Gwen Bell and feeding little monsters.

The other day I got lost in a time warp reading back posts of Gwen Bell's blog. Gwen is fantastic, as I'm sure all you bloggers know; she's intelligent, creative, innovative and all those other things we strive for....plus, she lives in Colorado.

I sat there thinking; Fuck. I need to do more with myself- then she mentioned using the word fuck only weakens your writing, and I thought; FUCK. I should quit and learn to like kids (?? I don't know, cause it seems like it'd add harmony to my life, and maybe I'd cuss less.) The whole time, all I was doing (other being utterly in awe of her awesomeness) was comparing and contrasting; If she can be a blog goddess, who is up on all things social media, who practices yoga and blogs daily, travels, pursues, speaks, creates and is all around stellar; I should be doing that.

It's not that I don't believe I'm not doing enough, I am. I've been recording daily, writing music, enjoying new friends, socializing and leaving enough time in my day to take multiple trips to my pantry to browse its contents. It's just....am I doing ENOUGH....? Are the shoes I'm in a little too comfortable?

I was inspired by her ability to get things done; which is evident with the life she lives. The way she approaches the web, information, and all of her business ventures is the picture of: Think outside the box. Follow your passion. And DO IT. She's not a thumb twiddler. Not that I can sense anyway.

It isn't that I necessarily want to hijack Gwen's life (because that's creepy and let's face it, no one does "you" as well as you do, imitations are for Vegas....and crab) we're different people with different goals- but what I can do is throw myself, head first into the wealth of opportunities, options and aspirations that are in front of me now. Full out.

This isn't a dress rehearsal, this IS our life!

This is what you thought of when you were a kid, when you imagined getting out of your training bra and having "real boobs." (I never got them.) When you imagined your high heels clicking on marble floors as you walked into your "fancy" job. When you imagined staying up past your bed time, playing house and being taken seriously. Those times when we thought; when I'm "in my life" all be secure, totally confident and everything will be easy, grand and exactly. how. I. Imagined.....and I'll have stainless steel appliances. And drink martinis. Extra dirty. Like a real live adult. It'll be awesome.

Well, I still find myself saying these things, but the thing is- THIS IS IT. There isn't a later, or a matinee. Right now, where I am, in my twenties, physically able to stretch and kick and live in this body until I wear it out, like my favorite pair of jeans- faded and torn in the perfect mold of my hips and thighs, from staying out late, brushing past bodies going from place to place, rough housing and thriving, I should have no excuse to not be approaching everything with the reckless abandon of a Snookie backflip on the dance floor.

The thing is; figuring out where your time could be spent BEST. That's certainly not checking my Facebook 5-thousand-fucking-times.

Where are you the most valuable? Where do you FEEL the most validated? What makes you feel good?....weird. Sometimes it is just about generating good feelings, even when the source doesn't make "logical" sense. Our FEELING is the only indicator we get, unless you hear voices...and if you do, email me. I got questions for the Big Guy.

Wherever we feel GREAT is where we'll thrive, It's where we'll be the rock star of our own story.....so why do we spend so much time not feeling great?

The goal isn't to be Gwen, or Madonna, or have so-and-so's "cool life" but to be the BEST at what I do best.... Whatever it is that is MINE, that makes me feel aligned and fulfilled but still "hungry," that is an area that if neglected, I'm only denying myself the life I deserve. If I allow myself to thrive in my "best" the outcome can't be anything but fantastic.

...right now, I would say, though my day is full, the percentage of it wasted is just too damn much. And the places where I actually allow my energy to drift don't always deserve it. Whatever we feed our energy into is that which will blossom and it isn't just one-sided "goodness." Feeding monsters will sanction their growth just as intensely, and when something useless, negative, or unwanted is being fed your minds most powerful brain waves, it's a lot harder to reel the roaring beast back to shore. My monster is a sea creature. FYI.

So, where is my energy best??......if I pump a certain amount of fuel into my tank, or A tank, which tank "needs" it most, which car (if you will) is the one I want to drive the distance. Saying "the distance" makes me sound more dramatic and serious, or like I sing Bette Midler songs when no one's listening...but you get the idea.

The goals this week to funnel my energy in a better direction is:

1. Check emails only 3 times a day, 8am, 1 pm and 6pm. 2. Facebook twice a day, when I wake up and when I go to bed (if you see me online, I urge you to talk shit at me over FB chat. Thanks. Social responsibility people) 3. Do yoga when I wake up. Not at 4pm in my living room while I watch Oprah. 4. Write the IDEA down when it HAPPENS. Too often I let an idea; song, blog, business, etc. go and assume the inspiration will be there to pick up again when I decide to "get around to it...." well, that's not how it works. It just prolongs the creative process, or stalls it completely. AND 5. No TV (I waited until Tuesday, so I didn't miss The Bachelor....don't judge me. This was to lessen temptation.)

