You WILL Bring Me Flowers

Surrender

2012-06-26T14:18:00.001-07:00

What does it mean to “surrender”? Because I don’t really know.

Somebody once said to me (and I am 100% positive that others have thought it), “You are the only one standing in your way”. Okay…thank you…that’s helpful…what do I do about it?

A decade of therapy has taught me about all of the things that went wrong in my life and why my journey hasn’t been as easy as some. And easy is a relative term. I constantly have to remind myself that my village isn’t being bombed, I can say whatever I want (within reason) without being shot on sight, and I can access clean drinking water whenever I need to. That’s something, I admit…it could be worse. But this is America. This is the only life I have ever known. Do I know real and true suffering? Probably not. But…I suffer nonetheless. And while I know how and why I became me…ME doesn’t seem to work in a lot of scenarios, and I don’t know what to do about it.

Why am I the only “normal” person that I know who has been single for over a decade? (This is a gross exaggeration of course, but I have not had a long term committed relationship since I moved to Los Angeles). And what I mean by normal is…I’m not a disgustingly hideous disfigured bum. I am a relatively attractive person with brains and talent…and yet, I can never seem to put any of it to good use for an extended period of time. I can do things. I can get jobs, work, perform, make friends, meet guys…but eventually things come to an end for one reason or another and the only thing that has ever lasted are my friendships. At least I have this. I take great pride in my work as a friend. I am a good one, and I have the lasting friendships to prove it.

But, when I have to take things to the lowest common denominator and comfort myself with the fact that I don’t live in a third world country…you gotta know something is wrong.

I quit my job on Friday. I was there for seven months. I had secured that job while working at another. That other place was absolutely miserable. The money was terrible, my boss was an asshole, the food was mediocre, business was slow, and I was dating my alcoholic self-destructive co-worker. Everybody who worked there, including me, drank all night long just to get through it. I had to get out. So, I did the right thing (even though my current boss kept writing me bad checks and I wasn’t being paid) and I stayed there while I looked for something else. And then I left. So, now I’m at the new place. I’m happy. Ecstatic. Grateful. This place was shiny and new, my boss loved me, I loved him, everything was great. A fresh start. Everybody needs one of those. But then the inevitable happened. I got my first customer complaint. This was several months in. It happens. I mean, let’s face it, you can’t please all of the people all of the time and I’ve been doing this a long long looooooooooong long time. I know the drill. I know what is expected of me. I do my best and hope I can get through the day without anything too awful happening, but I am not perfect and no matter what you do…sometimes it just isn’t going to be enough. Well, this was the beginning of the end. This customer wanted something that isn’t on the menu and I didn’t know if it was possible to comply with her request. I just wanted to get it right and in trying to do so, she got frustrated and embarrassed and then told my boss I was rude to her. I wasn’t, but that doesn’t matter. It’s like being accused of rape. Even if you didn’t do it, people will always associate you with being a rapist afterwards. I know that’s an extreme comparison, but it’s true. It plants the seeds of doubt and that’s enough to ruin your reputation forever. So, ever since then my boss has seen me differently. He started getting on my case more and more about little tiny stupid things. Texting me on my days off to tell me of a minor infraction made the day before. Totally inappropriate. While this may not be a big deal to some, it was a huge deal to me. I spent years and years trying to prove to my parents that I wasn’t a hideous loser after spending a few years being one. It took a lot to prove that my past wasn’t my present and that I had changed. And now I was going to have to go through the same thing here at work. I became increasingly more stressed as I strived for perfection, which as we all know is absolutely impossible to achieve. I minded my p’s and q’s. Took every precaution to make sure that nobody would ever have a reason to complain about me again. Now, if you’ve ever worked in service, you know that there are some people who just don’t want to be happy, so despite my best efforts, someone else complained about me. Now mind you, they didn’t complain about my service. I did my job fine. This person complained about a conversation that we had. Now, I’m a bartender. This is a job that’s heavy on conversation. People tell you things, things get personal, people get comfortable, alcohol is involved. It’s basically just a huge recipe for disaster for someone like me. I have always been a pretty open book. You don’t get a lot of surprises with me. I say how I feel, tell people what I think, and I try to be as honest as I can. It’s just the way that I am built…and this is the problem. So, anyway, I don’t really remember this customer, but apparently we had a pretty in depth conversation about what I do outside of work, you know, the fire dancing and whatnot. And somewhere along the line I expressed that bartending was not my life’s dream and that I couldn’t wait to someday be able to just do what I love all of the time and not work in restaurants anymore. Well, that did it. This customer was not going to stand for this. She wanted me to be completely happy where I was and to go on bartending until I’m 90 and to do it with enthusiasm and joy. So, what she decided to do was to write a page long letter to my employer to tell him I was not happy with my job. Wow. Really? I wish I had that kind of time! So, days after this conversation took place my boss pulled me into his office to tell me about the psychotic letter he had received. He made me read it. It was really bat shit crazy. But that doesn’t matter. It planted the seed…and that’s all it takes. I proceeded to burst into tears. I felt betrayed first of all. I mean, how the hell does a person take a private and personal conversation and then blab it to my boss? What a fucking bitch! And I felt completely unsupported by my employer. I felt that I had been there long enough (about 5 months) for my work to speak for itself. There are shit ton of customers who absolutely adore me! People leaving happy left and right. And just because one bored and crazy lady takes it upon herself to interpret things that I said and twist them to suit her world view, now I’m an asshole who hates her job? It really wasn’t the case. I didn’t hate my job. But I started to after this incident. I became more and more careful with who I engaged in conversation and what I said. I felt mistrusting of everyone and I also felt that my boss was now watching me very very very closely. And he was. After this incident I couldn’t do a damn thing right. Criticism was the daily ritual and no matter how awesome I was with customers, how fast I made drinks, how clean I left my bar, it was never enough. He kept finding things to complain about. In twelve years of doing this kind of work, I have never experienced so much negative feedback. Work became a place I dreaded going and my boss a tyrant who I never wanted to see again, let alone lift another finger for, ever. But, like a good little girl, and an upstanding citizen who pays taxes, uses their blinker, and takes it right up the ass with a smile, I kept going back. Because that’s what you do. You work. You do what you’re told. You do whatever it takes because you have bills to pay and you don’t want to end up on the street.

Meanwhile, I had another life. A new and improved life outside of work. One that was free of alcoholic boyfriends and free of alcohol all together. My last blog was 7 months ago and I stated that I would no longer be drinking and I stuck to it. Oh, big woop. They don’t hand out prizes you know. But, still I am thankful that I made that decision and my life has changed in a lot of positive ways as a result. I started the whole fire dancing thing and I gained a level of confidence that I didn’t know was possible for me. I met a lot of really great people and became immersed in a world that I had never known existed. The fire dancing community, while not without flaws, is a very supportive group of individuals. We all have this one thing in common and we’ve all been changed for the better because of it. The effect that it’s had on my life has been very profound and I know it has done the same for others. Everyone tries their best to live in an elevated state of consciousness. It comes more naturally for some than it does for others, but the point is, they try…and that’s more than most people do…in my experience anyway.

People from this community tend to be spiritual, liberal, and free. Conversation is interesting, creativity is at maximum capacity at all times, there’s always some kind of inspirational quote on Facebook from someone or other, there’s always something social to do, nobody shakes your hand, everybody hugs (you need 12 a day for proper oxytocin production…did you know that?), people dance, and by people I mean even the men. Everyone gets to be themselves, or a whatever version they choose to put forth, nobody tries to fit into a box, or put you into one. It’s pretty great all around, although like I said, there are flaws…I mean, these are people I am talking about. Not everybody walks their talk and that can be disheartening, but that might be subject matter for another blog. But you get my drift. Here I am in a sea of good people who are just happy to let me be who I am and show me love and then I go to work every night and try to be who somebody else wants me to be and get shit on. It’s a mind fuck of great proportions and it’s hard to live in both worlds simultaneously.

The more immersed I become in “the community”…I know, it sounds like a cult…the more I see how screwed up things are on the outside of it. And this isn’t news to anyone, we all see the world going to hell in a hand basket, but I am surrounded by people who want to make it better, who really and truly believe that it CAN be better. I’ve been exposed to people who look at the silver lining ALL of the time. Who believe in themselves and who believe in the abundance of the Universe. People who believe that if you set your mind to it, you really CAN do anything. That you ARE okay just the way you are. That you ARE meant to be here and that everything IS going to be okay. And, well, I drank the Cool Aid…and as a result, I no longer have a job.

Here is what happened. Thursday night I was doing a stellar job not having inappropriate conversation with anyone, mixing amazing cocktails, keeping up with a never ending stream of customers and basically just being all around amazing. Apparently, I forgot to take my bus tub (the thing you put your dirty dishes in) back to the kitchen at the end of the night. Well, first of all…I usually work with a busboy who automatically does this for me. And second of all, the tub had already been emptied earlier, so I know there weren’t that many dishes in it anyway. Well, the busboy didn’t take it back and I forgot to double check. Big. Fucking. Deal. Yeah, it’s not the best. You don’t want to attract critters, and I know this…which is why I’ve NEVER made this mistake before. So, on Saturday I’m at the Silverlake Reservoir having the best day with a girlfriend of mine. We did the stairs and were having a Spin Jam (practicing with our fire tools) in the park. The sun was shining, we were laughing and talking and workin’ out. Life was good. And then I get a text from my boss that reads: “We need to talk next week. You left your bus tub under the bar last night.” Um…is this some kind of medical emergency that needs my immediate attention? Why the FUCK is he texting me on my day off? I have NEVER in twelve years of waiting tables been called or texted on my day off to be reprimanded. And over something so little!!! Is he serious? “We need to talk”? Really? I mean, REALLY REALLY? There goes my fabulous day! He took it upon himself to swoop on in, uninvited and let me know that all was not well and that we’d be talking next week…I guess he wanted me to think long and hard about the horrible awful terrible no good thing that I did. And this wasn’t the first time. Another time he texted me to tell me that I left the a/c on all night. Okay, well, let’s back up a little bit. The a/c was indeed left on, but it’s on auto, meaning that it’s set at a certain temperature and will shut off when that temperature is reached. I think it was at like 72 or 74 or something. This means that it most definitely was NOT on ALL NIGHT because it’s not that hot at night and the a/c would eventually just shot off. And the reason I had forgotten was because the a/c is the first thing I check when I am closing up at night, but on that particular night after I had checked to make sure it was off, the dishwasher asked me to turn it back on…it gets like a steam room in the kitchen and the poor guy was sweating like a slave. So, I forgot I had turned it back on. I forgot. This happens to human beings every once in a while. They forget stuff. It sucks sometimes, but it happens to everyone as far as I know. I guess I’m just not allowed to be human. And even if it was a huge deal…it’s still not text worthy because it is not an emergency and it does not need to be addressed on my day off.

Now this may not sound like much to you, but you have to remember this rides on the coattails of being harassed all shift long for about two months (ever since the first customer complaint). Harassed to the point that other coworkers notice and say things like “What the hell is going on? Why does he keep riding you?” Not to mention that every single time my roommate ever came in to visit me, as a PAYING CUSTOMER no less, he would constantly harangue me with nonsense making her feel awkward and unwelcome to the point where she eventually just stopped coming in. And she’s in service as well, neither of us has every experienced anything like it. She was a regular customer and he never made her feel welcome…but I’m the asshole…even though I bend over backwards for everyone who walks in…okay, fine.

So, on Friday when I got that text, I finally snapped. This guy has no idea what he is doing or how to manage people. He has never bartended one single day in his life and has no idea what I do or how fucking good I am at it. He couldn’t possibly know. And while I don’t really relish serving alcohol, I have to say, I take pride in making a good cocktail, not because it’s a cocktail, but because it’s good. And I know there is value in being good at what you do, even if what you do is clean toilets. Well, it had been clear for some time that I was not being appreciated in anyway whatsoever. And no matter how stellar I did under extremely pressured circumstances, it was never going to be enough. And I knew for a fact that I would always make small mistakes…maybe not often, but again, the human factor guarantees this, and that he would never let any of them go. So, I quit. And there is more, so much more that I could say about him and about other people that work there and how unhappy they are and what they go through, but it really isn’t important. You just have to trust me on this.

I know that I deserve to be appreciated for what I do. I know that I deserve to be treated with respect. I know that …. Wait….I just had to stop typing for a moment…I don’t want to sound like I am justifying a bad decision, but it feels like it a little bit. You see, I am programmed. I am programmed by society, by my upbringing, by my experience…I am programmed to believe that you don’t ever walk away from a job, no matter how shitty the circumstances, unless you’ve got another one lined up. I feel like I am in trouble. I feel like I have misbehaved. I feel like I have done something wrong. That’s the old me, who is still alive and well in here. But I have new programming. The programming that I mentioned before. The programming of “Jump and the Net Will Appear!”. The whole, power of positive thinking programming, the Universe is Abundant programming, the Law of Attraction programming. But this programming is new, it isn’t hardwired, it isn’t reinforced in my neuro pathways yet. I have been living with and reinforcing the brain patterns of fear and “the world is a shitty and scary place” for 30+ years. It takes work to undo all of those neuro pathways. I know how the brain works. I understand the science behind that. And I do believe that those patterns can be changed, that the routing can be re-routed, that the thoughts can be different. But it’s work. And I’m doing it…it’s just not an overnight sensation kind of a thing. I WANT to believe these things. And on most days I do. But on a day like today, I doubt.

I quit my job in a terrifying job market and a shitty economy. People with master’s degrees are waiting tables. And no, I don’t want to wait tables anymore. I’ve never really been cut out for it. It has been an extremely difficult 12 years. I’m amazed that I’ve been able to do it for as long as I have. Okay, so I quit my job AND…AND…AND you want to hear the even crazier part? I have decided to give notice to my building. I mean, I don’t want to live in the valley anymore anyway. If you’ve read my previous blogs, you know that I did not choose this apartment. I’ve never really liked it. It’s waaay more than I wanted to spend and waaay more than I can afford now. So, here is my grand plan: I am going to continue to look for work…possibly in management (so I can be in charge and put my knowledge and expertise to good use and not have some moron lording over me), but possibly doing something completely different…and hopefully I will have a new job soon…and I am going to give up my apartment and for the month of August…I am going to just be a vagabond. I’m already going to be gone for a week (possibly more) in August at Burning Man anyway, so why spend money that I don’t have on rent for a place that I’m not even going to be occupying?

Am I losing my mind? Have I just completely left the reservation? Is this surrender? Or is this giving up completely? Is there a difference? My life’s plan right now is to be homeless…and possibly jobless. I have NO savings. None. Nothing. What the fuck do I think I am doing? How do I suppose I am going to survive? Just where exactly do I think I am going to stay? Yesterday, when I was in full Cool Aid mode, I felt pretty damn good about all of this. You know? I felt like, Yeah man! I’m free! I don’t have to work for an asshole. It doesn’t serve my higher purpose. It isn’t healthy. I don’t have to put up with this shit! Life is what I make it! Life is what I decide it’s going to be! I’m just going to throw all of my shit in storage and go to Burning Man, see how that changes me and then figure it all out when I get back! YEAH! YEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAH!

But then I went and got my period and now I’m up at 3:30am crying and writing this blog. Terrified. I know that isn’t surrender. But if I was “giving up” I wouldn’t have all of these questions. I wouldn’t care at all. I’d just leave all of my shit here and go OD on heroin or something. So what is this?

