the world. For days. And days.

She is my daily inspiration. She is my hero. She is my rock.

I love you mom. Thank you for giving me life, showing me how to love, and teaching me how to live.

I will leave you with this, some of the things that have been ingrained in my soul that my mom has told me over and over...and if you could hear her say these things in her accent, it only makes them that much better:)

"You may die tomorrow. So what's next?"

"The sun will come up again."

"Call your mom everyday."

"Let it go, who cares? Do they pay your bills?"

"Life is short. So what you going to do anyways?"

"If your hungry, eat. If you're tired, sleep. Okay?"

"Have a lot of sex, try a lot of flavors...wear a raincoat."

Spring Break, Tight pants, and a Mountain.

2011-04-28T17:38:00.000-07:00

SPRING BREAK, TIGHT PANTS, AND a MOUNTAIN.

This past week was my son's spring break. Yeah, he's 2 and he has spring break. My mom is off to Thailand soon for another crazy long stint so we decided it was the perfect time for Camp Ya-Ya in San Diego. A whole week o'fun at Grandma's house. The only time Riv gets spoiled:) And its okay, he's a good kid. And he's got my mom wrapped around his little fingers...What happens at Grandma's stays at Grandma's:)

MONDAY.
My week began with dropping him off Monday and coming right back to make it to work. I love my job. Have I mentioned that. I LOVE it! Serious, no joke. I get to talk to strangers and regulars all night and just be there to get them drinks and ensure they have a good time. And I get paid for this?!?!?! AND it allows me to be able to continue to pursue this wicked dream. Being an actor. I am deeply grateful. Come say hi anytime at Hal's. I'll be the one with the big smile.

Mondays car ride to and fro gave me lots of time to think and reflect. I noticed my pants had been kind of tight lately. Yeah, that's right. I've gained a few pounds. Happy pounds. Normally this would spin me into an utter panic attack. And if you know me, you know this. But this time its different. Look, I like being lean, healthy, fit. And let's not go overboard here. I'm no fatty, I just have been enjoying life, and food and friends, good wine and good company. So yeah, I'll lose the few I put on, but I got to say its been real nice eating chips and shit I never let myself have. I realized how unhappy I was always hungry. Anyone who is skinny is lying if they say they don't do anything to look like that. LIE! It's a whole lot of work and management and discipline. And days go by where all you want is and effing donut. And So we must live with moderation. I'm not gonna go be a food nazi but I will go back to the basics, fish, veggies and fruit, with the occasional froyo. Right, I can actually do that. Besides, I cant give up my amazing collection of pants.

TUESDAY.
With Riv in SD, and my week open to be filled with castings, good weather, and outdoor activities, I was pretty pumped. I decided to make this week my own mini spring break. No half naked people crushing beer cans in overheated pools in Rosarito though. I still had work to do. I had a photo shoot and casting Tuesday...followed up by a bike ride, spin class, and an accidental happy hour with coworkers:) After that I headed to the BU (Malibu) the spend some QT time with my girlfriend at her cottage on a creek. She made us the most unbelievable soup from scratch. Wow. And I never slept better. I'm not sure if it was the wine or the air, or both but it was divine.

WEDNESDAY.
Wednesday started with a drive back down the coast, then a roller skate on the boardwalk, a spin class, and back to SD. As I roller skated across Venice Beach I got misty eyed. Grateful, present to how effing lucky I am. Thank you Thank you Thank you is all I could think. I also started to get kind of cocky on my skates, and the moment I was like, "Hey now, look at me!," I ate shit. Yep. I cant get away with trying to look cool, I always end up falling. Prob a good thing. So my humbled ass got back to the car and got ready to go back to SD, back home the other place I get humbled. I missed Riv. I figure I would stay til Friday . Until I got there and found out I had a callback the next day. So much for hanging with the fam. I got to a little though, and My sis and I were on the floor with the best 2 hour laugh fest I have had in years. I love you Gina, and I love your boo:)

Wed night I got a wild hair up my butt. I've been trying to go on this crazy hard hike with the man for a while. Every time we try to plan it something happens. And here we were again Thursday with me with a casting right smack in the middle of the day, mere minutes after we planned to go. Ugh. But I was not gonna let another callback stop us from attacking that mountain. So I decided to leave SD at 430 am Thurs morn and pick his ass up, with coffee, by 7. I was so excited I could barely sleep. I love adventures, and I love hiking. He had done a ton of research and had the plan. We were pumped. So was Riv, he got to stay one more day with Ya Ya who was feeding him chocolate chip cookies for breakfast. Great, I feared he would never want to leave:)

THURSDAY
427am. leave SD. 617 am Change into hiking gear. 648 am Arrive with large coffee to pick up the bf. By 9ish or so(I don't remember) we found a shady spot to park, not shady like under a tree, shady like we parked illegally bc we didn't have time to buy a pass for the Los Angeles Natl Forest. We left a note and cash and prayed we wouldn't get towed. Fingers crossed.

These mountains were huge! And we had to cross a River to get to the trail. Now if you know my history with this sort of thing, It's no bueno. But I made it across and didn't kill myself trying. The hike was incredible. Spring had sprung. Seriously amazing views, beautiful golden poppies covered the brush. California's state flower. I know this because it was the answer to a question I got right in the 4th grade jeopardy tournament. Mmmmn Hmmn. I also fell into a giant bush once. But thank god I was okay. It was no beginners hike. Definitely scaling the side of a mountain at times had me pretty nervous. But we made it pretty far up before we had to turn around. Almost to the top. Next time, fairing no time constraints, we will go all the way. A whole day there would be ideal. But this trip was perf. Got tons of pics and even played in a few waterfalls...Shout out to French Fry for a fantastic climb. Thanks for leading the way. And not letting me fall off a cliff.

FRIDAY
Last day of spring break and headed to go pick up Riv, meeting my folks halfway in Irvine, at the Spectrum. Couldn't wait to get my little man and hear all bout his adventures at Ya-Ya's. I left Irvine with a car full of new toys and a kid full of sugar, but that's what Grandmas are for.