What do you need to "FEED YOUR ENERGY" to more often????

Life is delicious, like cupcakes....and chocolate martinis.

It's becoming increasingly harder for me to take the time to be a part of the blog world. Which, on an incredibly good note, means that I've been as busy as P.Diddy's umbrella carrier on a trip to Seattle. I've had a one-track mind lately which unfortunately excludes the Internet, friends, and eyebrow maintenance. REGULAR BLOG PROGRAMMING WILL CONTINUE SOON, I promise. And yes...I do plan on attending Bloggers in Sin City. Holler.

It's just that lately, I've been out; living, creating, running a muck. And, taking RANDOM opportunities to feed my bohemian existence...

The last 6 days I have been "live art" in a snow globe at the X-Games.

....I'm one fidgety motherfucker, so you'd have to assume that they're paying me a ridiculous amount of money to sit still for 9 hours a day, like a mannequin, without so much as a smile or a wink while drunk snowboarders, children and the like came up and poked at the plastic globe screaming, "ARE YOU REALLLLLL???" It was the best meditation I've ever had. I spent 4 full days repeating to myself, "All is perfect, whole and complete- my dreams are fulfilled effortlessly and I shine my brilliance, today. I accept love, prosperity, health and joy in my life. All is well." I may have affirmed that "I'm a sexy bitch" a few times too for good measure, since everyone needs to feel a little like Beyonce from time to time.

Then I basically started levitating....

ah, I kid, I kid.

Sure enough though, this whole "living abundantly" motto that started Jan 1st is proving to become my reality. Sometimes when you least expect it an opportunity lands on your doorstep and though the Lady Gaga opportunity didn't work out and I cried out loud while her and Elton performed atthefucking-GRAMMYS (aka Chelsea's "Super Bowl")......other doors have opened themselves to me, WIDE OPEN DOORS with exciting opportunities and potential. And a pot of gold at the end, minus the creepy leprechaun.

Sure, it isn't ideal to choke on Styrofoam snow all day long, and literally "stand still and look pretty," basically whoring yourself out as a sex object, but it's a fun story to tell later on (this is where the hashtag #NoShame is applicable.) Plus, the bonus that I didn't actually choke and die on the snow is nice... I just ingested non-biodegradable materials into my body, for a paycheck...oh the things you'll do.....like the time I was a "fake audience member" for The Pyschic Friends network, all for a few hundred bucks and limitless red vines/pretzels at Craft Services. I DIGRESS.....

The point is, January 1st is really no different than today, or tomorrow or June 1st- the only thing that's different is my mindset. When the clock struck midnight, I vowed to myself that my perspective would change- that my thinking about LIFE, no matter how shitty the circumstances, would change.The only thing truly different is how I wake up excited about my day....and in turn, life gives me REASONS to be excited.

I'll be in the recording studio for the next few days recording with some of the best musicians out there, in one of the best studios around. Incredibly amazing things are happening in my life and I'm beyond grateful. It's amazing how many things can change when you decide to consume life to the fullest; say yes, embrace it all, kiss the bruises that give you character and enjoy the magnificence of simply EXISTING.

A year ago today, I would have never known I'd be waking up every morning to the scruffy man who is the love of my life. A year ago today, I would have never dreamed of writing the music I write now. A year ago today, I would've had no idea how immensely this blog has changed my life and contributed to it in the most superb ways; through people, long term friendships, opportunities, comfort and inspiration. A year ago today, I wouldn't have seen myself sitting in a snow globe broadcasted all over ESPN, and gallivanting around Aspen for a week either.

I am on fire. I am loving, creating, skipping, smiling like a giddy child at life. I am taking it in and loving right here, where I am, today.

So tell me, "A YEAR AGO TODAY_____________"

Im not dead: The time Lady Gaga almost stole my boyfriend

Wow, 2 weeks away from the blogosphere- hope I didn't lose you all!?....I do have a good excuse, no really....I do.

Two weeks ago my agent (from when I lived in Hollywood and was fancy) called me about an audition. He said in an agenty-we're-important-and-make-shit-happen way, "Can you send me your headshot, resume, video clips, mp3's and an mp3 of you singing a Lady Gaga song......"

...naturally, seeing where he was headed with this, I internally popped a hypothetical bottle of champagne for how awesome my life was about to get, I said, "Is this for her tour?......"

Awesome Agent, "YES. She's casting backup singers for her World tour.....Dress the part, hair, makeup, etc and book this gig."

The first few days her casting directors sifted through submissions and weeded out the people they weren't interested in seeing. Sure enough, they were interested in seeing me.....in New York City. Then, I found out they were hiring MUSICIANS also.....so, shablam! I scoot in My Super Sexy Man Piece and get him an audition via agent/headshot submission to fly out to NYC and audition to be her violinist.