I have always been told, and I have always sorta believed, that I was meant for great things. I do have a belief that this world and my life is an opportunity for something big. It doesn’t have to be showy big. I don’t mean like I have to be a movie star or anything. But, I just think there HAS to be a way for me to make a living that gives my life meaning and purpose. I thought maybe Yoga was that thing, but I haven’t been able to get anyone to come to class, so I don’t know…maybe that’s not it. But fuck, there’s got to be a place for me where I belong, where the work I do is valued and appreciated. There has to be a place where I belong right now, just as I am that my life experience and work experience are just right for. I don’t want my parents to worry about me. I don’t want my friends to worry about me. Hell, I don’t want to worry about me. I have made this decision. This is what is happening. And this is meant to happen, cause…it’s happening…I already said that, but that’s how you know something is meant to happen…it happens. That’s reality. Anyway…I am walking away from that which does not serve me. I am walking away from that job and this apartment and I am walking towards whatever comes next.

Is this surrender? I really fucking hope so…because that’s when all the good shit’s supposed to happen~

Dear John~

2011-11-22T00:33:00.000-08:00

No, this letter is not intended for a person named John...but it is a "Dear John" letter...I guess. Kids do not try this at home. What I mean is, don't do the things that lead up to having to write a letter like this. I am posting it here because I can never send it to the person it is intended for and I haven't written a blog in months. Instead, I've been writing this letter for a week. So, here it is in all of it's patheticness for your amusement. I'm going to go back to crying now~ Enjoy

I hope you can receive this with an open heart and mind. I feel that I owe it both to you and to myself to explain a few things. I want to tell you that the time that I spent with you was beautiful. Sort of magical really. I mean, dancing in the rain? What an experience. I told you I felt lucky, and I meant that. You are gorgeous, talented, sweet, charming, fun, deep, seductive, bright, open, intelligent, passionate, energetic, surprising, full of wonder, inspiring, and I am sure a lot of things that I didn’t get a chance to see. You were a welcome breath of extremely fresh and rejuvenating air right at a time when I was coming out of something extremely dark…I guess I just hadn’t come all the way out yet. I recently lost someone very close to me. It isn’t an excuse, but it is one of the reasons that I’ve been having a hard time being my best possible self. This person that I lost was my best friend of 22 years. She drank herself to death and nobody knew it was happening until it was too late to do anything about it. She was my twin, my soul mate. It feels like a piece of me is missing and I’m learning how to live in the world without her. It isn’t easy. It changes you and leaves you slightly off balance. Not long after she passed away, I misguidedly got involved with someone who was a heavy drug user and also a heavy drinker. I think I was trying to get a second chance at saving my friend in some weird-backwards-subconscious way or maybe trying to feel what it was like to be in her shoes, or maybe I wanted to drown out feelings that I didn’t like having…I really don’t know, but instead, I got sucked into this guy’s toxic world. I don’t blame him, it’s just what the circumstances were. While I was smart enough to finally get out of that situation, some of the habits I developed in that relationship had been hard to shake…and that’s when I met you. Because I already wasn’t in the best place emotionally (read vulnerable and lost), and because you are so young and so beautiful, I have to admit, I felt insecure. Believe me, I know how unattractive that is in a person (I can’t stand it when people tell me I am intimidating), but I told you before, I am not much of a bullshitter. Sometimes the truth sucks, but I think it is the most important thing. Remember when I asked you how you could put so many great things into one person (meaning you)? I suppose I didn’t feel as though I deserved to have you. I was confused and it sort of tapped into some stuff that I hadn’t worked through yet. I should never have mixed alcohol with those feelings. My bizarre drunken behavior might seem frightening or psycho, but I can assure you, as can those who have known me and loved me for many years, I am a wonderful (mostly sane;) girl. I just also happen to be a person who blacks out easily and says and does really strange things when she is drunk that she would never in a million years say or do under any other circumstances. I am extremely grateful (though sad as hell) that it took me completely humiliating myself in front of you to wake me up to how all of this stuff has all been affecting my life. Now I have a chance to do something about it. I have no reason to drink ever again. And day by day, accepting the loss of my friend gets easier. You seem to be very mature and well tapped into your spiritual side and I gather that you are a humanist and a deeply compassionate person (your friends seem to think so). So, perhaps you can understand where this is coming from. I am sorry that I ruined our budding friendship for both of us. Maybe after I’ve had some significant time to get my balance back, you will consider getting to know me again. Meeting you was pretty intense and I loved every minute of it…I just don’t think I was at all prepared to handle it.

Whatever happens, I wish you all of the best. Thank you for shining your light on me~

The Simple Story (Yeah Right)

2011-07-03T22:39:00.000-07:00

"The Simple Story...unfurling slowly...is if you lay down with a dream...you'll wake up lonely"~Jane Berkin fet. Feist (remix album)

Oh Gosh, where do I begin? See, this is what happens when I stop doing a "weekly" blog. I have to catch you up on so many things that writing becomes a hurdle to be jumped (like everything else in life) as apposed to just a quick little trip into my psyche.

Well, a few months ago I met a guy. Online. Puke. Barf. and Double Puke. God, how I hate online dating. We lasted exactly six weeks, which I must say is a bit of an improvement from my track record over the last ten years. I used to have two week "honeymoon period" relationships that ended when the honeymoon was over. I had two relationships with the same person, five years apart that each lasted for five months, so I guess you could say that my longest relationship in the last ten years was ten months long. But that's cheating. So, back to the guy. He was Drop. Dead. Gorgeous. I felt like I was FINALLY getting what I deserved after giving so many trolls a chance. Okay, he was gorgeous, quirky, funny, down to earth and whatnot. Now this is what I thought in the begining. After getting to know him I learned that he was a "Dry Drunk" (from what I understand, that's an alcoholic who stays sober but still doesn't grow spiritually or whatever--basically they still act like an alcoholic even though they no longer drink). He also had Mommy issues and was a narcissistic hermit. Winning combo. Man he was fun (groan).

Now, because I'm me and I like to beat horse until it's beyond dead (basically, I dig horses up from their graves and beat them senseless in the middle of the night when no one else is looking, but believe me...the horse knows...oh...it knows) I didn't dump this guy. I let him dump me. Apparently, I looove to be dumped. I can't break up with anyone to save my life. I used to break up with people. That was years ago. I don't know what happened to me, but my will to end a relationship is nonexistent. It doesn't matter if you are the worlds biggest loser and I hate you. I will not go down without making a visit to the horse grave yard. I can't be helped. Dump me. Dump me now. I implore you!

So, there I was, post dump (even though it really just fizzled out, but I liked to think of it as me getting dumped cause I am sick and twisted and like to wallow in self pity) and I was feeling rejected, dejected, ugly and unlovable. You know, the usual. On top of this, I'm STILL dealing with/grieving the loss of my BFF, adjusting to living back in Lala Land in an apartment that I hate and barely scraping by financially, I reached a new low. Now, don't get your panties in a twist people, this ship has sailed and I am talking about the past, but I was starting to feel like life wasn't worth living any more. This was not the first time I had felt this way, so to say that this was a "new" low is kind of a lie, but it was new again, so let's just go with it. My therapist made me call her every day to check in with her and after about four or five days, it passed. I know this is an uncomfortable topic for most and I know that the only people who read this blog are people who know and love me, but if I keep NOT addressing these uncomfortable topics (trust me, there is so much that I've been want to write, but haven't been able to), I'm never going to write a blog again. I gotta tell it like it is or it's not worth telling. Having your BFF die on you changes you and makes you feel things you never thought you could and makes you think things you never thought you would. I often find myself saying to her (but in my head) "I don't blame you." Sometimes I envy that she's done with all of the hard work.

Well, low and behold, right about this time I meet someone new. Someone like me. Someone who is questioning whether or not it's worth giving another day a go. We connected in our depression and desire to self destruct and a new relationship was born. Let's call him Mr. X. Mr. X is a wonderful guy. I'm not being sarcastic either, he really is. He's brilliant. Probably a genius. He's easy going, super duper friendly, has a lot of charisma and for some reason I find him incredibly sexy. Not sure what's going on with that last bit. I don't usually describe men this way. In fact, I've never done so before. I dunno, it's weird. He was kind to me, a great listener, he understood and he reached out when nobody else was doing so. We were both in a bad place and since I've learned that we attract what we are putting out there, we were immediately inseparable. It lasted two months. A NEW RECORD! Why did it end? Well, Mr. X has an insatiable appetite for self destruction. I won't get into particulars because I don't wish to tell his business, but let's just say, I couldn't keep up with him. And I tried. Boy did I ever. It was like reliving the worst parts of my twenties all over again. The thing is though, the worst parts of my twenties also housed some of the best parts. Incredible experiences that are a right of passage at that age. If you choose to look at it that way. There are many ways to look at over indulgence, experimentation, and living on the edge. Take it how you like it. My mind can change on this subject from minute to minute and I guess maybe that's how I so easily revisited a certain way of life that I thought I had long been done with. Whatever. It happened. The thing is, being with him made me feel better and having someone to talk to and do things with, to hold was all I really wanted. And because I was feeling better, I no longer wanted to self destruct. Unfortunately, my charms didn't have the same affect on him. I don't know if it was a lack of attraction or anything having to do with me at all. He's expressed that he is not up to talking about "us" at this time, so I can't really speak for him. All I know is, even though he had me, he still had a need to numb and escape. And again, I don't blame him. I'd like to think I was sooooooo awesome that he'd just want to clean up his act so he could bask in the glow of me, but...that's wishful thinking.

Okay, so I couldn't keep up and he knew I couldn't and he's not ready to get off that train, but I knew if I didn't get off, I'd be reunited with my BFF sooner than I would like. I started to make more and more comments in reference to maybe going in a different direction and I guess he reached a point where he didn't want to hear it anymore. So, basically even though I knew it was over before it even began...I let him dump me...just to keep my perfect record. I mean, why spoil a good thing? Being with him was indeed like "Lay[ing] down with a dream" and yes, when I woke up, I was often lonely. As time went on, it was lonelier than being by myself. When the novelty of being with me wore off for Mr. X his behavior towards me became inconsistent. The honeymoon had long been over...actually, I'm not sure it had ever begun.

It's hard to watch another person who I care about go down the same path that led the the demise of someone who I cared so deeply for. I think a part of me wanted to see if I could make up for not being able to save my BFF. You know, maybe if I could do things differently, care more, say more, do more, love more, not just stand by and watch, maybe the world wouldn't have to lose another amazing human being before it was ready. There's no doubt that that was part of the attraction with Mr. X. Oooh goody! My chance to get it right this time! And they are a lot alike Mr. X and my BFF. Two of the most easily likeable and bright shiny people that you could ever meet (with a blackness that few, except for myself, get to see on the flip side). There's a nutty part of my brain (the part that sometimes wants to believe in ghosts and other weird inplausible stuff) that indulges in those fantasies of "Oh maybe BFF sent Mr. X to me so I can do with him what I couldn't do with her." You know, you can't blame me. Those are the types of thoughts us big hearted half crazy humans have. Sue me.

I know that I have to let go and I have. I didn't even get closure this time and for the first time in my life, I'm okay with it. I'm growing!! I can't and won't stop caring, but I know that there's nothing that I can do other than let this person know that I'm there for them should they need me and there's not much else I can do beyond that. But, oh how the mind loves to continue to go back to that place where it says "You can do it!" No, I can't. Like I said (previous blog), all the kings horses and all the kings men...they couldn't do it and neither can I. Now, there is absolutely no guarantee that Mr. X will meet the afore mentioned fate and god willing, he won't. A lot of people that I've known in my life, including myself have been to dark places only to rise from the ashes. It happens every day. I am rooting for him and I have a lot of faith.

The long and the short of it is, I gotta worry about me. I gotta take care of me. And that brings me to what I really came here to write about. I am fuckin' WORRIED about me. And YOU too! Don't even get me started thinking about kids and what they are all going to have to deal with when they get older (global warming, our food and water supply, those are just for starters). I'm worried about everybody! For realz dawg. Shit be scary out there. I know that the thoughts that I'm about to share border on compulsive and are part of my lingering depression (that is improving daily, thank you), but here they are and they have to be worked through. What the hell is going to become of me? And when I figure out what I want to do to earn my keep for the duration, what is going to be the point of it? (A few things that make life worth living that I will interject so you don't get too depressed: Babies, Music, Art, Laughter--I haven't given up, I swear!). Existential crisis anyone? Yes, I'll have one of those please. I was driving home from a crappy movie a few hours ago and I just started feeling really panicky. I'm worried about social security and my retirement and shit that I really don't have to worry about right now, but then again, I do. Right?! I mean, RIGHT!? I'm gonna be old before you know it. I keep getting older every day and I'm just so worried about the state of the world right now and how it's all going to affect me. I'm currently looking for a second job to supplement my income cause I literally don't make enough right now to even cover the most basic necessities of food and shelter. It's damn scary and all I can think is of the AUDACITY that I had to quit my job last August and up and move out of my awesome apartment. I had NO IDEA what was going on in the real world. I really and truly didn't. I lived in the bubble of Hollywood and the security and comfort of a job that I'd been doing for almost eight years. I had no idea that things were getting so scary out here in the real world. Since I got my shit together in my late twenties my parents have been more than willing help me out of a pinch now and again. But, they are both getting older and their income is going to become fixed soon. The world is getting scary for them too. So, what happens when I no longer have that safety net? That question needs to get answered and soon.

The life that I'm living right now is something that I heard about on the news and that I only thought happened to other people. I used to live in a fantasy world of hope and dreams that consisted of me thinking that some day I might actually go back to acting or singing and maybe I would get "discovered" or get my "big break" or whatever and I would live happily ever after. Next thing I know, I'm almost forty and that shit just sounds plain crazy now. I just want to make sure I don't end up homeless at this point.

Where are we headed people? How much worse is our economy going to get? How much more corrupt is the government going to get? How much wider is the gap between the haves and the havenots going to get? And we can't even have a revolution. Not with technology and weaponry where they are at now. We mere mortals, civilians, peasants, broke ass mofo's, we don't have a prayer in the world of turning things around. I don't want to be one of those people who fixates on how the world is going to hell in a handbasket, but dang...I'za sceered. I know that some of this will pass and I won't worry so much as I feel better and crawl out of the whole that I dug for myself while I was on a tear with Mr. X--it takes time to normalize again afterall--but in the meantime, I have to figure out a Plan X,Y, and/or Z (and I will repeat the mantra "Babies, Music, Art, Laughter" over and over). I can't just stick my head in the sand and pretend like it's all going to be okay without me taking an active part in the security of my future. I feel like I've been living in a dream for the last 37 years and I've just woken up to find out that I'm not in Kansas anymore.

For now, all I can do is take things one day at a time and be happy that I do indeed have the stamina, the will and the downright desire to wake up each day and try to make a go of it. At least I know that I'm no longer dreaming...and I'm okay with just waking up with myself.

Humpty Dumpty

2011-05-13T22:50:00.000-07:00

Did I say that I was living in Limbo? I think what I meant to say was that I am living in Hell. It isn't that I don't know what I want to do, it's that I think I've officially given up trying anything anymore. There's only so much a person can take before they say "enough is enough". I've had enough. We are taught growing up that life isn't fair, but no matter how many times that notion is crammed down our throats, it never gives us any comfort. Life should be fair. It just should. It's not okay to have a broken childhood, to become a hardened survivor because of it and then have to spend your entire adult life unlearning all of defense mechanisms you had to learn growing up. I've learned through years of therapy that almost every single feeling I have is an overreaction. My emotional self is stuck at about eight years old and no matter how much I try to encourage my inner child that "everything is going to be okay", years and years of life experience has done everything to convince me otherwise.