All said it was an INCREDIBLE week. I feel rested, rejuvenated, ready to tackle those few pounds and get back to writing. I took some time to do some research, and I can feel the story begin to bubble over and want to spill out.

I am grateful. Really truly. For the time I had this past week to get outside and play, to reconnect to the earth. Spring is here. I did some spring cleaning too, from the inside out. I wept a ton, released the old and put my laundry away. It was a good good week. Productive and playful. And now its time To buckle down, concur a few mountains, and get to it. I'm ready for the new.

The point of a Spring Break I think is to take time off, do the things you love and get ready to grow what you have planted. So this Spring this is what I got: To flourish in my acting career, book more work, have more fun, and live in balance. To be present more, watch my son grow, and yeah, lose those few pounds too. I can and I will. And I certainly believe that this spring, anything is possible.

Oh Yeah and check out this great Ad for Bic Soleil Razors I'm in! Thanks Ty Milford and Bic!!!

San Francisco brought me back to Just me. Just jai.

2011-04-15T18:32:00.000-07:00

I went to San Francisco for a day. And I came back restored. Regular. Back to me, just me. Good ol Jai jai.

This past week, I had gotten sidetracked. Just a little. In my head. Out to lunch. Call it what ever you want to call it but the result was I was feeling blue. Tired. Scared. Yeah, me. Scared.

I could blame it on my hormones. Aunt Flo. Sure. that was certainly part of it. But it was a accumulation of events and things. I've been pretty private- trying to keep it all in, hold it all together. And I just can't do it anymore, not in this forum or any other one.

So this is what I've been hiding. I'm scared. Terrified. Freaked the eff out.

I got divorced. I'm a single mom. I'm waitressing again. And auditioning a shit ton. I'm in a new relationship. And I don't want to eff it up. I don't know how to do it all. Or have it all. And I'm worried. About all of it. All the time.

Look I'm worrying over a lot of good stuff, big stuff-- the stuff that makes life good. That's what had me so worked up. I was acting crazy up in my head. Because my life is so full of Good what right do I have to freak out or get scared? I demand so much more from myself that I had no space to just breathe.

At least for the past week.

A week is a hell of a long time for me to operate this way, scared and in my head. If you know me at all you know I snap to real quick.

I'm a survivor, and more than that I'm a leader. And somewhere in the mess of my mind I forgot that. That leadership comes from facing the frailty of life head on without fear and with an open heart and clear mind...

My usual workouts, therapy sessions, chats with friends, all the things I do to plug back in when I get little batty. They weren't doing the trick really this time. And I just knew I had to go deeper.

Being in the streets of San Francisco, riding the Bart, taking the same streets I took when I lived there almost ten years ago as a painter. It reminded me of that blue Jai. The one that took over this week. The one that lived by fear. I was consumed by fear back then. But San Francisco had taught me to paint through it, walk through it and what I found on Sutter street was my courage. And it was there, 10 years ago in the bottom of a dank and cold building that I shed that fear based mind and took control of my life. I drew my last portrait and walked myself to the Bart station and never turned back. I was moving to LA to tell my story. And so I did, and here I am.

Being back in San Fran, I remembered that fear. The fear had gotten hold of me again though. And my insecurities flared up. So yeah in my weakest moments I think this: I'm not enough. I don't do enough, I shouldn't need anyone. That's the big ringer. And that is where I needed to grow up and open up.

Its good to be independent. But I can take it to far. To the point where I get mad and stubborn and think I don't need anyone. At all. I can do it on my own. And that is where its no bueno. Those walls shoot up and I get serious fast, shut everyone out. But after what I've gone through I know better than this. The cost of being that way is far to great. Way too damaging. And it still gets me every once in a while, it rears its ugly head. I knew it was happening. I felt it happen. And I freaked out.

Thank god for Moms. For my Mom. She knows me better than I do sometimes. And I need her. More that ever. Carving out a place in life as a mother myself, I need guidance. And she is phenomenal. I'm crying right now thinking about what she means to me. And I can admit this. That yeah, there are times I need to be babied. Cuddled, sang to. Loved beyond measure. And my mom can do that like no other. So I called her and she gently took those walls down.

my mom with my son.

My Mom told me it was okay to ask for what I need. "What do you need Jai?" I couldn't answer her. I was so scared. In her sweet voice and gentle listening, I told her. "I just need a hug Mom. To be held." Okay she said, okay. It was no different than the very conversation we had had 10 years ago that altered my life forever. She asked me what I wanted and I told her the truth. I wanted to be an actor, to move to LA. And she told me I could. Under her wing I always find my way home. I think me telling her wha I needed today was one of those life altering conversations. I never have been able to say what I need. This is a huge step.

But I know myself and when I get something, I really get it, and I take it on. So I needed love, I needed to be hugged. Game on!

And so I went and I got a few hugs. From my best friend in San Fran, to my best friend in LA, an old friend, my boyfriend and my son. And that's what it was. I needed the people in my life to hold me and let me know it was all gonna be okay. That they had my back. And it was okay for them to see me weak. Raw. Real. And that that weakness wouldn't make them leave. That me needing them wasn't going to have them walk out of my life. THAT is what I was really afraid of. Ding! Ding! Ding!.

I can't tell you how safe I felt. And that vulnerability, letting the people in my life see me. At what for me what I thought was my worst trait. When perhaps it is the very thing that was missing all this time. To allow myself to be honest that I need you. Each one of you that is in my life, and what I need from you is to be hugged. Loved.

And you know I'll love you right back, Give it everything I've got. But today I learned an important lesson, that I need that just the same as you. And that my Independence actually benefits from my ability to be vulnerable and let you see me when I'm on shaky ground.

So I'm not gonna hide it anymore. And the best part is, the moment I let you see me this way, it dissolved. And what showed up was just me. Just Jai.

So I'm back. Thank God. And I'm okay if it happens again. Because next time I'll just ask for a hug. And Ill let it right in. And I promise, I wont fight to do it alone.
I love you. Really. Each and every one.