Broke Chelsea and Chelsea's broke Love ask our parents for a "loan" to get us our plane tickets, since, obviously- we were planning on booking the job and we mentally prepare to OVER TURN THIS AUDITION and MAKE. IT. HAPPEN. I sang that "RA RA OO LA LA" like nobody's fucking business- for all I cared, I was about to pay off my credit card debts, cross off a few zillion to-do's on the Life List and generally, live an awesome existence worth flaunting and having an ego for. Money? Psh.... after booking this, My Love and I would be ROLLING in the dough. I wanted it SO BAD. I wanted this tour more than I want heart shaped Little Debbie cakes on February 1st.

Our parents gladly obliged to help us, hoping we'd finally get out artistic-hippie-shit together, then, My Love could "put a ring on it," our family could be proud of us having "real jobs" with perks and status, that weren't at dive bars where all we get is a measly drink ticket and back pain from loading in our equipment.

Day one: we found an amazing friend who let us stay at his apartment while he was out of town. The morning of the audition comes, I dress my GAGA INSPIRED BEST, white wig, blunt bangs, Cirque Du Soleil makeup, a deconstructed 80's bridesmaid dress cut into a corset and gold lame` booty shorts. I was like a Disco Alien Prom Queen and it was hot.

I show up to the audition spot and am the FIRST ONE TO AUDITION.....hundreds of girls dressed in their scantily clad-what the fuck-chic-best are lined behind me, trilling their most impressive notes and humming Aretha Franklinesque versions of Lady Gaga songs. I kept my game face, ignored the fluff....and kept repeating; I'M. BOOKING. THIS. GIG. Everyone could've slept in, or gone home.....I was that confident that this time, after auditioning for Maroon 5, Ashlee Simpson, Macy Gray- everyone and their mother....THIS TIME, would be MY TURN. I had paid my dues....

People from Jamaica, the UK, all over the United States were showing up....hundreds and hundreds. All beautiful and talented.

.....I step up to the mic, and stare dead on to the four judges sitting in the stark grey room, looking unimpressed at best....and I SING. I SING LIKE I WAS TAKING IT TO CHURCH. And the casting director says, "ALRIGHT! That's what I'm talking about!.....I can tell we're not in L.A. anymore hunny....the talent is in New YORK! Thanks for giving me life!" the other judge follows up with, "You weren't messing around when you said you wanted to set the bar high."

So right? In my mind...I was in...they were loving me. Trembling and excited, I make it through the first cut with flying colors.

The second round comes with the musical director, the vocal coach, Lady Gaga's management, etc. etc. I make it through. The third round of harmonizing to "Paparazzi" comes, I make it through. The fourth round of harmonizing in three parts...I make it through.

....at this point they'd cut down from a few hundred people (not including picture submissions) to 6 alto girls. SIX. ME & five other girls. The room is practically empty......

.....I could taste the tour this close to my lips, I could taste Japan and Ireland. The bus and the hotel rooms. The echo of my voice on the stadium walls. I could feel the rumbling of the stage right before the lights go up....I could feel the sweat dripping off my palms while we clutched hands and said a prayer before a show. I could FEEL A DREAM COMING TRUE.....I WAS THIS CLOSE. thisclose. So close, I could taste the freedom. The validation and the weight tumbling off of my shoulders. I could taste it all.

I go up to the mic for the 6th time; I finish singing in three parts and I hear that phrase, the one that says- this is over, "Thank you all so much for coming."

I felt like someone killed my first born. In a second, one. snap. decision....everything I'd built up in my mind, was GONE.

As I walked outside choking down the reality that this particular dream was over for me, the reality that the LOVE OF MY LIFE still had to audition the next day hit me like a fucking ton of paperweights. Not bricks, fucking cold, metal, paperweights.

What if he booked the tour?.....and I didn't?

I stumble into our friends apartment grief stricken and looking like a fucking clown, pink feather eyelashes dripping with big, wobbly, wet tears. My Love is holing a bottle of "celebratory" champagne and then he sees my face..... the champagne turned from a brilliant idea into a "shit, this may make her want to jump out a window" idea.

I pulled myself together and got a little drunk. Thankfully and like a "big girl" stopped the selfishness, genuinely hoping My Love would book it, if I couldn't have it, he should be the next in line. Then he could buy me a fucking engagement ring and I could pour my entire life into wedding planning and become a sexy version of Bridezilla...while he played for sold out stadiums and saw the World. It'd be awesome. This was my inner monologue while I slowly died inside, a slow vapid-stare death.