Ignorance is bliss. Unfortunately, I am smart enough to know certain things that keep me from being less than blissful. For instance, I know that a beautiful, cheerful, bright and sunshiny woman can hide a deep dark secret from the world and die from self medicating because her life hurts too much. I know that a man can be married to a woman for over twenty years, help raise her daughter and then leave her when he comes into his inheritance...and never speak to the daughter again. I know that not everyone gets to live their dreams. Some people just end up being bartenders. I know that you can lie beside someone and feel more lonely than if there was no one there at all. And I know that you can cry for hours and hours and nobody will come to comfort you.

I have never been more terrified in all of my life. I'm scared of myself. I'm scared that I see old demons resurfacing and I know better than to indulge them, but I do anyway. I can see myself running, no sprinting, into the center of disaster. I can feel this need to be taken care of as though I were a child, but I'm not a child. It's too late to get that kind of love. And the sad fact is that I will never stop wanting it, never stop needing it. I have been here before. A few times. What's scary about being here now is that I am creeping up on forty. I should have learned to cope by now. I haven't.

It is amazing to me to have as many advantages as I do and still not be able to make a go of things. I am smart, attractive, talented, or so I've bee told. And this isn't me being conceited or anything. Trust me. Knowing these things about myself does nothing to make me feel confident or able. For how I feel, I might as well be the ugliest, stupidest, most untalented person to walk the earth. And I know I am being super self indulgent with these feelings. Oh poor me. I get it, I really do. But there's just this self destructive part of me that has taken the reins and doesn't care. I am broken. And I don't know how to put myself together again. How many times can you super glue something back together before you decide "this thing has just become a piece of junk" and toss it into the trash? Besides, we already know that not even all of the kings horses and all of the kings men could put Humpty together again.

I recently met with my therapist and I felt bad for her. I felt bad that she's taken so much time and energy to get me to this super good place (where I was about nine months ago) only to see it just all come crumbling down. All of her hard work. All of MY hard work. It's all gone to shit.

The one and only thing that I want is to love. That is all. But you can't get other people to love you until you love yourself and show them that you are worthy of their love. With me, it's a bit of a catch-22 cause I'm never going to believe that I am lovable until someone else actually loves me first. I wouldn't love me right now if I were someone else. I don't know how I would feel about me. Lemme think. Yeah, it's too hard to see myself from the outside. I think I would just feel sorry for me and then walk away. It's hard to watch people be in pain. It's hard to watch people struggle. I feel like maybe if someone were to just hold me for about a hundred years, THEN, MAYBE I would feel better. I honestly think that's what it would take.

Here's a question: Would I hold me for about a hundred years?

Yes, I believe if I could I would. I guess that's something.

The Limbo

2011-05-06T23:25:00.000-07:00

Apparently the Vatican decided a few years back that Limbo doesn't really exist. I am here to tell you, it does. I have been living in Limbo for eight months now. It is everything they said it was and more. It totally sucks.

When I decided to quit Lala Land and move far far away I had a vision, I had a plan. The plan was good. But then one thing led to another (see previous posts) and the plan became null and void. And now I am back at square one. My friends are getting engaged, getting married, having kids, moving on, living life, and I'm watching Grey's Anatomy for seven hours a day. What the hell has happened to me?

I don't want to get engaged, get married, or have kids. I did, but now I don't. In my mind the world has officially become this uber scary place and I do not wish to bring any other humans into it. Perhaps that will change, but for now, that's how I feel. I thought I wanted to be a Yoga teacher. It seemed to be a life that would hold some meaning and that would keep me happy and healthy, but now I just don't think I will be fulfilled by that. I haven't practiced regularly in months. I've lost my Yoga mojo. So what the f do I want to do already??? Why can't I figure this out?

I still have my artistic desires. I still want to write. This is why I am forcing this horrifically boring and dismal blog right now. I still want to act. I still want to sing. I still want to do a lot of things. But after being run over by the biggest steam roller of my existence over the last few months, I'm still trying to get my bearings and figure out how to put one foot in front of the other. I feel like a cartoon character who's just been knocked out and while I back on my feet I'm still dizzy and I have those cartoon drawings above my head indicating that my brain is still the equivalent of scrambled eggs.

You know that saying "No matter where you go, there you are?" I hate that saying. I hate it because it's so true. I thought if I relocated I could start fresh. Wrong. What I can do is refigure out everything in my life that I thought I had figured out. While I am grateful for all of the freedoms that I have, there's a part of me that wishes that I didn't have any choices. I mean, I have a hard enough time choosing a shampoo when I'm at Target. There are too many to choose from. And that's how I feel about my life. I can do anything. So, how do I choose?

When my BFF died, along with the grief came this powerful rush of ambition. I felt like I had to live my life for both of us. If she couldn't do ANYTHING, I would do EVERYTHING. Well, that's obviously not realistic and maybe that has become a burden now. I've turned around and done NOTHING...and that ain't good. I'm still dealing with the grief from that loss, but there comes a time, and I believe that time is now, when you have to pick yourself up and just move on. It's embarrassing for me to continue this way. Something has to change, and I have to figure it out, but nothing is coming. I've been through hard times before. Times when I was unsure what the next step was going to be, but then I become inspired somehow and I put one foot in front of the other and I move towards something.

It's scary not to be able to look ahead and have some sort of insight into what your life is going to look like in five or ten years. I think we are expected to be able to do that. I can't seem to. What does that mean? I envy my departed friend in a lot of ways. She doesn't have to work. She doesn't have to deal with having a broken heart or with being disappointed. She and I shared a lot of the same worries. Now it's just me. I know you aren't supposed to say that you envy the dead, but sometimes it's true and I'm not here to tell lies. But, the other side of that is that she doesn't get to experience any of life's joys, and there are many to be had.

Maybe this is a start? I really don't know. But, there is something inside of me that NEEDS to express itself even if it doesn't quite know what it wants to say. Even though this is surely my most boring and craptastic blog of all time, it's something. Maybe the artist inside of me hasn't died after all. Maybe it's just waking up from a long nap. I know one thing for sure, it doesn't like doing the limbo.

Happy Valentine's Day to Me

2011-03-04T00:24:00.000-08:00

It all started when I decided to move back to Lala Land (btw, Iiiiiiiiiiiii'm baaaaaaaaaaaaack). I thought, let's try something new this time around shall we? I mean, I love a good douchbag as much as the next girl, but any and all schtick gets tired after a while, so I figured this time around I would check out a different area to live in. An area that might be douchebag free, or at least dbag deficient. Studio City is close enough to Hollywood that you can still see your friends on a regular basis, attend the odd casting here and there, plus, it's cheap, not hideous, and safe. Eeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeert! (That's a car slamming on it's breaks) Not so fast cowgirl.

I moved into my new place on February 1st. On Feb 8th, I left the apartment for a few hours to go get my hair did. I walked exactly 1/2 block down the street and was gone for exactly four hours. When I came back, I noticed that the screen to my kitchen window was flappin' in the breeze. I wondered, "Um, was that like that before I left?" But, I just couldn't be too sure. Now, I know it wasn't flappin' in the breeze before I left, but I wasn't positive that there maybe hadn't been a tear or a hole or something and that maybe an afternoon breeze had blown it wide open. It seemed odd. It looked like a perfect cut, but...I don't know I guess I just didn't want to believe that someone had come to my house and sliced my kitchen screen open in broad daylight. Plus, I had all of this crap in front of the window and nothing had been moved. I called a girl friend and told her I was suspicious, but that I didn't want to be psycho and paranoid. She didn't have much to say on the subject, just that she was familiar with my street and thought it was a really nice neighborhood and whatever. I blew it off pretty much, but made sure from then on to shut and lock the windows every day before I went anywhere and of course before I went to bed at night.

I didn't mention it to anyone else and eventually I forgot about it.

On Valentine's day (YES VALENTINES DAY, BECAUSE THIS IS MY LIFE PEOPLE!), six days after the screen cutting incident, I came home from running errands and went to bed super early (like 5:30ish) and watched Seinfeld DVD's on my laptop til I fell asleep. Around 8pm a noise woke me up. I could hear my neighbors being super duper noisy, but I could also hear another noise and it sounded like it was coming from my kitchen. It took me a minute to completely wake up (by the way, I am freaking out even writing this and starting to get all scared again...yuck), but when I did, I realized, "Holy motherf*cking sh*t someone is trying to get into my m*therf&cking kitchen window". (The expletives are completely necessary because when your heart starts thumping like mad and you are all of a sudden feeling your most animal survival chemicals coursing through your veins, that is the language that your brain now thinks with.) Like every girl in every horror film ever made since the dawn of time, I got up out of bed and started walking directly towards the sound, which would also be the source of impending danger. I did not turn on any lights because I did not want the serial killer, monster, Freddy Krueger, ASSHOLE to see me. I crept on, and with every footstep became more and more positive, holy shit, there is a person out there, trying to get in here. I arrived at the window, parted the blinds...and there he was: A huge, possibly bald, silhouette of a man with his hands wrenching my window open further. I screamed, "What the F***********************CK" with the voice of an animal that has yet to be discovered in the wild, but that could certainly frighten off an eight foot grizzly bear, or even the king of the jungle himself. You do not know this noise. You have never made it, and you have never heard it, and I hope you never have to either. Anyway, I made that noise and the stupid F*CKHOLE JERKOFF ran away like a little girl.

I hope he pooped his pants. (see image to the left-mwahahahahah)

Anyway, I immediately shut and locked the window and grabbed the phone and dialed 911. Okay, that's a lie. I did not immediately dial 911. I actually stood in the middle of my living room and thought, "Who do I call? Do I call 911? Is this an emergency? I'm not currently being murdered? Does almost being murdered count?" and then I proceeded to call 411 so that I could call the regular police department. The idiot at 411 could not move fast enough for me though and I cut that call short (hung up on her dumbass) and called 911. I did not move one single muscle the entire time that I waited for the cops to show up (although I was on the phone with my Mom--I just stood stock-still in place while we talked.)

The police showed up exactly 9 minutes later. She (it was a she and a he-there were two of them) arrived and knocked on the door and I was still so frightened and in shock that I screamed "WHO IIIIS IIIIT?!?!?!?" in the same exact way that I had at the (enter expletive that describes jerk who tried to break in) and the officer said that I scared her. Oops, sorry.

Anyway, she came in, I told her what happened and she looked around my place. Then the next unit of cops showed up. They were cute. It felt weird to be attracted to anyone at this given point in time, but when a guy is cute, it doesn't matter how upset you are, especially if he's wearing a police uniform and is there to rescue you. Not much happened after that. They asked me to tell them what happened, so I told it again then they gave me my police report at which time I reminded them of the episode of Seinfeld where he gets his TV stolen and says something like, "Something tells me that unless the criminal gets HIS copy, I don't think we're gonna crack this thing". They thought that was pretty funny.

I didn't.

I asked the cops to wait for me to pack a bag and get in my car and they did and I left. I never spent the night there again and over the next few days I moved my stuff out (always accompanied by a good friend of course--thank you again:).

Perhaps I will share more of this disturbing tale at a later date, and yes, there is more. Ugh. But for now, I've had enough. I am safe and sound in a new building (Thanks Dad for flying in like Superman and saving the day). I'm trying to get used to all of the sounds and to convince myself that they aren't all someone trying to get into my windows. Something tells me it's going to be a while before I am completely convinced.

Until then, I'm sleeping with a hammer under my bed and considering becoming a member of the NRA.

Lesson #1 of this blog: Never leave one side of town to avoid douchebags. The other side of town may be full of serial killers.

Lesson #2: When you think someone has tried to infiltrate your home, but you just aren't sure, go ahead and buy a gun just incase so if he comes back to kill you (or steal your microwave, whatever) you can blow his face off.

And finally Lesson #3 (last but most certainly not least): If you think spending Valentine's Day alone with Seinfeld DVD's is bad, think again...it could always be about 1 trillion billion gazillion times worse.

John Travolta

2010-12-07T09:36:00.000-08:00

This week I watched the episode of Biography that featured John Travolta. Now, John seems to be the brunt of quite a few jokes these days with his Scientology background and his new and not so improved hair rug. Well, poke fun if you must, but let us not forget the many ways in with Mr. Travolta has enriched our lives. If you are a child of the 80's like me, your life would not, could not be complete without the movie Grease. Maybe it's just a girl thing, but there is no denying that this movie shaped my childhood. On any given day I wanted to be either Sandy, Rizzo, or Marty Maraschino..."You know...like in Cherry?" And when I wasn't hoping I could one day set the gym on fire with my cool rendition of the Hand Jive, then I was secretly hoping that I could one day have a nice upstanding citizen like Zucko or Kinicki...okay, maybe even Doody to bring home to mama.

There's also Saturday Night Fever. Now, I was too young to see this movie when it came out (I was three), but my mom owned the album and like all children of the 80's I would sit with it for hours on end HUGE headphones trapped to my ears, and stare at the huge foldout album jacket. I did the same with the Grease album too. So, even though I didn't have images from the actual film running through my head, I still had those still images from the album artwork to use as a point of reference. Oh John...in all of his glory, white tux and disco stance. Where would the late 70's have been without John and The Bee Gees? Nowhere! Nowhere I tell you!!!

And this got me to thinking about the films that have shaped my life and/or our generation as a whole. Grease, Saturday Night Fever, all of the John Hughes films, but mostly the trifecta-Pretty In Pink, Sixteen Candles, and The Breakfast Club and then a few others that led to many afternoons of imaginative play with various cousins-Star Wars, The Goonies, and Indiana Jones and the Temple of Doom.

Now, don't get me wrong, there are many other great films from many great decades, but this isn't about film reviews or the greatest films of our century. What John Travolta sparked in me was this really wonderful sense of how this medium, film, has really and truly created much of what my reality has been throughout my life time. I mean...just think about it. What kind of world would it be without these movies? They stand out and stand up through time because of something special: MAGIC! Timing. Casting. Every single element was just so. Change any single one of the actors, the costumes, the director or touch even one hair on anybody's head...and I guarantee that the whole thing would have come tumbling down.

My question is...what are the movies of the 90's and the new millenium that are going to feed these follow up generations in the same way? Who are little girls wishing they could be? Who are they crushing on? I had Jake Ryan. Top that. What imaginary worlds are kids getting lost in these days? I guess that one is a bit easier...there's Narnia and the Harry Potter world...but those kids are "special" and have magical powers. The Goonies were just like US! I'm not dissing movies of today or saying that this generation doesn't have what mine did, I'm just saying that if they do...I don't know what it is.

It will be interesting to see what happens in another 20 years. I know that those John Hughes films are still standing up today and filling in the gaps for these next few generations. In this genre at least...there is no substitute for those films. It's sad, but a the same time...it's awesome cause we can all still be on the same page...even if we are a few generations apart.

So back to John Travolta. Thank you dude. Thanks for being the most awesome Vincent Vega that ever could be (cause let's face it...the world wouldn't be the same if someone else had tried). And thanks for making me realize how much I not only enjoy film, but how much I really and truly LOVE it and how much a part of my life this art form is. And how important your job as an actor is too! Cause if you didn't take your job seriously, then...those movies would have sucked and my whole entire childhood would be ruined. And if I hadn't been crushing on Vinnie Barbarino, things could have turned out much worse.