PS. San Francisco also made me a Phil Coke Fan. A Detroit Tigers Fan. Yeah, that's right, Phil Coke! Phil Coke! Great great game.

Red Coat, Red Shoes, Blue Bus.

2011-04-11T09:57:00.001-07:00

I took the bus yesterday. That's right. The bus.

I was going to the Lee Strasberg Theatre in West Hollywood to see the play "Girls Talk." I needed a ride there. I had a ride back. The bus became the best option. Besides I was so dang curious. WHO even rides the bus??

You know I love adventure. And spontaneity. And a good story. Anything for a good story. Inspiration.

I had my roommate drop me off at the bus stop. I wasn't gonna walk in my red heels all the way to the intersection of Bundy and Santa Monica Blvd, duh. And it was Sunday- so many of the lines don't run. If it was mid week I could've taken the 4 and the 8 to the main line that I needed to get to...metro 704. That was my ride. But a drop off to point A would suffice. And so I arrived at the stop. In my red coat, red shoes...and waiting for the Big Blue Bus.

Then I realized the Big Blue bus was only for the Westside and I actually was waiting for a red bus. Dammit. That ruined my title for the blog post I had planned... I decided to keep it anyways. Blue bus or not.

I waited excitedly for my bus. It was 500pm. The bus was due at 510. I was anxious- what if its late? Its supposed to take about an hour to get to WEHO this way. But I gave myself plenty of time before the play. Cuz you know I like to be early...to everything. Thanks to my drill Sergeant dad and his enforcing of a rigorous schedule. As an adult I am beyond grateful for it. Punctuality is a hot trait.

I felt like I was in another country, discovering new landmarks and adventure. Once the bus arrived I skipped on with my $1.50 in hand. As I leaned in to place my money in the slot, the bus driver took off. I nearly toppled over into a large woman's lap! I gathered my coat and adjusted my heels and took the last seat available in the front of the bus. Gees. Bumpy beginning but I settled into my seat quickly and popped on my headphones, secretly taking photos of nearby passengers.

Riding the bus reminded me of my youth. Gawd I sound like an old person..."Back in 1999..." LOL. I took the city bus with my sister for years when we lived in Lompoc, CA. We went to a private catholic school and it was the only way to get there since our parents worked. Back then it was scary. Cuz I was 9, and well the bus seemed bigger then, more daunting. But today this was fun, and interesting.

I sat next to a tall Latino man. H was reading a script, it was in Spanish. Only in LA.

The African American man next to me hit on me. Asked me if my Iphone played games and music. Duh dude. I would never want to be a guy. Its a hard thing to hit on a woman and not sound like a jack ass. But I was sweet to him, bc Ive learned you know what, may as well be kind. People just want to connect. Then he asked me if the photo of Jennifer Lopez that showed on my phone was me. "Um. No that's JLO, silly." I was flattered. And I put my headphones back on and continued to groove to "On the floor." My latest obsession.

I tried not to stare at the characters around me and at the ones boarding the bus. It was packed. Not a seat or a spot left to stand.

Apparently, EVERYONE takes the bus.

My mind wandered as I imagined where the man in front of me in the wheelchair was going. His laundry was strapped to his chair, his lunch in a brown bag on his lap. He was no different than me. Running errands on a Sunday, grabbing something to eat, going to the next stop.

I decided I liked the bus. No I LOVED the bus. I felt connected to people, to Los Angeles and the buzz of everyday life.

I reached down to grab my apple. I brought a snack. And I looked up to to see a sign saying you cant eat on the bus! It was a $280 dollar fine for eating and drinking and smoking. WTF. I cant eat an apple. Ugh. I was hungry and we were only passing Westwood Blvd. I grunted and the man next to me smiled and said hello. Oh yeah, the Latino Actor. Turns out he had just seen a play and was headed to his restaurant job. A true peer. We shared auditioning stories. He just shot an IHOP commercial. We had crossed paths many times and didn't know it. His stop was next and we said goodbye. Sweet guy. Hope he gets another commercial soon, and I'll be on the lookout for him in the IHOP spot in June:)

I rode the rest of the way in silence, watching a group of teenage girls giggle and text. And the hipster couple hold hands in the back. And the man in the wheelchair stare off as we pulled away from each stop. I kind of spaced out and realized we were in West Hollywood. Shit did I miss my stop??!! Luckily I came to in time for it. I yanked on the yellow cord to request the next stop and tumbled out as the bus came to a halt. I had made it to my destination. And I was early. Less than 50 minutes to get from West LA to WEHO. Not bad. About the same as if I had driven. Thank God I didn't actually try to road bike it here. That would've been a hot mess. Impossible in red heels anyways.

I got to Baby Blues to meet up with the boys to go see the play. And ran into some friends randomly. That's what I love about this town, it really is small.

The play was stellar. I give it two thumbs up. Two Whoop Whoops. Constance stole the show if you ask me, with her killer timing and brash delivery. Everyone was good, real good. And I found the writing to be clever and realistic and pertinent to the reality of motherhood in LA. I cried a lot, and laughed. The storyline hit home for me. The challenge of making a career, making friends, and being a mother in LA- No matter what level of the game you are at, its daunting at times. And the guilt that looms over a woman's head of whether she is doing enough and having it all is forever there. I was happy to experience good Theatre. Hats off to the cast, crew, writer, director and producers.

All said, I had a great adventure. Discovering LA. Seeing life through a different lens. I woke up inspired to write. To share.

My last blog post I didn't post. It was maybe too personal for now. But Ill tell you this. Like the bus, life keeps going. Making some stops. Some people get on, some get off. There's lots to see and experience. I'm happy on the bus I'm currently on. And the direction its going, well it looks really good.

Maybe you'll see me on the Big Blue Bus Soon.
Red coat, red shoes, and all.