Aaaand Scene.

2010-11-30T09:41:00.000-08:00

I am a horrible actress. Seriously. And it's weird because I would totally think I would be good at it. And I also think that other people think that I would be totally good at it. But I'm not.

Just like how I am super duper funny sometimes, when I'm trying not to be, but then you ask me to be funny on demand and...I got nothin'. That's how it is with me and acting.

I thought it would be a good idea to put a voice over reel together before I move back to Lala Land. Incidentally, I would officially be okay with them tearing down the Hollywood sign if they would replace it with one that said "Lala Land". I really would. Maybe when I move back I will start a petition.

So, I have a friend up here in Nowhereville (where I smartly moved to when I left Lala Land) who has been doing voice over work for almost twenty years and she has an in home studio. She was someone whom (I'm using "whom" without really knowing if that's the right choice...I never did understand the rules of "whom") I looked up to back in the day (she's a friend of my friends mother originally, so she's a generation ahead of me) and we have a lot of similarities in our humor and such (sick, twisted, and inappropriate) and we've always had a special bond. I figured, she has so much experience and I'm SUCH a natural, of course, and in no time we can whip something up that I can take with me and it will be just one more thing I can have in my talent arsenal to use to make some mula.

Um...not so much. First of all, where I got the idea that I could just make a voice over demo reel with no experience is kind of beyond me. Yesterday, prior to 2pm, it just seemed like the logical thing to do. Fast forward to 4pm with me in the recording booth, lump in my throat, fighting back tears, and completely unable to do anything, much less act, it started to seem like a really dumb idea.

I have been listening to radio my whole life. How many commercials I've actually heard since birth is probably equivalent to how many stars are in the sky. Zillions I think. How many of these ads have I mimicked to perfection? Ga-Zillions. I have one of those voices. I can parrot very well, tone, inflection, you name it, I can copy it. And people laugh and say, "You sound EXACTLY like that!" And I do. I totally do. So, I just kinda figured that I could sound commercially, use my voice, and that would be that. Well, that's not how it works.

If the script calls for the word "Magical", you have to sound well, magical. Right now it seems like I could do that, but yesterday when called upon to do so, I couldn't. I couldn't do anything right. I couldn't speak from my diaphragm. What the hell does that mean? My voice was too high. I sounded dead. I couldn't be sexy, sincere, sophisticated, caring, serious, jolly, or any other adjective that suggests that a human being has a pulse. At least those were my notes.

My friend, let's call her Wendy had to repeat over and over "Just get out of your own way". Um, okay, I don't even know what that means, so being able to do it in the next fives seconds probably isn't going to happen. I've been told this before you know. Not with acting, but just with life. Get out of your own way. Now, I actually do know what this means, but what it actually entails DOING, I have no clue.

This is why I want to take acting classes. Desperately. I know I can freakin' do this shiz. I know I can. But something happens to me when it's time to perform and I cannot explain it. I am not the only one, I've seen it with other people and one of the places I've seen it a lot is on America's Next Top Model. (My very favorite guilty pleasure show.)

If you watch the show then you will totally know what I'm talking about. There's always this one girl on the show who totally has what it takes to win, but she's so traumatized by everything that's happening that she simply cannot do what is asked of her. The people try to help, the photographer, the director, whoever, the more anxiety ridden she becomes and eventually she just starts crying. What happens is, everyone knows she can do it, SHE knows she can do it, but for some reason she's not doing it and everyone is bewildered and she knows that they are like "what the f?" and so then she's like "what the f?" and then instead of thinking about what she's supposed to be doing, she starts thinking about why she's not doing it, why she can't do it, what is wrong with her, and then the internal monologue becomes extreeeemely self defeating and there you are. Tears. And a shitty performance. And all the while watching from home you can see what they want from her, and you can see that she's totally capable if she would just...just...just...get out of her own way! It's painful to watch.

I understand the frustration of everyone involved because that's totally me.

I think the problem with me is that my self perception is very very off kilter. Everything I do when "acting" comes off as ridiculously fake. I do that annoying crap where I try to look/sound happy, sexy, angry, whatever instead of FEELING happy, sexy, angry, whatever. And I mostly think that's because I'm not sure what any of that stuff feels like. Well, angry I could probably do, but...the other stuff...I can mimic what other people do, but if I'm not feeling it, it just seems phony, cause it is.

I guess this is why a guy that I dated several years ago used to always tell me to take some improv classes. He told me they were like therapy. This guy was, and still is, a total jerk (we are still sort of friends), but he could see me very very clearly. The problem was, he was just like me and so in hating things about himself that he saw in me, he would give me tips and advice from a places of disgust and "tough love" that only caused me to feel worse about myself, so nothing he said ever helped. I wish he could have be more kind about it, maybe I would have listened to him.

This brings me to the issue of sensitivity that is also a part of this whole failure to perform thing. I am so freakin' sensitive. All of the notes that I got yesterday from my friend were totally valid, but they weren't kid-gloved and I felt very stupid and inadequate. Like a total failure and an idiot. And I don't blame her for not loading up her hints with honey and molasses, that's not typically what people do out in the real world, but...I'm just too sensitive at this point to not beat myself up when I'm not doing a good job.

I know I'm not the only person in the world with low self esteem and a distorted sense of self who ever wanted to act. I actually think that those are the two biggest requirements to being actor. I mean...am I wrong? I think a lot of actors, Jamie Lee Curtis being one of them, come to their "craft" (god I hate it when they refer to it that way) because they are missing a fundamental sense of love and security from their childhood so they make a career out of getting reactions out of people. Acting.

What it all comes down to in the end is practice. Practice hearing/taking criticisms (which are NOT personal), practice feeling things that may otherwise be a bit unfamiliar, and practice learning what constitutes normal human behavior.

I honestly don't know how I've gotten this far in life.

Aaaand Scene.

Sour Grapes

2010-11-22T23:19:00.000-08:00

Just in case you aren't familiar with the term, "Sour Grapes" is what happens when you want something really badly, but can't have it so you pretend like you don't want it. I think the story goes that there was a fox or some other animal and a monkey (or some other animal) and the monkey is up in the tree with some delicious grapes and the fox is down on the ground and really really wants some, but he's enemies with the monkey and the monkey doesn't want to share so the fox says "Oh I don't want any of your crummy grapes anyway because they are sour". I know, don't quit my day job. If that's not the story, that's fine. You get the jist.

The reason I bring it up is because I know deep down (I think) that my whole move from Hollywoodland has a little something to do with this whole sour grapes thing. It's either a case of sour grapes or a case of I finally realized that I have no talent and no artistic capabilities anywhere inside of me and it would be a waste for me to pursue anything that would require me to possess either of those qualities. Yeah, it's one of those two things. Sometimes it's honestly hard to tell which one it is.

Or maybe it's a case of "The Grass Is Always Greener" (listen to the awesome Travis song "Side" when pondering this). If it is...surely I will get sick of moving in and out of the city at some point and this whole thing can finally come to an end. Until then...(Jesus, I recently stated on my Facebook page that I longed for the days when my blogs were about LA men and their douchebaggery...Be Careful What You Wish For!!!!) My Goodness.

You see, I was convinced that my days of singing were pretty much over. And I decided quite a while back that I hated auditioning so much that I would rather not act than ever embarrass myself again at a casting call or in an acting class. I've always known deep down (I think) that that was total bullshit, but fear is a pretty strong device for paralyzation (wow, that's actually a word!), the thing is though...the artist inside, the one buried and stuffed down down doooown can't shut the f^&* up. It doesn't care if you are afraid, it doesn't want to be suffocated. It doesn't want to die. It will shout with it's last dying breath "Look at Me! Looooook at Meeeee!" Bastard.

If that hungry little artist is a bastard, then inspiration is a little bitch. Being inspired makes it really hard for me to just give up on my dreams. Unfortunately, the inspiration is fleeting and the fear is rather constant. I need to figure out how to flip the scales on that one. But seriously folks, shouldn't those dreams just die already? Starving artists are kinda hot when they are in their twenties...in their thirties and beyond...aren't they just tragic? Or pathetic even? GET A REAL JOB AND GIVE IT UP LOSER! Isn't that what people say as they pass by pointing and laughing? The extremely insecure part of me thinks the world is a cruel place, no? Jeez louis.

This past Thursday my brother put together a show at his cabaret venue down in Hollywood. It was a celebration for his birthday and the theme was "Songs that I am Thankful For" cause Thanksgiving is upon us and it seemed apropos. He asked if I would like to perform at this show and of course I said yes, even though I haven't performed or applied my voice to anything useful in over two years. He chose a song that we had recorded about 5 years ago that I never let see the light of day. It was an original arrangement of the song "Take a Chance on Me" by Abba. We had turned it into a ballad, cause I really just love to sing sad sad saaad songs. Anyway, he always liked it and since it was his birthday, I agreed to sing whatever song he chose. I rehearsed it up here at my Mom's house for about a week and I pretty much thought it sounded like crap still, but I reasoned that if my brother liked it, it couldn't sound all that bad and that I just had to trust him and not myself because I usually think most of my work is total crap. (That's how you can tell I'm a real artist...right?)

Well, as it turns out, my brother was right and the song apparently wasn't total crap because after performing it I got several of those genuine "I really liked it" "That was great" "I love what you did with that song" comments. You can tell the real compliments from the fake ones, believe me. Besides that, I felt great about it. That isn't to say that my voice is exactly where I want it to be or that it was a perfect performance by any means. It just means that I got to experience once again this thing that performing is. And I love it. I love singing. I love singing for an audience. There's just no two ways about it. This is not something that I should be stifling or pushing away or quitting or second guessing or not doing because I think I'm too old or I'm not good enough. This is something that I should be doing. As much as possible. It's just as simple as that.

My therapist says that art does not come from us, it comes through us. I like that idea because it certainly takes some of the pressure off. If there is something outside of us that chooses us as a vehicle for expression, who are we to deny that? It's an honor to be chosen and it shouldn't be taken lightly.

I know that jealousy and anger stem from not having things that we want. Things that we see other people having. It's hard to stomach. It could be an object, it could be another person, it could be an opportunity. I think that a lot of my experience in Los Angeles was colored by this type of covetousness. I think I thought that if I left and didn't have to have other peoples amazing lives shoved in my face all day long that I would stop wanting what they had, but...I don't think that it works that way. I don't want those things because they are in my face, I want them because I think I can do the same things and as much as my f-ed up psyche has tried to tell me that I don't deserve them or can't have them, there's always this little voice inside me that knows better. That doesn't want to give up. Little trooper that voice. What a persistent little beast it is. It's either a smart little voice or a delusional little voice. If I keep referring to it that way, we are going to have to err on the side of delusion and I'm going to get hauled off to the looney bin, so I'll stop.

So now I'm thinking about moving back to Hollywood. I never in a hundred years thought that was going to happen. Nosirreebob I surely did not see that coming. There are other things that I am interested in doing down there other than singing, but I won't get into that right now. For now it will suffice to say that I'm thinking about it. Hard. I miss my brother, I miss my friends. I miss the weather. I know I was freakin' lonelier than all get out, but there are a lot of reasons for that and I might be able to do something about that now. Now that I have a fresh perspective.

I am going to end the blog here. I do want to give a shout out to miss Audra Mae who is an extremely talented singer/songwriter. I told her I was gonna post her CD here on my blog, so...look to the left. She is amazeballs, you should buy this music. Click and enjoy:)

---(Also, if you are going to be doing any shopping online this holiday season, do it here on my blog page through Amazon...I am currently unemployed you know...help a single gal out!)

I also want to thank my brother for always pushing me, believing in me, and making music with me. HAPPY BIRTHDAY! I love you lots and lots.

xo

The Luckiest People

2010-10-23T00:04:00.000-07:00

Today I watched the dumbest movie ever made. It was called "Hope Springs" and it was starring Heather Graham, Colin Firth, and Minnie Driver. That alone should have been enough to keep me from entering the disc into my television set, but boredom won, so watch I did. Kids...do not try this at home.

What is with these movies where there's a small town and either a handsome stranger arrives, or is already residing there, and some girl meets him and has her Cinderella moment and lives happily ever after with this backwoods Price Charming? I mean, get real.

I've been to those towns. You know who lives there? Toothless alcoholics. That's it. There are no handsome strangers, coming, going, or rotting away there. I mean, if you are a hot guy with brains and talent, why would you visit a place that can't be found on a map? And if you already lived there, you either started drinking, getting fat, and losing your hair right after high school (leaving you toothless and an alcoholic) or you left and pretended to never be from there.

Like George Costanza (who is fat, bald and neurotic...not toothless or an alcoholic though) I am currently at a point where I cannot imagine a scenario where I will ever meet anyone, ever again. That being said, I've felt this way before and contrary to my depressing belief, there always is a scenario where I do meet someone. But, then again, my therapist used to always say that past performance does not predict future outcome, so...maybe I've seen my last scenario. That remains to be seen.

To be clear...I'm not looking. I'm just barely crawling out from under my bereavement rock, so a relationship isn't really in the forefront of my mind, nor is it at the top of my list of priorities, I was just thinking about that stupid movie.

What else?

Well, I had come to my blog earlier today to write this post, but got sidelined by a comment that someone had left that was in response to my last blog. It spoiled my mood, but luckily I was able to bounce back. The comment was from a stranger (I haven't had any strangers reading my blog up to this point--that I know of), so it was a bit odd. It was like getting fan mail, except the person blasted me for being a humbug. The jist was that my loneliness (that I've expressed off and on in these pages) was of my own making and that I was depressingly depressed. Um...yeah, well, death isn't something that our culture necessarily has an instruction manual on...I'm doing the best that I can. As for loneliness...I think Barbra Streisand said it best: "People who need people are the LUCKIEST people in the world". And to quote my recently departed BFF (quoting Forrest, Forrest Gump): "That's all I have to say about that."

Actually, no it isn't. Depression is real. Yes, it can be treated with medication, and yes, there are things you can do to raise your seratonin levels naturally: eating right, exercise, meditation and the like, but nevertheless, for better or for worse it happens. I don't think that I overstayed my welcome in the land of the recently bereft. And as for my loneliness being my fault...(again to quote my BFF: "That's debateble!") Loneliness is part of the human condition and from what I can tell (what I've heard, what I've witnessed, what I've been told, and what I've studied), we are all lonely...even when we are not alone. I've been reading a lot of Buddhist texts and they touch on this quite a bit. It's all about acceptance, and I work on that every day.

Speaking of Buddhists, if you've been reading the blog, then you know that I went to see the Dalai Lama. I was hoping to gain some insight into my recent situation(s) and at the time I think there was just too much to digest. Having some distance from the event, I've been able to gather the following: The Dalai Lama is a regular human being. Just like you and me. Don't get me wrong, I'm not trying to be disrespectful. He will tell you the same thing himself. It's true. I can't say I'm happy about it, I was hoping to feel some sort of magic, but in digesting this concept, I've come to realize quite a few things. If the Dalai Lama is just like you and me, then we are just like him. And that's good to know. Doesn't it make you feel good just to think of being like the Dalai Lama? You should. You are. I don't need to tell you what his talk was like, you can go out and buy his book "An Open Heart". It is almost verbatim the talk that he gave when I went to see him. Back to my realization. It's been good to sit and listen to the Dalai Lama speak and to read the Buddhist teachings...especially at this difficult time. I've learned that even the Dalai Lama has issues with patience, frustration...I can't think of what else, but just the regular stuff that you and I deal with on a daily basis. His whole point though is that there is still happiness to be found even with all of this other stuff that we have to deal with. He's found it...and he's been in exile for over 30 years. Forgive me for trying to summarize, but I did want to mention my experience, I don't however want to misquote the Dalai Lama...if you want to know more, go sit with him, or read one of his books.