Love to each of you-
Jai

Lucky Shops LA

2011-03-22T07:26:00.000-07:00

Hey to all my peeps...Spring is here and that means time to add some goods to your wardrobe. Im def ready to kick the layers and get som e cute dresses and combat boots:)

I'm working with Lucky Mag on an upcoming event in LA. Y'all know how much I love a good deal and how I love to shop. Come with me, and if you do get tix, use my code to get a discount!

For my readers only! get 10% off Lucky Shops LA tickets:
LUCKYJAI

Tickets can be purchased at www.luckyshops.com

EVENT DETAILS

Location:
Siren Studios
6063 W. Sunset Blvd.
Hollywood, CA

Date:
First Dibs Friday: Friday, April 8, 12PM-6PM
Saturday Shop-a-thon: Saturday, April 9, 10AM-5PM

In 2010, LUCKY SHOPS hosted more than 60 designers and shops from around the globe in New York City, including: Diane von Furstenberg, Tracy Reese, Foley + Corinna, Rebecca Taylor, Rebecca Minkoff, Botkier, Helen Ficalora, Jodi Arnold, Vena Cava, and many many more. Most merchants sold current as well as off-season items at up to 70% off. For more info, go to:

The Lucky Shops LA blog:
LuckyShopsLA.tumblr.com

Hope to see you there!!!

xo
jai

Japanese Tragedy, Brazilian Wisdom and Luck of the Irish

2011-03-18T22:40:00.000-07:00

Japanese tragedy, Brazillian wisdom and Luck of the Irish

My heritage is often a large topic of conversation when I first meet someone. It's because like many people, I'm a mix. And my face represents many countries. I look like I could be from anywhere. I'm an E.A., an Ethnically Ambiguous. Or Euro Asian. But beyond my Thai-Chinese-Irish-Scottish-Polish combo, there is just a simple woman who wants to live a full life.

I wasn't sure at first how the devastation of the tsunami in Japan had affected me. I woke up that morning in a daze. Pretending I was okay as I evacuated Venice beach and headed east. Though we were more than safe, there was a country who still is not. Pretending that the thousands of people mourned that day didn't affect me. Only it did, and continues to do so. But Japan gave me a gift. A beautiful reminder. To love and to live full out. To forge ahead without fear.

Japan gave me Romance. Love. Poetry. And balls. Yes, cahones.

Japan gave me Romance.
I have been denying this part of me for years, but after heartbreak and loss, it has become a quality that I have grown and learned to value. Who am I kidding I'm a closet romantic. And now I'm outing myself. I've been writing a romance novel basically for 3 years for crying out loud. I love making the people I care about feel special. I love to fantasise, and romanticise. Like seeing the silver lining on a cloud, I strive to let go and pour my soul out. Its a terrifying feat to confront, but life is short and unpredictable. The disaster and tragedy of Japan this month was just more reason to let my guards down and live life full out.

Japan gave me Love.
I found myself holding my son tighter, and telling him I loved him a hundred times more than before. I found myself enjoying the simplicity of a bowl of whole grains and kale and the gratitude for the people who brought that food to my mouth. I found myself wide open to love on all levels. And with open arms and an open heart. I am craving human connection so profoundly it scares me. When I once turned my back to intimacy out of ignorance, I now look to connect on a soul level with as many humans as I can. It is the first time in my life I feel needy. Not needy out of loneliness or fear, but needy to experience moments of love and connection out of the sheer fact that I, we are alive and can.

Japan gave me Poetry.
I'm not Brazilian but I would be. If I could. I recently was given a beautiful gift. A translated list of Brazilian wisdom. It is to me one of the most romantic things I've ever read. And I want to practice all of them. To me living life with this is poetry.

The list of Brazilian Wisdom(source unknown) speaks for itself...

1. Look eye to eye.
2. Listen with affection.
3. Speak of your desires and wishes.
4. Cover yourself with flowers.
5. Follow instincts.
6. Write poetry.
7. Be Platonic.(this one is not sure if translated right)
8. Dance stuck together like glue.
9. Kiss more on the mouth.
10. Light aromatic candles.
11. Send notes.
12. Plant sunflowers
13. Take a bath together.
14. Speed up the heart and exercise.
15. Leave pedals along the way.
16. Experiment more.
17. Abandon preconceptions.
18. Fantasize a lot.
19. Eat basil.
20. Give gifts.
21. Feed your loved one with love.

Number 8 is my favorite.

And lastly...Japan gave me Balls.
I found myself sitting across the table from my idol this week, and having the cohones to say everything I've ever wanted to say. And to ask for help, when I am someone who would never allow to be helped before. I cant tell you how hard it was to open my mouth and not pretend that I was superwoman. That I was vulnerable, scared, hopeful, and still able to reach outside of my comfortable box and ask. It was one of the scariest and most adult things I have done.

So thank you Japan. In your tragedy, I grew. And I gained. And I was reminded again the importance of the quality of life. To every day feel, love, forge ahead. Dream, fantasize, kiss, hug, run, play, laugh, dance stuck together like glue. I am so grateful.

And in a way, I'm back to my roots. My Thai Chinese Irish Polish Scottish roots. All of my heritage has something to teach me. As did Japan.

Irish Legend says that each leaf of the 4 leaf clover means something: The first is for hope, the second for faith, the third for love and the fourth for luck.

This St Patrick's day I am reminded to hope for the best, have faith in my dreams, love the loves of my life and remember luck does happen.

I love you, each of you, more and more every day. Thank you for reading my words.

Jai

Rango and the best hoodie ever.

2011-03-06T14:03:00.000-08:00

Uniforms are a good thing. When I was in Catholic school we had to wear one, and you know something, it was brilliant. You can focus in a uniform. No distractions.

I have a uniform. Its a good one.

When I die I would like to be buried in this, a hoodie, a pair of rainbow flip flops, and jeans. Please make a note.

You should know who makes the best hoodie. EVER. And add it to your uniform. I'm dead serious.

Ive searched and searched A LOT. Come close before, but not like this.

Alternative Apparel.

They have the best one. With their simple, clean and somehow perfectly urban chic yumminess. It feels and looks exactly how you would want a hoodie to...

I'm a big fan. Maybe even a huge fan. Their stuff is priced right, feels good, and eff, you look like a never trying too hard rock star.

See for yourself. A video.

Now that I've found the best hoodie, I'm as comfortable as can be.
Which takes me to a point. Something I've discovered. I can only write under certain circumstances. I must be comfortable and I must be under pressure. So I did both this week. I got comfortable, in my uniform. Esp In this hoodie, for starters. And I put myself under pressure. One chapter a day until my book is revised. It's been 4 days. 4 chapters. So far so good. It's hard, really hard, but I'm actually doing it. In my hoodie, at my computer, comfortable and under the gun.

I want to quit writing alot. Daily. Every time I open the file. But this story has a grip on me. And it wants to be told. Because its my story--and in the words of Rango, "NO man can walk out on his own story."

The lizard knows his S&*T. Thanks Rango, I needed that.

It took me forever to find the perfect hoodie. And it took me forever to find the perfect story. So here goes nothing. And everything. 35 chapters, 35 days to the finish line. You will find me there in my hoodie and my rainbows--

Mexico Vegas and Giving Birth

2011-02-16T20:50:00.000-08:00

Mexico, Vegas, and giving birth.

For the past week I traveled.
For fun, for work, for play.
And on my final flight home, I had a thought.

I'm not afraid to die.

I was looking out onto the sun-kissed cumulous clouds that hung still over our Los Angeles horizon. And it was perfect. Our plane flew through one and everything went white.

I imagined this is like the moment life ends. Everything goes white (or black) and its done. Its over. I thought about my life and I was happy. I have a beautiful son. Ive lived. Ive traveled, seen parts of the world that make painters paint and singers write. And I thought if this was it, would I be satisfied with the outcome of my life? I loved. Ive lost. Ive struggled. Ive found joy.

No. There would be one thing that would be like the solitary rain cloud that loomed in the far distance as our plane descended into LAX and pulled up to Gate 3. That my stories didn't get told. That very few knew what I had to say.

And that's when I saw the parallel. Ive never written about what It was like for me giving birth. So here's my birth story. A perfect story to tell given what brought the thought was death. Full circle. I love it.

River Isaiah Greenlee. That's what we named him. Before he was born. When he kicked and played in my giant tummy. Yes, I was huge. 65 pounds of hugeness gained. And I enjoyed every last french fry that got me there.

River's due date was August 26th, 2008. But I knew he'd be early. If he was anything like me, he'd be way early. And so my mom came up on Friday, August 15th to wait. To wait for this little boy, her first grandchild, my first baby, to be born. I wanted her to be at the birth. We were having a home birth. Midwives, a tub, yeah I know so granola. But I swore I wouldn't get naked. The thought of my mom seeing my naked amazon boobs was far too much to handle. I could only imagine her saying, "oh wow, man, look you hab giant boobies." No thanks Mom. No thanks.

We went to dinner at Xiaote(pronounced Coyote) for their famous salad that supposedly induces labor. Three slices of pizza and one huge salad l'ater, I was having contractions. We sat and waited with giddiness. They didnt hurt, they just felt like cramps. Every 5 minutes. 20 minutes passed, still coming. We called the midwife, she said we probably had a long long ways to go. I didn't care, I knew he was coming. We sped home. Besides didn't she know my game plan?? Quick get home, have a few contractions, push baby out, take nap with baby. 4 hours max. That was my bet.

We got home and I continued to contract. Everyone was excited, friends came by. My mom chatted everyone up. I layed down, I stood up, I sat. I took a shower. I was antsy. The contractions were closer together now and hurting. But the pain was okay. I could handle it. And then it turned. Around midnight. It was quiet. Everyone had gone. It was just me and Vince. And I started to get scared. Because these contractions were painful. My stomach seized with pressure every few minutes and it was coming fast. I called down and told Vince he needed to get the midwife NOW. And like that she pulled up and knocked on our door. She said she had a feeling it was time. Wow she was right.

I had two midwives. They worked in shifts. While one rested, the other took care of me. They made me walk, move, rock in a chair. They massaged me. I cried. I wept. The whole time. A whole day of this passed. It was midnight the next day night and I wanted to die. I actually thought I might. I felt like I was being torn from the inside out. The pain was unbearable. I couldn't eat or drink or sit or stand. Nothing gave me relief. I got in the birthing tub and nothing. All I could feel was pain. All I could think about was the pain and I started to break down. I remember rocking in the chair and telling the midwife "No" over and over and she whispered gently to me, to say yes. to welcome the pain. And it took everything in me to just delve deep into the pain, and let it envelope me. And then I let go.

It was dawn and I just gave in. It was a clear moment. I could not take the resistance of it for a second longer. And My whole body gave in. My mind went blank. and I turned into a pure instinctual animal. My body shook. I threw up. I turned a corner. My mother came in and saw me and couldn't bear it. I was convulsing, sweating, stirred by the natural pain of birth. She told the midwives to break my water. And so they took me upstairs and did. I remember how it felt. I could feel her arm all the way inside me, opening the bag and letting the water trickle out. I was so connected to my body. And I knew my son was ready. I stood up and got into the birthing tub. I waited for my cue. And waited. And finally I asked if I could push. I realized no one needed to tell me, or give me permission. That this was my birth. This was me and my son forging our life together and it was up to us. I could feel him ready and so I pushed. As hard as I could and with everything I had. It felt like I was shitting a bowling ball. No joke.

37 minutes later, River was born. He floated to the surface, gently cupped by his father's hands, eyes wide open. I looked down. He looked at me. "Hi" I whispered. We already knew eachother. I stared at him. I thought he looked like a squished Buddha. He just stared back at me. He had my mouth. I knew he was okay. And I let myself lay back. Just for a moment. And I shed one more tear. I did it. I gave birth to my son. And he was okay. 38 hours of labor. 37 minutes of pushing. And River Isaiah was born on August 17th, 2008.