I just think that for me this was a big eye opener for how hard I can be on myself. Which in turn can make me hard on others...which ain't good. It's hard to hear "you are too hard on yourself" from a friend or a family member, it's altogether different to hear it from the Dalai Lama. He's not bound to lie. Or to say something just to make you feel better. Okay, well he wants us all to feel better, but not because he wants us to shut up and stop bitching, but because he really and truly knows that we CAN feel better.

I wish I could have met him. I know someone who did meet him. I believe I mentioned him many many blogs ago. An ex that I called "Joseph". He has to be the worlds biggest jerk...oh wait a minute...I mentioned him more recently actually. He's the ex that I ran into right before I left LA. Blech. Anyway, yeah...that douchebag got to meet the Dalai Lama. (Never thought you'd hear the words "Douchbag" and "Dalai Lama" in the same sentence, did you?) Well, leave it to me. "Joseph" was actually on a private plane with His Holiness and got to have a whole conversation with him and everything. Lotta good it did him. He has to be one of the worlds least compassionate people. Psh. Just another shining example of how life ain't fair. I know, I'm not being very nice...or compassionate right now, but...it's my blog and I'll be un-PC if I want to.

Well, I hope (for your sake) that in the next few months that my life returns to a somewhat normal state and I can regale you with more tales of woe and douchebaggery. It would sure be a nice change of pace! Until then, don't be too hard on yourself;)

Not Ready Yet

2010-10-11T19:00:00.000-07:00

"There's a world outside. And I know, cause I've heard talk. In my sweetest dreams, I would go out for a walk. But I don't think I'm ready yet. I'm not feelin' up to it now."~The Eels

As if it weren't enough that I picked up my life and moved it, my best friend has to go and die and derail all of the plans I was making for my future. Thanks.

Of course it's not her fault that I'm immobile these days, but it sure isn't helping anything. After spending the day in San Francisco on a sailboat in the bay watching the Blue Angels, I am back at square one. No matter how much of a good time I have, or what distractions present themselves, I keep ending up here. The land of the lost.

My money has run out. I guess I didn't think things through. This is what they mean when they say, "Life is what happens when you are busy making plans". Now the clock is ticking on Plan B. More like Plan C. When I decided to move, I thought I would stay with my mom for about 8 months, save money and then move to Marin County. Marin is lovely. I've always loved Mill Valley. I challenge you to visit Mill Valley someday and not fantasize about raising your kids there. Well, that's all well and good, but as you know, I don't have any kids. And at this rate, I'm never going to. Back to the original plan. It's just not going to work now. I can't stay at my mom's for much longer unless I want to establish myself in this town with a job and I just don't. I want to get on with my life and get to where I'm going. Mill Valley is nice, but now I'm thinking about the Peninsula because I have a stronger network of friends there. Right now, my friends (those that are left) are more important to me than ever. I need them.

I slept a full eight hours last night, but by one o'clock today I had to take a nap. I woke up, smoked a cigarette (gross) and started crying. Good morning to me. At this point it isn't a particular thought that takes me there. The tears are just at the ready. Anything is a reason to cry. Something beautiful, something mundane, something exciting, something sad. Doesn't matter. It's all fuel. Watching the Blue Angels made me emotional. Thinking about my future makes me emotional. Holding a friend's baby makes me emotional.

The great big gaping hole that is left by the missing person in my life is the match that ignites and amplifies all of the things in life that were already hard. The holidays are coming. I'm going to be single. Again. Every year I think "This is the last Christmas that my family will think I'm a lesbian". (Not that there's anything wrong with that!) And then Christmas comes, and then New Years. Kissless New Years. How I hate you. I despise you. I SPIT on you!

My Yoga training has done little to alleviate the pain of my loss. I try to live in the moment, but unfortunately my old life training is still the one that takes the wheel and steers me. I know I'm supposed to take it all in baby steps, but at some point I have to pick myself up and get on with it already. I'm certainly not getting any younger. Especially not with all of the smoking I'm doing.

I looked at apartments in San Mateo yesterday and it was disheartening to say the least. I find it extremely difficult to believe that in this economy people can still charge an arm and a leg for rent. Don't they know that nobody has a job? I've always had good apartment Karma though and when crunch time comes, after the first of November, I'm sure the perfect thing will present itself. I may have to leave my doggie with my mom though. That's a whole other can of worms. I am the worst animal parent that has ever lived. Three cats and two dogs later, I will still be without an animal. I should be reported to the authorities.

Single people are so discriminated against it isn't even funny. You have to pay rent all by yourself and you can't even have a pet...unless you have gobs of money. I keep thinking of "The Secret" and all of the inspirational self-help crap of that ilk and I want to believe that "If you build it, they will come", but what if they don't? I could easily rent an expensive apartment and hope for the best, but the last thing I want to do is end up back at my mom's in three months because I wasn't able to make enough money.

I do not recall ever being more stressed ever in my whole life. I am completely overwhelmed. And it's hard to crawl out from under this rock when my emotions are crippled by certain events that were beyond my control. Nothing is in my control. Thinking that anything is is just an illusion. There are no guarantees in life. It's all a gamble. I have to hedge my bets as far as moving is concerned because although I want to be where I have the biggest network and support system, there's no law saying that tomorrow those people won't pick up and move away. Or die.

I cannot imagine working right now. And I'm going to have to start imagining it pretty quickly because it's a fact that I'm going to have to do it sooner rather than later. I love teaching Yoga. I cannot think of a better job to go back to after going through all of this bullshiz, but still. I think of myself in my new apartment, sans dog, and I feel sad that I will be lonely. I know I shouldn't project that into my future, but I'm not an idiot. I know that there will be days when people aren't available to hang out or talk. I moved from Los Angeles to escape loneliness and then look at what happened. Fuck dude. Resistance is futile. There is no escape. No matter where you go, there you are. I warned you three blogs ago about cliches, don't say I didn't tell you so.

I'm going to see the Dalai Lama tomorrow. I feel like I'm going to visit The Wonderful Wizard of Oz. I'm going to ask him for a life.

"Because because because because becaaaaaaaaaaaaause, because of the wonderful things he does."~Munchkins

The Long and Winding Road~Part II

2010-10-05T00:24:00.000-07:00

They say, "You don't know what you've got til it's gone". Well, I knew. I knew what I had. And I am now all too aware that it's gone. Losing your best friend is not like anything you can imagine. Especially when you need her. "A friend in need is a friend indeed". They say that too.

When you have a relationship with someone for twenty two years that consists of daily conversations about everything (and nothing), and then it is gone...well, there are no words. To go through something as big as this without the person who helps you get through these things is damn near impossible.

The person who I want to talk to about my best friend's death is my best friend. How do you get around that? I know you have to take these things a day at a time, but I can't help but think of all of the days to come and how I'm going to need her and she's not going to be there. It's a luxury, an absolute LUXURY to be able to pick up the phone at any time day or night to just run something by someone and have them immediately be on board with the situation. What am I supposed to do now?

Your best friend is the person who "gets" you. She's the person who knows you like nobody else. She knows you when you don't know yourself. And she is irreplaceable.

So, this is what the rest of my life is going to look like. Having to take those little moments when you want to shoot the shit and just let them literally go without saying. Having those little heart breaks when she says just the right thing and going without those words of comfort. Having to complain and bitch and moan about big things and little things and having to either just suck them back up or treat them like they don't exist.

It is a loneliness like nothing I have ever experienced. And I've been lonely. Who knew that that was nothing compared to this? Nothing.

I know what other friendships can be like. I have a lot of friends. And they all have their place, but my relationship with my best friend was the number one most honest friendship that I had. We argued like crazy and we hurt each other from time to time, but we never had to mince words. It was a symbiosis. It was like having a twin. There were times when we'd be less than honest and we would know that the other person was on to us and we would also know that they knew that we knew...it went that deep. There was no "getting away" with anything. We weren't fooling anybody. Even when we withheld the truth or fibbed, it was still honest because we could read each other's minds.

I know that all of my other relationships are censored. I see it now more than ever because the person to whom I revealed all of those secrets, the stuff that was cut out of the other conversations, is gone. My secrets end here and they no longer have an outlet. Perhaps I will explode from the bloat of it. She was a vessel it which I poured everything that I could not share with anyone else.

This is all on top of the facts of her passing. They are hard to accept. I will not go into it here. Suffice it to say, I will never be able to feel settled with the fact that I wasn't there for her in her final days. They were not easy for her. The thought of her being scared and alone is too much to take, and yet what choice to I have? I cannot undo it. I have to take it. Take it where? Take it how? I do not know.

And life goes on. People are still careless with my feelings. If I do not walk around with a sign on my face that says, "Please remember I lost my best friend and have never felt more alone" people do forget. It is amazing how quickly it is expected of you to "move on". You expect the world to stop. You do. You expect every day to be about her. You expect everyone to know that everything you see, hear, taste, feel and do is in correspondence to your connection (or lackthereof) with this person. People want you to be happy and they want to believe that you are over it when you pretend to be.

I'm not over it.

I thought my life was hard before. I thought that being poor and single were so awful. I had no idea that it could get worse. Not like this. I thought that my messed up relationships with other people were so devastating and important. Psh. That was nothing.

It's interesting because there were times that I wrote this relationship off. Walked away because it got too hard. There were times when we didn't speak for months. I was fine. I missed her. I wanted her. But, I wasn't depressed about it. There were even times when I thought the friendship was completely over. This is why it's interesting...I must have known deep down that that was not true and would never be true. Because now that I KNOW that it's over...it's a whole different story. I truly cannot imagine life without her. And yet, I'm living it right now. Right now she is gone and I'm still here.

Over the past few days I have really really really needed to talk to her. And because I can't, I have become ill. Lethargic. Depressed. Unable to function properly. My muscles are weak. The fetal position is the only one the feels comfortable. Tears come easily and when I have to hold them back my stomach becomes sick. It's super fun.

When will it end? Maybe tomorrow. Maybe never.

I had a really good week last week. I spent a lot of time with a lot of wonderful people. I had fun. I thought about her. I didn't think about her. It came. It went. It seemed like it was going to be doable. And then I needed her and it all fell apart. I imagine it's going to be a lot more of the same for quite some time.

It is almost impossible to think of her without thinking about her tragic death. I know I should be focusing on the good times and her smile and her laugh, but instead I picture her being alone and afraid and dying. I think about the good times too. I do, but then I think about why I'm thinking about it...cause she's gone and then I'm forced to think about why that is.

I don't want words of comfort. I don't want advice.

You know what I want. You know that I can't have it. So, for now, save it. I just need to go through this. I pray that you never have to.

"You left me standing here"~The Beatles

The Long and Winding Road~Part I

2010-09-21T09:05:00.000-07:00

What does it mean to lose your best friend? I don’t mean “get in a fight with and then never talk to again”. I mean lose. As in gone. Forever.

Well, I never gave it much thought. I shouldn’t have had to.

Shoulda.

Woulda.

Coulda.

Never have those three words meant more to me than they do now. Because I’m beginning to learn what this means, this concept of losing your best friend.

I lost mine.

Last week.

I wasn’t sure when I would get around to writing about it. It’s not the first thing you think of when you are first in shock, then bewildered and confused, then angry and laying blame everywhere, including at your own feet, then into survival mode of ignoring the fact, and finally to the first glimpse of acceptance that you know is going to come and go like the tide to the shore…back…and forth…and back…and forth…and back.

What brings me here tonight is a thought that I had never had prior to last Wednesday, Septemeber 8^th, the night I learned the most devastating and life changing news of my thirty-six years of life, but now keeps recurring since death has shown me it’s haunting and barely distinguishable face (I do not yet see it clearly, it is completely unrecognizable to me). This thought is the worst of the bunch, and there come many, you just wait and see, and it is this: That everyone I know and love is going to also die and I am going to be left alone in a world full of strangers.

Do not get me wrong. I am aware that as I write this, I too am dying, and have been doing so since the moment I took my first breath. That I get. But the idea is that everyone that I know and love is going to die…now. Today, or tomorrow, or next week.

Soon.

Very soon.

Too soon.

Is this thought irrational? Of course it is.

Is this scenario possible?

You don’t want me to say it do you?

I’m sorry.

Yes.

And as unlikely as this scenario may be, it is, in fact, possible. So…it is in my mourning pipe and I am indeed smoking it.

Welcome to life everybody. If you weren’t awake before, may I suggest you do whatever it is that you need to do to open those eyes wider and sit up a bit straighter because whether you like it or not, this is going to happen to you someday, or to your best friend, depending on who decides to abandon who first, and you will not be prepared, cannot be prepared, how does one prepare?, for the loudest alarm clock, most heartburn inducing orange juice, most leaded cup of coffee of a wake-up call you will ever receive in your existence. I’m just sayin’, you might want to be ready.

So far what it means to me to lose my best friend is that:

I have the irrational fear that everyone else will be following her into the great beyond and I will drift aimlessly through the rest of my life never being able to create any new deep and meaningful relationships.

I have the desire to connect with every person who knew and loved her and speak to at least one of them every single day. Even if it’s an ex-boyfriend who I may or may not have insisted wasn’t good for her in life and persuaded her to leave time and time again.

I have more love and compassion for her family than I never knew was possible.

I still have my sense of humor, as evidenced by a few funny memories that I shared at her Memorial Service and several off color, and mostly inappropriate, jokes I have made since hearing of her passing. I’m sick. I can’t help it. The only saving grace here is that I know she loved me for everything that I was including my off-beat humor, so there.

[Oh, I’m sorry was I supposed to share one of my sick and twisted ideas? Fine.

There are many different styles of coping in life and when faced with the untimely death of your very best friend and soul mate at the UNripe age of thirty-six you ponder endlessly how you will survive the next thirty-six years without this person. Knowing that nothing and no one can every replace this person you have to get creative. This is what I came up with so far:

It crossed my mind that one way I could cope would be to cut out a life sized picture of my BFF’s friends face and then tape it to a stick and walk around with it in life. You know, sit with it at a restaurant, take it with me to Europe, that sort of thing. And I would call it “(my BFF’s name entered here) On A Stick”.

Not laughing? I didn’t think so. It’s really not funny, but when you are sleep deprived, bereft, confused, heartbroken, and going slightly mad…it might make you laugh for a second. Or not.]

What losing your best friend also means is that you have a whole new perception of life. You know why? Because you now have to envision a whole new world. One that you never thought was possible. Not because you thought it was IMpossible, but because you just never thought of it at all…why would you? You have to perceive of a world where you WON’T be raising your children together. You WON’T ever be her bridesmaid (or vice versa). You WON’T be going on double dates or camping weekends with your new boyfriends/fiancés/husbands. You WON’T be doing any of those things. No. Sorry. You won’t be doing ANYTHING with her. EVER. NOT EVER.

Never ever again.

This is what it means.

This is what it means?

To be continued...