It wasnt until months later I found my birth record. The midwives took notes of the birth. And at the bottom they wrote the most beautiful thing...(I'm summerizing here so pardon if its not exact)."Jai wept her way into motherhood. She shed the little girl and became a woman, a mother. Beautiful"

I would have to agree. That day changed me forever. River changed me. I became soft, available, snuggly, happy, calm, assertive when needed, and I finally had a place for my sterness and discipline. I was no longer a chaotic neurotic mess. I was grounded and whole.

River will never know the depth of the gift that he has been to me. Because words cannot express it. No matter if I'm gone for work or for play, I will always be there for him, I'll always be his mother. And he will always and forever be my baby.

I love you Riv. Mommy missed you. And I'm so happy to be home.

Woolen Slippers and a Happy Respect.

2011-02-02T10:54:00.000-08:00

Awwww Yea.

I figured it out.

I got un-stuck. So maybe writer's block is real.

I like to think of writing as channeling. That writing is something that moves through you, like a wave in the ocean. Sometimes it powers through, crashing on to the sand. Other times its slow between sets, and it trickles forward in a slow sweep.

With regards to my writing there's been no swell. No surf. Until this morning, well last night. I could not write. I blocked out 3 hours to do it. I opened my laptop and stared. Even pretended I wasn't going to write. But I promised myself I would. And I got nothing. I could not write. Stuck. On that wretched cursor.

I'm in my 3rd revisions of my novel and I'm at the end of Act 1. This dang Act has had me completely annoyed. And I've been stuck. On page 84, Chapter 17. All I want to do is skip ahead and revise the remaining 265 pages. But I can't move on until I deal with this scene. This is the scene Josephine confronts her husband, who had betrayed her and put her in prison, in a convent, and is now coming to her for help. This is the first time in this story that Josephine has a voice and asserts herself. Fancy that.

Life does imitate art. I've been avoiding confrontation. I hate conflict. I don't want to argue. I just want to stay in my happy little bubble and not be affected by life's waves. It's nice in my bubble, I'm happy alone. And this is where I needed to grow. This is where I had to be willing to fight, or at least stand up for myself. But I'm not a victim, and I didn't want my stand to come from a place of defensiveness. Because there is nothing to defend ultimately.

Until this morning when I heard these words, "Respect my happiness." That's it. Is that what has been missing for me and for my character, Josephine? Yes, effing Eureka!

No one has respected her happiness, and without knowing this is what was at the core of her unrest, I was unable to have her confront the people who did not respect her. And this is what has been at the core of me. I couldn't "fight back" until I realized that I needed to let people know, hey, respect my happiness. Because I'm happy. And I don't need to justify it anymore. I don't need to apologize for finding happiness. That's crazy!

And now Josephine can speak. Now she can tell her ex husband, Alexandre, to back off. That her years of dedication and devotion are complete and she no longer is going to try to feed his soul. Because that was never her job. And she took it on because she thought that was what love was. But its not. Maybe true love is two souls meeting and dancing and allowing each other the room to explore their own levels of happiness. She could never make him happy because ultimately he was not. And it was not her fault.

So now I can write. If you could see me right now, I'm standing at the table barely able to get the words out fast enough. My hands are on fire typing 80 wpm, desperately excited to tell the end of Act 1. With authenticity and a place to stand. A-freaking- MEN!

I think I'm spiritual. I guess I am. And today I found a deeper understanding of who or what God is to me. God is that sacred bubble that contains my happiness. And that happiness is pure, sweet, joyous. I found that sweet spot from the darkness. Which is also God to me. I'm about to get deep here. As a kid, I was alone alot. And there were moments in that quiet aloneness after the fear passed, where I would find these glimmers of joy. Because I loved who I was. I loved that I could read till I passed out, and that I would draw until my hand cramped. I found art and stories as an avenue to connect to that God-joy place. In essence, I found me there.

But I kept that sweet piece of God to myself. Because if I put it out there for the world to see, somebody could destroy it. That was the fear I've been living in. And then I would find myself putting it out there, and some people would be adverse to it. Or want to stomp on it. Or ignore it. And worse, I was judging it. But this was my God, and today I made the choice to allow it to be. And I say to anyone who will listen, respect my happiness. Respect my God.

I've not let many people read what I've written. I've been writing a novel for the past 2 1/2 years.

The Sisterhood, set in 1790 Paris, France. It's about a woman, Josephine, who is forced to live in a convent against her will. In the walls of the Carmes Convent on Place Maubert, Josephine finds her true self, and the courage to live a life she never thought possible.

So here you go. Here's a piece of me.

Act 1
Chapter 17

I stomped my woolen slippers as loudly as I could into the kitchen. They were no match for my riding boots, but the intent was just the same. I needed not to prepare to face Alexandre, for I was as raw as ever. What he could possibly want, I had not one idea. I knew for certain, I was not going to give him an ounce. This would be the first time I would face him since coming to Carmes convent. It had been 2 weeks since I was arrested. Two weeks since I caught him in bed with my maid. Two weeks since that false sense of freedom. Living as his wife in his home had been more of a prison that this robe and these slippers.
I was startled by what I saw. Him, sitting on a stool in the kitchen, slumped, shoulders narrower. He had lost weight, the color from his face was sullen, his cheeks hollowed. The new beard that sat on his face unable to hide his loss of power. The arrogant and pious man with the taught flesh and ripe eyes was long past. He was defeated, it was clear. And desperate. And I felt nothing for him. Absolutely nothing. He began.
“Josephine, your father left a small fortune to you and your brother- you must get it. Somehow, convince him to give you your share. Your brother is the executor of the lump sum. But it is your father’s wealth, and since he has died you are entitled to it. If we can get it, we may have a chance out-“
I could see where he was going and would not take it. Absolutely would not take this bait. Alexandre was a master strategist. A man of incredible ideas. Though ideas that were founded in greed not honor. And I would not be victim to it. I kicked my heel hard into the ground. Like a soldier claiming his territory. Alexandre felt my assertion and began to plead-
“ Josephine, please, There is someone I know who works for Napoleon who will take the money and absolve us of our said wrongdoings, we could be free, Josephine! You may at least, have a chance out. They are going to hang me, do you understand, do you?!”
I was unmoved by his plea. And bursting to speak.
“Have you no regard to first apologize for my loss!?! My father is dead!” I screamed.
“Of course not, of course not.” I took two steps forward right into his space. My eyes level with his. I had never talked back to him, ever.
“You are still the same, a selfish man with only his best interest in mind. And to think you want me to pay for your freedom. After it was you who got me here in this wretched place. I would rather die a nun than help you. How dare you ask of me this kind of favor. How dare you even look to me for a helping hand.” My blood was boiling. I wanted to strangle him. To slit his throat with one clean cut. I wanted to mangle his face with my bare hands.
He was shaking. And right before me he began to weep, hysterically weep. Falling to his knees.
“They will hang me Josephine, do you understand that? I am to be hanged!”
“I do not care Alexandre. I protected you for years. When everyone said you were a man without honor, I said you were. When my father said you lacked in manhood, I said you were the greatest man who ever lived. And I was blind. Blinded by your charm and your false power. As angry as I am that I am stuck in these convent walls, I am indeed grateful. Because I am no longer under your rule. I am back to myself again. Back to the core of me. And I am full to the brim with courage. Something you never had. And that is why you could never love me or cherish me. Because I had what you lacked, and you resented me for it. Goodbye Alexandre. I will not help you. No. I will not.”
I turned on my heel and slowly marched out. Sister Magnus slid in behind me and went to Alexandre. I’m sure she had something to do with his plea. I was not stupid. They were somehow working together. I wanted to run around and let them know I would not be fooled by them. But I had to be smart. Smarter. I chose silence. Because in that silence I would find my way. And in time I would regain my freedom. I sensed I was already well on my way.
I had only a few hours until I would say my goodbyes to Brother Roman. I decided I would tell him the truth. That I was in love with him. And I did not care what happened. He just needed to know the depth of my love. I ascended the stairs in my woolen slippers with pride. These slippers had brought me to the truth.

White picket fences and birthday wishes

2011-01-26T14:09:00.000-08:00

Yesterday was my birthday. I turned 31.
Yep. 3.1. 31. thirty freaking one.

I know a woman never tells her age. But I'm actually proud of my 31 years. And I'm proud that I still get carded. Thank God for it actually. And for those young college kids who ask me how I did on finals last term, God Bless you. Serious.

What I love about birthdays is its a good check point for where I am along the plan I have. And then there's the acknowledgment of the life, or the destiny that has unfolded and collided with the plan I had written down. Often times I find what I have in mind is usually jarred by life's plans, but the end result is always the same. I end up more open, more loving and more willing to play. So really it's all the same.

At 8, if you would've asked me where I would be at 31, I would have told you I would be on top of the world, famous for my art and acting, married with 3 kids, with the white picket fence and saving the rain forests in my spare time, y'know....the works. I love that I had the freedom to dream that big, that vast. I thank my parents for always saying yes to my visions, even if if may have conflicted with their own. Thanks Mom and Dad, you guys are everything to me.

/IMG_1391.jpg">

Now as a 31 year old mother, friend, sister, daughter, I have a simpler plan. Still vast in a way, still big. But simple. To love, be loved, tell stories, grow, have fun, create moments. Maybe buy a house. Land an acting gig, a big one. Take a trip or two.

I woke up today, at 31 years and one day, and went for a run. A real run. 7 miles. to the beach, onto the sand, down to the pier, and back. I don't know that I've ever run on the sand for that long of a stretch. But it was fantastic. I danced/ran/skipped my way down the beach. Elated with the joys this new year has brought me. Excited for where I am on my 10 year plan. (I'm on year 2, finishing 1st book of trilogy, will produce and star in all 3 films adapted from my novels) And ready to take this year on with a profound amount of joy and gratitude. I know those words get tossed around alot. But I really mean them. I had to hit rock bottom to find out their true meaning, and I did last year. So now, I feel right to use them.

As I rounded the last corner and walked my sandy feet up to my new home. The irony of living in a craftsman, with a white picket fence and with 2 dogs made me laugh. Maybe at 8 I wasn't too far off.

At 31. I'm putting me out there. I'm a single mom. I'm a writer. I'm an actor. I'm a best friend. And if you let me, I'll give it everything I've got. Like I said I'm proud of my 31 years. The gift I got this year more than any other year, is that I have character. And that is worth every line and wrinkle.

All my love always,

Jai

PS Thanks for all the birthday wishes, each and every one. And to French Fry, you continue to floor me, thank you.

Eat. Drink. Wine. In NYC I came alive.

2011-01-17T09:07:00.000-08:00

Eat. Drink. Wine.
And so was my trip to NYC.

I have the best friends. And just this past year, after going through a very difficult time in life, I learned who my real friends are. It was a time I needed help. And they picked up the phone. Asked me how I was. Held my hand, let me cry, let me be. Thank you guys. You know who you are. I love you with everything that I've got.

This past weekend, one of those sacred people, flew me to NYC. To hang, to decompress from the changes I had faced, to let loose, to eat good food and drink good wine. But really, to just be. Funny how I had to fly to NYC to find the Angels that LA had given me. Heather you are my girl.

So we ate. We drank. Wine. And lots of it. It was perfect. I was on my own personal Eat Pray Love trip, just minus the Indian gurus and Balinese medicine men. Instead, Pizza pie and vino in carafes enveloped me as I marched my faded leather boots down Broadway, looking for souvenirs for my baby boy. Who's really not a baby anymore. This I am having a hard time with. I called him every morning. He's 2 1/2. And when he would get on the phone, it was business as usual. "Hi Mommy. River ride bike, River playing. I know he missed me, but he has a life now. One that doesn't require being strapped to my chest in a sling and constant rocking. I miss those days. When I was needed that much.