“Don’t leave me waiting here. Lead me to your dooooor!”~The Beatles

Throw Momma From the Train

2010-08-31T20:17:00.000-07:00

Oh. My. God. Yes, I moved in with my mother. What the fizznuck was I thinking?

Well, all I know is, I couldn't spend another day in Los Angeles, the Douchebag Capital of the World. And I also couldn't spend another day waiting on people. Not one. So, here I am. 36, Single, Unemployed and living with my mother. Queue music to "It's a Wonderful Life".

I guess if I hadn't gone to Europe I coulda saved to move somewhere else, but...Europe was amazing and I keep dreaming that I'm in Italy for some reason and each time I do this I am so so happy. Maybe I should have moved to Italy. I've never even been to Italy, but it is in my dreams never the less.

All signs pointed to GET OUT NOW anyway. My two best friends decided I was the anti-Christ about a week before I left (another blog, another time...I have the draft, but I'm not ready to publish it yet). Needless to say, it was just a huge sign that it was time to go. Then, Christopher Robin made the most hideous and disgusting proposition to me. Something having to do with him coming over and me not being able to speak while he was there. Um...what? There was more, but it's nothing I would ever repeat in the light of day. GOOD RIDDANCE! Ugh.

THEN two days before departure I am having my going away brunch and who do I bump into at the concierge desk? The one and only real relationship I had the entire time I was living in Lala Land. This was a person who I never in my whole life thought I would ever see ever ever ever again. And poof! Right before ever ever ever happens...there he is. What are the odds? Of all the restaurants, of all the days, of all of the occassions. I mean...really. Thank GOD I was wearing make up and a semi-cute outfit. I was wearing my white lesbian shirt afterall. Of course, no run-in with the ex is ever complete if it is not followed up by his 25 year old 5'9" 105 lb super model girlfriend coming in to "use the bathroom" aka, sneaking a peak at me. Bitch was gorgeous. And of course she was some Asian mix...all of the girls who replace me are. She needed to eat at McDonalds for a month straight before she'd ever approach a healthy weight, but that's beside the point. UGH! and DOUBLE UGH! Why couldn't she be pasty, pudgy, and short?

After brunch I was standing in the street and I looked up at the sky and said out loud, "GET ME OUT OF HERE!"

And so that's what I did.

Things you should know about moving in with your mother:

1) The television is always going to be too loud. Buy lots of ear plugs...or prepare to go deaf with her.
2) Remember how she was always nagging you to rinse your plate before you put it in the dishwasher? Well, now it's your turn...she's tired of rinsing.
3) Just because your door is closed does not mean that you would like privacy or quiet or that you might be working on something important/concentrating, it just makes bugging you that much more fun cause your mom gets to knock on the door first. It's like a game of "peek-a-boo". Super fun.
4) Old people talk to themselves. A lot. Get used to listening to not only your own thoughts, but all of the thoughts of the other person in the house.
5) Announcements of every activity in your mom's life will commence on the hour. Keep a notebook handy.

There's more...oh yes, there is more...but my mother actually reads this blog, so I'm gonna play nice...for now.

All in all, it's a swell thing she's doing letting her Old Maid of a daughter move back in to finish out her life knitting, reading poetry, and ruminating over the one's who got away.

In all seriousness...It's occurring to me that I might have wanted to plan this whole thing out better. I have only a vague notion of what Plan B is supposed to look like. If you can't visualize it...you probably can't make it happen. So far I have 3 private yoga clients and I assume I will get more, but the bigger question is...what city do I want to live in next? And how do I get there? I thought that the city where my mother lives might have been an option, but it's clear to me after only two weeks that this is not even close to being the final destination...unless I really do want to die an Old Maid that is...

I cruised Match.com in this town just to see what was out there and it was bleak my friends...bleak.

It has been much too long since the last blog, I feel I have so much to cover...for now, this will have to suffice. Until then, I will continue to feed my mother the salted peanuts...

"The unsalted one's make me choke!"~Momma (Throw Mama From the Train)

And The Award Goes To...

2010-07-13T17:34:00.000-07:00

I was made aware last week that a friend of mine won a Daytime Emmy Award. I am ridiculously proud of him. But..there's a part of me that can't help but wonder what my life would become if I had won a Daytime Emmy Award. If you think that was out of my reach...you are wrong. Even I didn't know how close I was to such a thing. My dear friend who won this prestigious Hollywood award won for doing the same exact job that I spent a good part of last year doing. And it was a job that he said I was better at than he was, so...yeah...potentially I could've had one.

That's an interesting bit of knowledge to sit with. As most actors have done in the past, or possibly do before they go to bed every single night, I have spent some time talking into a toothbrush in front of the mirror accepting my Grammy, Oscar, Emmy, Golden Globe. I have also rehearsed my answers for James Lipton's famous "Inside the Actors Studio" interview, and of course I've done the celebrity questionarre at the end of each Vanity Fair that comes to my mail box. Sometimes the answers change, most have been the same for years. I guess I'm dying to share those answers with the world some day. The point is, ever since I was a little girl I've fantasized that I was on Star Search, Kids Incorporated, You Can't Do That On Televion, MTV, SNL, Curb Your Enthusiasm, any Woody Allen picture, or even an Almodavar...you name it, I've wanted to be a part of it. But...have I REALLY wanted to be a part of it?

This is the question on the table today.

"Do not have a fallback career...or you will fall back on it"~ Rosie O'donnell
"I slept on the kitchen floor of a woman's apartment when I first moved to New York"~Jennifer Gardner
"You have to want it like you will DIE if you don't get it"~Jennifer Lopez

Jeez, I could go on with those all day long. There are crazy stories from tons of successful Hollywood types of not having enough money for food, hitchhiking to auditions, crashing auditions, sleeping their way to the top (Pam Anderson), you name it...a lot of major Hollywood players have done it.

I've never considered sleeping on someone's kitchen floor so that I can afford acting classes. And yes, this is what people have to do...those classes are $250 a month...add all of the other ridiculous expenses of pursuing your 15 minutes and that could leave anyone homeless.

Now, I gave my pursuit of the acting thing up quite a few years ago. It didn't seem worth it to me. Nothing ever does if you don't really believe you can ever achieve it, but I think it's more than that. As we've seen from the music industry, if you want to have anyones attention for more than five minutes, you have to get naked and sell your artistic soul to the devil. Don't let Lady Gaga fool you...she's making compromises. I'm sure of it. P-p-p-p-Pokerface p-p-p-Poker face. Really? THAT'S the message you've been longing to share with the world? I don't think so. That woman has to put the good songs in the "I can sing them to myself in the shower cause the world has ADD and the record companies won't support me if I put quality out there...I'm a PERFORMER...not a songwriter...for now" file. And don't get me wrong, she's able to do A LOT, I'm just saying...she's only putting the stuff out there that will make a record company money. She's got other songs and other messages. And if she doesn't...then that only goes to prove my point further.

Now about that Emmy...That job didn't seem worth it either. It was a production/director job and I liked the actual WORK, but I didn't like the atmosphere or the energy of the workplace and I knew that there was no way I would ever be happy losing sleep to make television. If I had known I could potentially win an Emmy...I might have re-thought that, but...I made my decision and I have to live with it. If they called me tomorrow...I wouldn't show up, so...I guess I don't really want an Emmy that badly after all. But I guess I will always wonder what it would've been like to have one.

The fact of the matter is, I don't fit in to the Hollywood lifestyle. I've tried various ways to do so and they've never worked out. As much as I've THOUGHT I've wanted certain things, whenever it's come down to it...I've never gone above and beyond to achieve them. Until now...

Thank goodness for Yoga. I will be starting my second stretch of training and I've been studying Yoga philosophy and some other Yoga related materials since I've been out of training. I dove right in to teaching and it felt very natural. I like the idea of being my own boss and of not being in a field where I am going to be judged according to some arbitrary standard that has no rhyme or reason. I'm going to be out there helping people and growing as an individual. What higher Honor need one receive than to know that they are a part of the solution?

"Am I part of the cure, or am I part of the disease?"~Coldplay

I think all I've ever really wanted out of life since I graduated from high school was to know what I wanted to do for the rest of it. It has taken me a VERY VERY VERY long time to figure this out. Unfortunately our society doesn't see fit to give anyone that much time to figure out something so important, so as a result of such a slow process, I've spent a lot of time hating myself simply for trying to figure out who that SELF is and who she wants to be. Shame on society for setting it up that way. And shame on me for not telling society to go FUCK ITSELF!

I have only one regret in life at this point and that is that I didn't believe that I could have the things that I wanted. I'm going to be spending a lot of time working on forgiving myself for that, and for accepting those things that may have passed me by.

Now all I really want is to be free of the "rules" and "standards" that come from nowhere and are upheld by faceless nobodies. I will be the only judge of my life's work. I don't think that I need an Emmy or any other award to tell me that I'm good at something. I already knew I was good at it. I chose to not follow that path. It's hard to reconcile 36 years of mental and emotional programming, but that IS all that it is...programming. And I have control over all of that now. I am the master of my mind and my emotions and it is freeing, but it does take work. For the first time...it doesn't FEEL like work. That's when they say you've found your true calling...when you can take something you feel passionate about that you enjoy doing and you can make a living at.

Thank freakin' God. It took me long enough, but I think I'm here. And the good news is, I don't have to sleep on anyone's kitchen floor, I don't have to fall back on anything else (nor do I have to fall ONTO--or under anyone else), and I most certainly don't feel like I'm going to die if I don't get it. I've already got it.

And the winner is:

Me:)

If At First You Don't Succeed...

2010-06-26T19:05:00.000-07:00

Day 12

Not proud of it from a Yoga stance, but had to get drunk in order to make my last night in London happen. Clearly not too drunk to type this blog, but just drunk enough to GO without grabbing onto the first hot guys leg that I see and hold on with all of my might screaming, “Don’t leeeeeeeeeeeeaaaaveee meeeeeeeeeeeee!!!!!!!!!!”.

Tonight was amazing. Went to see “Hair”. My brother knows the star and another guy who is working on a production here in London and so we ended up having dinner with some of the original Broadway cast. What did YOU do tonight?

Yeah, didn’t think so.

In addition, we jumped onto the stage for the finale of “Let The Sun Shine In” and subsequently marked one of the best nights of this entire trip, if not one of the more poignant moments of my life.

Put that in your pipe…you know what to do with it.

Now for the lame (and typical of me) part of today…

So, we are leaving Victoria Station to go to Buckingham Palace when we spy a hot guy with an Adonis bod walking a few feet ahead of us…sans shirt. Um…hello! So, we start to joke about how I should go up to him and tell him how I want to have ten thousand of his babies when he just stops…stops right there in front of us in the street. So…like any hot-blooded American Woman who happens to be eating an apple in the middle of Victoria Station I say, “Heeello!” (you know, like I think I’m May West)…and he says (with an embarrassed laugh—cause he’s topless), “Too hot, too hot”. Now keep in mind, this is “Too hot” with an English accent. I meeeaaaaaaaan. I laughed and kept on walking and muttered, “Yes, it is…”. Well, my brother and I get a few steps away and start to deduce what the hell is going on here. Why did he just stop in the street? Why is he still staring at us every time we turn back? Should I go say hi? I already said “Hi”, what else can I say? Should I go talk to him? Is this my chance to score on vacation? Is he a hooker? Why isn’t he wearing a shirt? This IS London after all, it’s not freakin Nice for crying out loud! Oh my God, he’s still looking! Should we stop walking? Should we turn back? Would YOU go up to him? I ask my brother. Probably not, but that’s probably why I’m single, YOU should totally go talk to him. But what would I say? Go say “hi””. I ALREADY said “hi”. Go ask him for directions. But shouldn’t HE be thinking of a way to approach ME? I don’t know, it’s different in the Gay world.

Ugh.

So, my brother walks away and pretends to go look into this pub while I finish eating my apple without being cock-blocked for the zillionth time on this vacation and Hot Topless Guy continues to stare at me from down the block. I contemplate what to say and what to do (after all, I’m leaving in the morning, where could this go? What would be the point?---why can’t I see that this DOESN’T MATTER!!!! Until after the fact?), but I’ve been too brain washed by “The Rules” to make a move and after about five minutes HTG decides the jig is up and turns down the street and disappears.

I pout for the next two hours while hopelessly scanning every crowd of tourists that he won’t ever in a million years be a part of.

Before that two hours is up, we decide to grab a hot dog from a stand in the park near Buckingham Palace. Here we spy the cute French Hot Dog Guy. Now, normally, I wouldn’t pay any mind to a dude who works in a park at the Hot Dog Stand, but…I’m on vacation, and he’s pretty, so all bets are off. Freshly rejected and dejected and mad at myself after what happened with HTG, I decide to not repeat the same mistake twice. So, while FHDG is grilling my bun (no pun intended) the girls he’s working with start to pester him about who he’s “in love” with. He gets flustered and embarrassed, so as I go to put mustard on my dog I ask one of the girls: “Who’s he in love with?” I don’t know what the F was going on back there, but she claims to not know who he’s in love with although I think he was talking about ME in French. I then relay this whole episode to my brother who has not been within earshot of this whole scene and he tells me that while this is an improvement from playing too hard to get with HTG, that I should have straight up asked the Hot Dog guy and not one of his co-workers what was going on.

I guess I have to just chalk it all up to a learning experience and know that next time, I just have to be more direct. F$%^ “The Rules” once and for all. They suck…and they don’t work…At least not on this side of the planet.

One thing is for sure…the only straight dude we had dinner with from the cast of “Hair” was into me, and although I didn’t do anything about it…

Well, for tonight anyway…

After all, tomorrow is another day!

See you on the other side of the pond!

London Calling

2010-06-25T17:19:00.000-07:00

Day 11

“As long as I gaze at Waterloo Sunset, I am in Paradise”~The Kinks

Well, nothing could have prepared me for London. I am truly, madly, deeply in love. That isn’t to say that Paris isn’t incredible, but something about London is speaking to me. Maybe it’s that I can speak the language, maybe it’s those beautiful accents, maybe it’s the street fashion on the kids, maybe it’s the crowds of people spilling out into the street from each pub, or maybe it’s that “Disneyland for adults” feeling. Whatever it is, I am not going to be satisfied with two days. In addition to my vacation coming to an end, I will be broken hearted about leaving this place especially.

I am so tired as I write this that I almost passed out in the tube coming “home”. I slept in the airport leaving Barcelona, and slept off and on on the plane ride here. If London wanted to know I was in love with it, it wouldn’t be able to tell from my demeanor. But, I assure you LDN, you are my new flame.

We are staying in North Afton which is a 10 minute tube ride from Central London (and from what I can see is a pretty crappy part of town, but I haven’t really seen it, so I can’t say for sure). We decided to check out Covent Garden at the suggestion of our concierge as night was falling upon us and we wanted to catch the flavor of the night life. Before we hopped back on the tube, we made a stop at Tesco for a snack. I hate to say it, but my first London meal came out of three packages: 1) Egg Salad Sandwich, 2) Sun Chips, 3) Apple Juice. It was 6pm and I had only had an apple and a banana, so…I was desperate.

The energy in Covent Garden is amazing. There are crowds of people everywhere, you almost have to walk in the street because the sidewalks are so crowded. I love that. In LA there’s no one on the sidewalk…except the bums. The street performers are hilarious, the buildings each have a unique character of there own, and the people are full of life. I’ve noticed that on the whole trip. The people. I’m getting emotional even typing that. I wish I could stay long enough to get to know them. I will be back.

We started to search out an Indian estaurant and ended up in the Theatre District in the West End. So…we popped in and saw Avenue Q. It was soooooo good. Two thumbs up. It was so spontaneous and exciting to go into this amazing old theatre (Wyndhams Theatre--something you would see in a period piece), and watch a hit show just on the fly. We got an amazing deal (25 pounds each), and great seats because the show was starting in 7 minutes. Ha!

After the show, we had dinner in (Starts with an L---sorry, so tired) Square and then walked through Soho (The Gay Part) and then came back to the hotel. And here I am. Waking up tomorrow will be like waking up on Christmas morning.

I can’t wait to unwrap my gifts.

P.S. Long live the Queen.

Melessa Christopher Barcelona

2010-06-24T15:22:00.000-07:00

Day 10 (Primero)

Today will be our second, and last, day in Barcelona. We had to set an alarm for this morning because otherwise we won't have enough time to do everything. There is so much do see and do!!!

I'm not sure what we were doing wrong last night, but everyone kept telling me that Barcelona gets started late (dinner starts at 11pm) and that it's known for it's Tapas and Sangria, etc. Well we apparently couldn't find the neighborhood where that was happening last night and ended up eating at a so/so place somewhere off of "The Ramblas". We had tapas and sangria, but the vibe wasn't at all what I was hoping for and they closed at 1am. I know the restaurant that is living in my imagination is out there somewhere, we just need to know how to find it. I had asked this random concierge at a random hotel to point us to an authentic, non-touristy place and he sent us to the most dead place in all of Barcelona that felt like a borderline Cheesecake Factory. Um...gracias senor. Needless to say, we didn't eat there.

We keep getting lucky on this trip in that we keep stumbling on the cities as they have something neato happening. For instance, when we were in Nice, they had this huge music festival on Monday night. Now I don't know if they have it every Monday, or if it was just that Monday, but either way, we were only there for two nights and we got to experience this awesome event of live bands, drum lines. And now, last night was the celebration of "San Juan". I don't know he he was, or what he did, but he causes people to light fireworks all night long throughout the city on the shortest night of the year, which was last night. Kinda cool, also kinda scary...it sounded like Bagdad circa 2003.

Buenos Dias!

Later...

Day 10 (Segundo)

Whoever says money can't buy you happiness is an imbecile. And here's why: If you have lots of money and you are on vacation and see something cool that you want to by for someone else, you can totally buy it, no problemo. When you buy people shit, they love you more, that's all there is to it. So there.

I have seen soooooo many things that I want to buy for people, it's not even funny. No matter where you are there is always going to be something that reminds you of someone, or something that you think someone you love will get a kick out of or appreciate. It's a bummer to not be able to fulfill the "idea that counts".

Today we took a bus up to the Parque Guell which is the home of a bunch of amazing Gaudi stuff. There are a slew of super talented musicians and some cool street performers, as well as some vendors up there selling souvenirs. I finally had a guy pay attention to me!!!! But then I had to pay him. He was a mime. He picked an imaginary flower for me and then my brother threw some change in his hat. Great.

Let me tell you something...those people make BANK! At least a couple hundred, if not thousand, folks must pass through there each day and everyone is buying stuff and tipping the performers. It's great. It was inspiring to see people making a living doing their art, their way, in such a beautiful setting too. There was this one band up there playing World Music/Reggae. They were REALLY good and I don't know what it was about them, but I cried through their entire performance. It wasn't melancholy or anything, it was actually very upbeat, but it was just the whole thing: Being in Barcelona, in this beautiful place that was created by one of the most genius artists who ever lived, watching these hippies enjoy themselves doing the best job in the world (performing their music), and I guess I was just overwhelmed with what a great moment it was, and it was one of those glimpses into joy...and these people doing their best to spread their little piece of that. I dunno, it just really moved me.

After that we headed down to check out this house that Gaudi built. There's nothing else like it in all the world. I'm not going to describe it, you would have to see it for yourself. Amazing!

It's funny, we almost didn't do either of those things today. The Parque was a last minute idea I had because I thought it might have been featured in the movie "Vicki Christina Barcelona" (arguably one of the best movies EVER!). I 'm still not sure if it was or not, but it did give me the FEEL that I had been looking for of something exotic and "Spanish". Then we went by that house that Gaudi built and they wanted 20 Euros to get in. We were kinda like, "They straight trippin!", but then we decided, "Hey, if they are charging more than the Palace of Versailles, then this shiz MUST be good!". Thank goodness we took a chance on it. It was worth every penny. Today was one of my favorite days on the trip so far...

...Except the part where I went to the ATM to get another 20 Euros out to last me tonight and tomorrow morning (when we get to London tomorrow we have to switch to Pounds), and then 15 minutes later we went to buy a smoothie and I couldn't find my money. Either my bag ate it, or I didn't take the stinking bill out of the ATM machine. So lame.

That's 20 Euros I could have used to buy some love from some people. Doh!

For dinner we stumbled on this cute little Mexican place near the Modern Art Museum (closed on Holidays dang it!) where we had dinner. This place REALLY reminded me of the Cha Cha Cha on Haight Street in San Francisco. It was really bright and colorful and even had the same table cloths. It was definitely the Hipster Mecca of Barcelona. I'm not the biggest fan of hipsters, but it was nice to finally see some peeps in that town who had some style (these people are TAAAACKY--especially when you've just flown in from Paris). But everyone in this place was really cute and very very very stylish. I've seen a lot of brave haircuts here on women and the men wear their hair long, but not gross Michael Bolton long (Thank God). More like...jeez, I don't even know...just loose curly messy. It's beautiful.

Have to sign off now. Getting up at 7 to run to Fed Ex to ship my extraneous crap back to the US so I don't have to cart it all over London for the next 3 days.

Buenos Noches!!!

Tres Bueno

2010-06-23T12:27:00.000-07:00

That's "tres" as in "very"~french, and "bueno" as in "good"~spainish...it's weird to wake up in one country and go to bed in another...especially when neither of them are yours...

Day 8

Due to the fact that they almost didn't let us on the plane to BarTHelona, my brother and I have decided to FedEx a bunch of our crap back to the states. We are THOSE people. You know, the fat, lazy, greedy, over-consumptive Americans? Yeah, that's us. With luggage too big to meet the weight limits and the entitlement to think we "needed" to haul all of our junk to Europe with us. Well, I REFUSE to ever be one of THOSE people ever again. It's gross. I don't want to be gross, I want to be Grace.

We did something today that I would normally frown upon. We did pretty much the same exact thing two days in a row. We couldn't help it. The gardens around the Matisse Museum were too beautiful, too peaceful, and too French. We had to nap in them. Sue us. So yeah, we hiked all up through Nice today, taking pretty much the same route we took the day before. The only difference is, we didn't stop at the Chagall and Matisse Museums again. They are both incredible and Matisse was already my very favorite artist, due to something about those red rooms. I don't know what it is, but I love them. Well, now Chagall is up there too. I was already a fan (the piece with the man floating over the woman and kissing her as though he flew in through the window to do just that---sorry, don't know the name of it), but now I am a super fan. Anyway, we hiked to the gardens, my brother fed the pigeons...by throwing bread near my head and laughing as they disturbed my reading...I'm lucky I didn't get pooped on, and then we walked back to old town where we had dinner and then went back to that same insane ice cream shop. This time I opted for Blackberry Sorbet and Pistachio Gelato. Tres Bien!!!

Now we are in Barcelona and not much has happened yet, except that our hotel room is WAY nice and we actually have a tub. I CANNOT wait to take a bath! Our showers in France were teeny tiny.

Buenos Noches!

Day 9

Maybe I don't want to get married after all. It's not too much fun having no guys check you out. This is what is happening because everyone thinks my brother and I are married. In LA this isn't a problem because my brother looks gay there, even though he isn't flamboyant or anything, you can just kinda tell. Plus, since everyone in America is used to our American faces, they can tell by looking at us that we are related. Here, we are a little unfamiliar, so I don't think people see the resemblance right away, you know, how like some people think that all asians or all blacks look alike?...well, like that. Also, you cannot tell the gays from the straights here at ALL. Not just in Barcelona, but anywhere we've been. All Europeans look a little gay. I'm not saying that in a bad way, I'm just sayin...it's hard to tell. Even my gay brother even thinks so.

So, the typical scenario that has been happening is this: We are walking down the street, we spot a cute guy, we both start oggling him to death, the cute guy looks at us, can't figure out what the hell is going on and just keeps on walking. Maybe everyone thinks we are swingers and we just haven't run across any cute guys who are into that.

Whatever the deal is, it sucks. Not that it's ruining the trip or anything, but before I left, a lot of people kept saying "oooh, you are going to meet a cute French boy", or "oooooh, you are going to have a little romance on your vacation", or "ooooh, you are totally going to meet someone and fall in love", and I assured everyone that none of those scenarios was going to be very likely considering I was traveling with a man, and it turns out I was right. I kinda hoped it was going to turn out that I didn't know what I was talking about. Ho hum. It is a little bit of a bummer. Especially when there is an unbelievably attractive man around just about every corner. And it's even worse now that we've been to the beach. Dios Mio! Hay Caramba! It was painful to the point of almost bringing me to tears. I had to pay some asian woman five euros to rub my shoulders for a few minutes just so I didn't feel like a leper. So now on top of nobody paying any attention to me, I'm going to have to deal with everyone bugging me about the fact that I haven't seen any action this entire trip.

"Constant craving has always been"~K.D. Lang

P.S. The Picasso Museum was awesome.

Vacation's All I Ever Wanted

2010-06-21T16:14:00.000-07:00

"...vacation, had to get away!"~The Go Go's

Day 7

All toilet paper in France is pink. The French know how to make anything look beautiful. Why is it that so many people smell though? Hmmm...

When you get to Nice, go to old town and find the stand that sells the wooden brain teasers. Here you will meet Ben. You will never need to meet anyone else. (Sigh) Unfortunately, Ben is under the same assumption as everyone else: That my brother and I are a happy couple. Must remember Ben and come back and find him some day...

Traveling in European cities requires a lot of walking. Unless you are really lazy and don't want to experience anything cool, then you can take a cab like a dumbass American tourist. Okay, so the walking. You do a lot of it. Like...a lot. Like more than you ever thought you were capable of. So, I suggest bringing an entire box of bandages for your feet. I brought about 15 individual bandages knowing that I am prone to blisters...well, it ain't gonna be enough. I've already used six and I had to remove them all this evening for fear that if I left the same ones on for another day that they might fuse to my feet and I may never be able to remove them. I am bordering on crippled and I am in pretty great shape due to my intensive yoga training. I would hate to see how miserable I would be if this weren't the case. The upside is that I don't have to feel guilty that I haven't been working out and that I've been eating like a total pig.

Nice has this awesome ice cream shop in old town that features 96 different flavors of gelatos and sorbets. Flavors include: Tirimisu, Pina Colada, Lavendar, Watermelon, Avocado, Thyme, Jasmine, Beer, Cactus, Coca Cola, and Violet just to name a few. We ate there twice today. It's on the agenda for tomorrow as well. I mean...we have to try as many of them as possible before we leave, right? Yeah, I think it's pretty much our duty.

My brother and I were wondering what the harm would be if we brought the lifestyle of Nice to the states? What's so wrong with having music and dancing in the streets? Along with drinking in public, and an age 16 drinking age. It seems to be working for these people. We haven't seen one fight, or been bothered by anyone beligerent. And this isn't just in Nice. In Paris, our hotel was located on a canal and each night people from their young teens through their 50's and 60's would be sitting alone the edge with their bottles of wine, baguettes and cheese just chatting and smoking and peacefully enjoying themselves. You would NEVER see something like that back home. And that's just a shame. A crying freaking shame. Yesterday we were eating at a restaurant and a group of people came in on their rollerblades and had lunch. Not on a patio...INSIDE the restaurant! No problem, no fuss. Animals too, right inside. What is it with us American's and our INSANE need to control everything and everybody?

We really need to get over ourselves.

Well, it's getting late and I need enough sleep to repair the damage that's being done to my feet.

Bonsoir!

An American Girl In Paris~Part Deux

2010-06-21T02:43:00.000-07:00

Day 4

"Water water everywhere, but not a drop to drink."~James T. Kirk

This is the phrase that has most come to mind when looking at all of the hot men here in Paris. I would be referring to the fact that there are so many hot men at my disposal, but I am not at liberty to take advantage of the situtation. It's KILLING ME! The cops are especially handsome, there is definitely something to be said about a man in a uniform.

The one thing you need to know about using the restroom in Paris is this...it ain't a quick trip. There is always a line and there are no paper towels. Average time needed to go pee: 15 minutes--9 minutes to wait in queue, 1 minute to pee, and 5 minutes to blow dry your hands. Plan accordingly.

Lack of sleep causes hysteria. This time it manifested itself as this...my brother and I were playing with the word "Bible". Using it phonetically, changing the pronunciation and such. It got to the point where we were taking our finger horizontally to our lips and shaking it up and down quickly to create that "bpbubpbubupbpbu" sound, and we thought, "What if THAT'S how you had to say bible?" Excuse me, do you know where I could buy a "bpubupbpuubpbp"? Have you read the "bpubpbububpbbp"? I swear on the Holy "BPUBPUBUPBPUBPBBU".

It was pretty funny, you might have had to have been there.

Another church. This time, Notre Dame. You really need to see it for yourself. Once again, we walked in on a service, which once again reminded me of chanting Monks and the smell of incense made me miss my yoga classes. I decided to pay the two euros to light a prayer candle and I silently chanted "Ra Ma Da Sa"...I'm pretty sure Jesus was okay with it.

Day 5

Red Lipstick and Lesbian Shirts. This is all you need to know about Paris street fashion. Now, I've been wearing Lesbian Shirts for quite some time and was about to nix them from my wardrobe because I felt like they made me look like a lesbian. Well, not so fast K.D. Lang...the problem wasn't the shirt, the problem was how I was wearing it. If you don't own a red lipstick, stop reading this blog and go out and buy one immediately.

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

Okay, now that you are back I will tell you what a lesbian shirt is. It's a collared button down. You, know like a man's shirt. You need one. And you need to know how to wear it. Feminize it as much as you can with skinny jeans and a nice necklace, or by wearing red lipstick. Check out a fashion mag or a website on Paris street fashion, they will walk you through it. They are also wearing them short sleeved which is super cute. One of my favorite outfits was a girl in a short-sleeved button down, super skinny blue jeans, and high top converse, read lipstick and her hair was up on top of her head soft curls and effortlessly messy. Tres chic.

Standing in the metro very close to the train tracks and my iPod randomly chooses Madonna's song "You Push Me". I look at my brother sideways.

Back to the restrooms. Could the French underestimate the usage of the restrooms any less? The Louvre must accommodate at least 10,000 per day, yet their main "Toilet" only has 8 stalls. I waited in "the queue" for 15 minutes. Um... just sayin'. Know that using the restroom eats up about two hours per day of your precious vacation time. Book an extra two days to make up for it if you have the means.

I've had a zit that has decided that it wants to come on trip with me. He's still hanging on on day 5, with no end in site. I don't remember inviting him, but he reminds me of Carrie's zit that she has to pop on the train to SF.

Last glimpse of Eiffel Tower + Red Wine = Tears

Day 6

I only have one thing to say about Day 6 and that is this. Pack light. The last thing you want to do is drag an oversized suitcase through the Paris Metro. There are a lot of stairs and you end up looking like a stupid gluttonous American and a travel rookie. Nice to meet you.