Perhaps that's what this trip marked for me. That I needed me. I needed to take time to walk. To think. To eat. To drink. Food had become tasteless and walking had become robotic. The last 6 months I was in a trance of remarkable change. Though I welcomed it with a raw and open heart. I had marched around tough, barely covering the fragile girl that lie just underneath the surface. And then I met New York. With Heather as my guide, I gently eased into the brisk air and carefully navigated the slushy streets. Strangely safe and somehow the snow covered roads took care of me.

I was surprised. By my preparedness. My openness. My happiness. That is what I have found out about me. Through the challenge of change and the uprooting of a life I had, into a ferociously quickly new one, I was ready. I could handle the 30 degree weather, the icy patches of road, the carbs, the chocolate, the bottles of wine. And I could finally taste the food. The amazing food. And I could feel the wine pulsate my veins and warmly remind me I was still here. That I didn't need to be tough. I didn't need to be needed. I could stand on my own and fall back into the depths of love that surrounded me. And I would be okay.

As I sit in Terminal 4, Gate 25 B, waiting for my plane to board and fly back home, I have a new sense of myself. A flesh version of the robot that stomped around before. My anger has melted with the snow and I feel alive. I want to sing outloud and jump in puddles. I want to love so hard my heart could burst. I want to laugh so deep my stomach aches. I want to cry and weep until I hyperventilate. I want to feel everything and miss nothing.

I return to Los Angeles with a renewed sense of purpose. I came here 10 years ago, with the dream of making it big. And now I return with a refined vision. I dont need to be big, I need to tell stories. Stories that pour out of my soul and into the hearts of people who want to listen. To let people see and feel the humanness that is me. And the raw passion that pulses my veins gets let out into the ether's and manifests into moments and scenes and dialogue that move people. That I really push people to feel something. Because I finally feel again. I finally feel alive pulsing with life, invigorated by the streets of New York, by the company of real friends, by the taste of real food, by the air of the history that sits on every city block.

Thank you New York. Thank you Heather.

Because now I can eat. I can pray. I can Love.

Thai Jammin'

2010-12-29T10:48:00.000-08:00

Christmas this year was filled with Thai Jams.

Thai jammin'

Let's 'splain this. I'm Thai. Well Half anyways. My mom was born and raised outside of Bangkok and goes back often. The best gift I got this year was my mom coming home from Thailand after a 10 month stint. Not only was it AMAZING to have her home, our Christmas was in the Thai spirit...Thai food all day, as much as we could possibly overeat, and better yet, Thai presents.

One of my favorite things about my mom going home to Thailand is when she gets back she brings the most random gifts. For me it usually entails funky clothes. This year, it was a pair of Jams. Yes, that's right, you heard me. Remember those half baggy pants from the 80s that Pro wrestlers and hunky movie stars like Jean Claude Van Dam would wear?? My mom brought me home my very own pair, tricked out with a flashy pattern and skinny cankles. OMG they are a riot. But you know something, I love them. And I am sooooo sporting them. Truly one of a kind. Just like my mom. I Love You Mom.

There was also another Jam, another Thai Jam that I got. Long story short, I had to drive back and forth from LA to SD several times. And on my last leg to LA, (wearing my Jams of course) I downloaded my old favorite Jewel CD (Pieces of You). I wanted something I could sing along to and lose myself in. Something sad and dramatic and sexy. I was in a mood. Maybe it was the Jams, or the holidays.

Whatever it was, I was unleashed- wildly singing on that last 2 hours stint, cruising in the rain and listening to who was gonna save my soul. I poured my half bad Thai singing voice out...and found that, while no one listened- but me- I actually wasn't half bad. Well I at least didn't shatter the windshield. It made me want to learn to really sing. And I think I will...Bottom line, I felt alive. I like that. More please.

All in all this holiday was a Thai Jam. And I loved every minute of it.

Here's the VLOG:

Happy New year everyone,

The message: Old trends can be fun....and trying something new is good for your soul.

XOXOXO
Jai

Summer in the winter

2010-12-13T11:54:00.000-08:00

Its December. And I'm in a bikini.
The beauty of living in SoCal...

Living in sunny Cali makes for needing a year round supply of good swimsuits and bikinis. God knows I have a plethora. Kind of an obsession. My latest search though since taking up surfing is finding a suit I can swim/surf and play in. Not so easy really. Which makes for today's fashion find.

I heard about this site called Swimspot through Lucky Mag. You can "build" your ideal bikini or make an appointment with their bikini specialist. And they have TONS of great brands, my personal favs are Splendid and Hurley. They have everything from sporty to classic and cute and functional.

I used the bikini builder and called a specialist and.... found the perfect suit. The site is super user friendly, and the specialists are very available and will make an appointment that works for you. They have tons to choose from that fit every type of body. I didn't want to sacrifice looking cute for comfort and fit. And the specialist helped me find a great suit that also has a reversible top so I'm really getting 2 looks out of one suit! Nice. I also really liked being able to talk to someone live while navigating the site. She pointed out suits I maybe wouldn't have noticed, but were perfect for what I was looking for.

And they have free shipping and free exchanges, which when ordering online, is super key.

In the end, I'm going with the Splendid Marcel striped reversible top and string bikini bottom. Loves!!

Here's a quick Vlog of what I'm talking bout.

I heart mustaches

2010-11-29T20:52:00.000-08:00

Movember.

Mustaches.

I heart Mustaches.

It's November y'all. And for those of you in the know, its Movember.
That's right November is the month where men grow mustaches. To support prostate cancer. Get it, Mo-vember. Mustache Month.

Check it out here. http://us.movember.com/

Its kitch, its cool, its an easy way to make a statement to make a difference. And I LOVE it.

I have a small obsession with the mustache. If I was a man, I would absolutely sport all variations. The handlebars, the pencil thin, the Charlie Chaplin. You name it, I'm down.

I salute all the men(and women) who celebrated Movember this year. Thanks for that. And in honor of the rad cause, please take a moment and watch this video. Where the BEST hat ever makes an appearance. Yes people. Its a mustache hat. Thanks to www.zazzle.com