Okay, that's not all. The train to Nice is wonderful. Pretty comfy and puts you to sleep like a grandma in a rocking chair...and the views are splendid.

An American Girl in Paris~Part Un

2010-06-17T16:50:00.000-07:00

That title is a straight up rip off from Sex and the City. Too bad. I'm takin' it. They ripped it off of a Gene Kelly movie anyway...

Day 1:

Valuum + Ten Hour Plane Ride = No Jetlag. I highly recommend it.

The men here are all gorgeous and I am really digging the way they dress. Everyone in the states is a poseur, but we already knew that.

Ended up eating Thai food for my first Parisian meal. I know. Blasphemy. It's just the way things worked out. After 21 hours of travel and only about a 3 hour nap we (my brother and I) were dehydrated and didn't want to eat Cheese and Wine. We figured if we weren't going French it didn't matter what hell we ate. The food was good and the two guys sitting behind my brother were fun to stare at all through dinner. Hawt!

Since we didn't get in til 8pm there isn't much else to report today.

Did I mention how cute all of the men are? Oh, I did? Okay, well then yeah, guess I'm off to bed.

Bonsoir!

P.S. The men here are really cute...

Day 2:

Woke up at 6am (after going to bed at 1am) and couldn't fall back to sleep...spent the next two hours watching my brother sleep. Bastard.

Forgot to drink my "Smooth Move" tea before bed last night. Walked the streets of Paris all day with the stomach of a woman who is about seven to ten months pregnant. This did not stop me from eating a ginormous Ham and Cheese Crepe in the park.

Walked the entire length of the city and back (the equivalent of walking the treadmill at the gym for a total of five hours at speed 4.0), plus climbed the never ending stairs inside the Arc de Triomphe and somehow managed to still gain about six pounds. Wtf?

Met up with my sister-in-laws parents for some sightseeing (local style) and dinner. I know I am supposed to say something snarky here because in-laws are usually lame. Not so in this case. They rock the Kasbah. Got the full on public transit education and the rest of our itinerary mapped out. Plus had super fun dinner, etc. All in-laws should rule like this.

Was lucky to get through dinner without face planting into my "Glace" and having a trail of Zzzzz's sprouting out of my head like in a cartoon, so I must go to sleep immediately if not sooner.

Drank two cups of "Smooth Move" while writing this blog. The fact that I've shared this info might help explain why I'm still single, but whatevs, tomorrow is gonna start with a bang!

Bonsoir!

Day 3

Today did not start with a "bang". My stomach issues apparently go waaaay beyond Smooth Move's capabilities. Well, that's not entirely true, I almost had an accident trying to find the restroom when I got off the train at Versailles. For those of us who are slow, that means I almost pooped my pants.

I ended up using the "toilet" at a very chic McDonalds. Dang, I mean, the French know how to make ANYTHING nice (except the word for restroom, which is "toilet" and sounds gross as all get out). I gotta say. This McDonalds had a lounge/wi-fi area and a cafe with a dessert/pastry case and a real espresso machine. What the what?! The States need to get with the program. I didn't eat at the McDonalds though. I'm trying not to come home from this trip disguised as a fat cow.

Versaille is AMAZEBALLS! We must have walked 35 to 40 miles easy. I'm crippled now and am not sure how tomorrow is going to pan out if I do not have the use of my legs.

After Versaille (which literally takes all day), we took the train, then the metro, to Montmarte (made famous by the genius and beloved film Amelie). Unfortunately, we were too tired to hunt down the locations from that film, but we did peak in on a church service in the Sacre Coeur. The smell of incense and the sounds of the priests (or whoever) praying reminded me of yoga and chanting and I got a little bit emotional. Then we ate at a hip little cafe where this adorable Parisian kept staring at me.

I am enjoying my brother's company, but there is no way that I am going to have a romantic interlude while I am traveling with a man. We are totally unintentionally cock-blocking each other and it sorta reeks. That being said, we have too much to do and see to deal with being hungover, so we can't really get into too much of a nightlife scenario anyway.

After dinner we stumbled through the rest of the district and on to The Moulin Rouge...which is on a street that has nothing but sex shops. Then I remembered how Amelie's boyfriend worked at a sex shop and I sighed longingly...but kept on walking.

Bonsoir!

Fuggetaboutit

2010-06-11T07:30:00.000-07:00

I am in love with Tony Soprano.

I know I'm about 10 years late jumping on the "The Sopranos" bandwagon, but that's what happens when you refuse to pay for cable. Sue me.

So, I'm having this dream last night that I work for Tony Soprano. I'm at this hotel and I'm on the roof. I'm ducking behind this partition with about 15 or so illegal immigrants from Mexico and on a neighboring roof, a sniper is trying to pick us off one by one. Apparently this is what I do. I smuggle immigrants into the country. Gangster Coyote. Yup, that's me.

Um.

Anyway, I leave the scene (hoping they can fend for themselves, one of my associates is there and is going to finish getting the immigrants to safety) to go do whatever else it is that I do. Sometime later in the dream I am trying to get back onto the roof and now one of Tony's other "soldiers" won't let me get back up there. Apparently I don't have "clearance" or some bull crap. It's a woman and she's a total biznatch and OF COURSE I just assume that she's messing with me because she's jealous of me for some reason. Whatever. So, I very bravely (okay stupidly) go to find Tony to talk to him about my situation. I find Tony in the middle of a conversation with one of his main guys and I have the gaul to actually INTERRUPT him and ask him if we can speak in private.

Am I TRYING to get myself killed?

He's fatter, shorter and sweatier in my dream than he is on the show, but this doesn't stop me from being hopelessly madly in love with him. I proceed to explain to him my situation. In the dream he doesn't know about this little side business I'm doing and I'm not sure he will approve, so I'm super scared that at any moment he might lose his shiz and try to shoot me.

While I am telling him what the dealio is, I start to cry. I am apparently SUPER passionate about the plight of these people that I am trying to help. I think I'm starting to get somewhere with him, when all of a sudden he walks away from me and goes into a bathroom and shuts the door. After a few moments I can hear him taking a shower.

Okay, well, it was nice talking to you. Jeez. The manners on this guy!

I pathetically wait outside the door for over 30 minutes. He never comes back out.

I tell you what, my subconscious doesn't miss I beat:

Here is a man who is wildly inappropriate for me as a love interest. Number one, he's married, number two he's dangerous, and number three, he's a violent criminal and misogynist. Just to name a few. Of COURSE I'm madly in love with him. What woman who's lost every shred of self esteem WOULDN'T love him? (No I have not forgotten that he is a fictional character from a television show.)

Then there is the issue of what I do for a living in this dream. I am a bleeding heart humanitarian who will risk her life for the sake of another human being who is less fortunate for herself. Well, I wouldn't go that far in real life, but it's true that I have a heart of gold that seems to be about as unappreciated by men as flatulence on a first date.

And then there is my pathetic and loyal devotion to a person who treats me so crappy that they walk away from me mid sentence and shut a door in my face. While I am CRYING!!!

It all sounds about right.

I can't wait for Season 3.
It arrives tomorrow.

Or Not

2010-06-02T01:21:00.000-07:00

Remember the episode where Carrie gets her shoes stolen from that Baby Shower and then she "marries" herself and registers for Manolo Blahniks (Season Six, Episode 9, "The Right to Shoes")? Well, I'm having one of those kinds of days.

What kind of day is that you ask? Well, I will tell you. I'm having the kind of day where my vacation for Europe is coming up in two weeks and I checked my balance today in my checking account cause it's the first and I gotta pay rent, and realized that I don't have any money. How come I don't have any money you ask? Well, I will tell you. There are two reasons why I don't have any money: Number one, I am a waitress and number two, I am single.

Now waitressing isn't really that bad of a gig financially, but when your rent goes up 3% every year, and gas prices go up, and jeans cost $200 (I do NOT own a pair of $200 jeans btw), and you get older and the cost of your lifestyle goes up, but you are making the same money you were making 10 years ago...things get kinda tight financially. That's not to mention that I don't get paid time off, so if I want to go anywhere, I have to have money for the air fare and hotel, plus spending money, PLUS I have to save enough money to cover all of the days that I miss from work, so vacations cost twice as much for me as they do for a normal person. Throw in Yoga Certification Training and the time you had to take off from work to afford that (so you could better yourself and crawl out of this financial hole), then things become financially suffocating.

What does being single have to do with it? Well, for one, I pay for all of my rent myself. If I had a dude living here, I'd be shopping every weekend and going on two vacations a year, but no dude wants to live with me, we've established that, so I gotsta pay the bills my damn self.

When you are in your 20's, being broke is sort of the "thing". You just live with it cause everyone else is in the same boat. But when you get into your 30's and everyone else is buying homes, spending weekends in Napa and Santa Barbara, shopping for day cares, and doing whatever else it is that "grown-ups" (i.e. couples) do, you feel like crap if you aren't doing the same.

Welcome to Crapville.

On top of the home buying and baby having, there's one thing that stands out above all others...and that's the wedding. Not only do you not have anyone to split the rent with, or to LOVE for crying out loud, you don't get the "Price Is Right Showcase Showdown" either. What do singles get? Most likely herpes or syphilis (I hear it's making a comeback), but you sure as hell don't get a new set of pots and pans, of that I am certain. And well, that needs to change.

We need to implement into our society a system where once you reach 35, if your ass ain't married yet, you get a PARTY!...and a honeymoon AND you get to register for shit. It's only fair. I mean, you need a party so you can drink yourself silly and numb the pain of going to bed each night alone and waking up to a new wrinkle each morning. And you need schwag so you can catch up with the Joneses. At this age, it's time for nicer sheets, proper cutlery, and Egyptian cotton towels. You think I'm buyin' Egyptian anything on this single gals income, you trippin' (unless you are getting married and you registered for them, then I will buy them for YOU). And this is the point they make on SATC, that that same single gals income is reduced even more by all of the wedding and baby shower gifts they have to buy. It's been an active last few years for some of my lady friends, and I don't get a "buy your friends some gifts cause their life is going way better than yours" bonus at the end of every year. Those gifts are coming out of my "buy something sexy to wear and go out so that you can snatch up a husband of your own" budget (which doesn't exist while I'm paying for my own health insurance)!

I call bullshizzzzzzz!

I know it's all relative and things could be worse. There are people without food, shelter, or proper medical care, but I'm about a paycheck away from being one of those people, so...that's a wash. Our society is changing and traditions need to change with it. I graduated from Yoga Training and I didn't even get taken to dinner. If I had graduated from college I would have been showered with money and gifts. Well, I'm sorry I didn't go into $100,000 of debt to get a "proper" education, but I have been more or less taking care of myself since I was 18 and that's been about 18 years that I've been in the school of hard knocks. That should count for something.

Our society only recognizes certain things as celebratory, certain people even. It's total bologna. Singles are overlooked in so many ways and it really blows because HELLO we are already being overlooked!!! It would be nice to be celebrated in some special way for all of the things that we have accomplished and all of the things that we've had to endure...alone. Our strength should be celebrated on a weekly basis as far I'm concerned. A parade with fireworks would do nicely...or even a Pinkberry.

Carrie said, "The fact is, sometimes it's hard to walk in a single woman's shoes. That's why we need really special one's now and then to make the walk a little more fun." Man, ain't it the the truth?

So, yeah, I think it would even the playing field out a little bit if it were socially acceptable for me to be able to register for my European vacation the way other people register for their honeymoons. Because the fact is, sometimes it's hard to travel to the most ROMANTIC city in all of the world with your SIBLING (no offense dear brother). That's why singles need lots and lots of cash to spend when they get there, to make the trip a little more fun.

Or not.

(Parental Units, this is not directed at you. You have both done enough and I thank you a million times over!!! This is a commentary about our society and how shitty it treats it's single folk. The single population has grown exponentially over the last 20-30 years and nothing is being done about how that changes things as far as what marks a life changing event, or what should and shouldn't be celebrated, and how. Something's Gotta Give!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

*Tumbleweeds

2010-05-25T23:07:00.000-07:00

I got absolutely NOTHIN' to talk about. But, I'm committed to this freakin' blog, so I'm gonna pull something out of my ass just for you.

The first order of business is that I've decided to try some stand-up. After unlocking my "Kundalini" (aka Creativity) energy last week via an intense yoga session, some jokes just started coming to me. Well, it didn't exactly happen like that. I did the yoga, then I later moved on to doing laundry and when I was in the garage folding my clothes this crazy monologue of jokes just started rising to the surface. I'd tell 'em to you, but then it wouldn't be a surprise when you come see me at the comedy club. Bah! I mean, I hope they are jokes, cause if I get up in front of people with a microphone and it turns out it's just a bunch of random stupid idiotic thoughts that are going to embarrass me after I tell them to strangers then that's going to really suck.

Hmmm...what else? I went to a really fun birthday party last week. I mean, I think it was really fun, I was pretty drunk, so maybe it was super boring and lame, but I remember it being fun, so I'll just go with that. There were some minor celebrities there and that's always cool in my book. Especially when they happen to be two of the hottest guys you've ever met, which they were. Neither of them could have been less interested in me, but whatever. I can still enjoy an attractive man even if he's blowing me off, actually, especially if he's blowing me off. I really seem to be into that. The party was for a guy I kinda sorta dated about six years ago. He's a hysterical comedian. He's really cute too. Things didn't work out with us cause I think I remind him of some parts of himself that he really really hates. I have that affect on a lot of people. He likes to point out things that make me feel insecure and then when I tell him he's being mean to me he says it's all in my head. It's totally dysfunctional and as a result, I pretty much want to marry him.

I don't know if it's coming across, but I'm feeling pretty down and out today. I've basically gotten to a point where I cannot imagine a scenario EVER happening where I will meet someone. I just think this whole schtick has gone on too long. It's become too big. It has completely taken over. A friend of mine recently said to me, "Nobody feeds the hungry", basically meaning that as long as I stay desperate to find someone to love, I never will. Another friend said to me tonight, "As soon as you stop giving a shit, someone's going to come along." Well, guess what? They are never coming then, cause I'm never going to stop giving a shit. Humans are social animals, we are meant to meet other people and pair up and procreate and do all of that stuff. I told her it'd be like me not being able to wear a shirt and then someone saying, "Just don't worry about it. As soon as you stop caring that you don't have a shirt on, someone will let you borrow one of their shirts." Um, okay. I'll just walk around topless like it's not bothering me.

Mr. Sandman was nice enough to scrape the bottom of the man barrel again this week. I had a dream that Christopher Robin (from previous blog) and I were totally madly in love. I hate having to wake up from those dreams. I already wrote a blog about a similar situation a few months ago, so I won't go into what that feels like, but it's rad that my subconscious keeps doing that to me. And by "rad" I mean totally fucked up and obnoxious and cruel. I'm hoping it was one of those premonition dreams that I've been having lately. I swore today that when I was at Whole Foods I was gonna run into him, but I didn't. So, yeah, so far it was just a pointless dream meant to make me super depressed about what I want and don't have.

This blog sucks. I promise to have something fun to talk about in the near future. For now, I'm going to put you and myself out misery and stop typing.

*This blog was titled "Tumbleweeds" today because I am obviously experiencing a drought, but there are a few random things blowing around and that's all I had. I hope you didn't fall asleep while you were reading this.