We left our friends apartment when he got back in town and used our parents generous loan to get a tiny hotel room sans bed bugs. At 2am....I hear the phone ringing....it's my panicked friend, "CHELSEA, DID YOU LOCK MY KEYS IN MY APARTMENT???"

.......PAUSE. Did I? Fuck? What? Shit? This is where I consider running into head on traffic and begging "god" to just take me already. At this point, I was actually becoming an Atheist.

My generous and lovely friend is now locked outside his apartment and has to find a place to stay- not only that, but in the morning....WE WOULD HAVE TO PAY FOR A LOCKSMITH.

Can someone throw me a fucking bone? Or a dart covered in cyanide so I could at least die an "interesting" death?

We ended up forking over $400 dollars to a Russian spy looking douche hole for a job that took him 5 minutes. Our "saving money" plan, ended up costing us triple. I look at My Love, bawling, knowing that that was LITERALLY ALL THE MONEY WE HAD. No, not just in New York.....but in our LIVES. $400.

THAT'S IT.

GONE.

....So now, more determined than ever....My Love goes to his audition with the eye of the mother fucking tiger. Rawr, bitch, rawr.

He makes it through the first round. He makes it through the second round. He makes it the second DAY. Then, he makes it to the THIRD DAY. He makes it from a few hundred people, down to the final FOUR.

He makes it to the fourth day.....and comes face to face with Miss Gaga herself. He plays her a rendition of "Speechless" and she says, "YOU, are. AMAZING."

6 days worth of broke, heartache and worry, high HIGHS and low LOWS, we were BOTH CERTAIN he was going to book it. HE WAS THIS CLOSE. We were sure that $400 was nothing...we'd be "OK," better than okay- he'd be a touring musician with the Madonna of our time.

....then the moment of reckoning. They come out solemn and unforgiving, with the final names.....and they didn't pick him. At that point it had nothing to do with TALENT, but with a look and what not and fate??- they went with two Asian girls....since a curly headed white dude standing next to an Asian girl on stage isn't as "visually pleasing" I suppose.

The last night in New York we lay in bed with a packet of dried ramen and the stench of day-old pizza permeating through our room. We laid there trying to remember that the lives we HAVE currently don't suck.....but in comparison to the life we were ALMOST going to have, it sure seemed like it.

We spent the last three days licking our wounds with tequila.

So, everyone keeps saying, "what an amazing experience" which yes, later on, that will be true but with this kind of thing, you don't get a medal. You don't get a gold star, or second place. You either get the job, or you don't..... and we didn't. So all we can do, until the next "amazing experience" is dust off our Club Kid outfits, pick ourselves up....and try again.

...like we have for the last 10 years. After all, we're THIS CLOSE.

I'm fucked up AND AWESOME for a reason people

When I was a toddler my Great Grandma gave me a pin cushion and a Pope doll with a change of robes to play with.

I undressed that Pope like he was my Barbie going to a ball in a hot pink convertible and I organized that pin cushion until that shit was color coded and neatly clustered...never thinking twice that those pins could make me bleed and that the Pope should have been "untouchable."

These were my favorite toys. Thinking back, I wonder if my chances of "getting into heaven" have been diminished after seeing the Pope naked and wondering where his package was. They don't make Pope dolls with packages, they're holy, that's just the way it goes. I learned to amuse myself with sharp things that were dangerous and by making holy things, less holy and fake-feeding them Lays potato chips. I learned how to amuse myself with adult-things.

When I was 9 a tap teacher through a tap shoe at me from across the room and said, "You'll never be a good dancer!!!".....not the thing to say when your Mother owns the fucking dance studio- but the teacher was also deaf. A deaf. tap. teacher. So, naturally I'm thinking, "What the fuck does she know? She can't hear me." I proceeded to get her fired and kick ass at dancing.

When I was 15, awkwardly "in love" flashing my gangly teeth and batting my pale purple eyeshadow at INSERT GENERIC BOY NAME HERE, his friend told me he had a "message" to give me, from him- it went like this, "He thinks you're...how do I say....um. UNBEAUTIFUL." I later went on to realize unbeautiful isn't a fucking word and decided that I'd never, ever let another man think those things about me....if he did, he wasn't worth my time. I'd learn to be funny and sharp...so if he were to cross me, in any way, I'd knock the motherfucker down with charm. I reduced my heartbreak from about 20 to 2. And ditched the purple eyeshadow. If there's anything that'll make you "unbeautiful" it's store brand purple.

When I was 20, in the middle of a full blown eating disorder- looking at myself and loathing every. single. inch. my friend said to me, "Chels, our bodies are constantly changing....you take a sip of water- your body is bigger. You pee- your body is lighter. Your body is never stagnant." A thought that seems so obvious to the normal-thinking-eating-drinking individual, thinks that that statement goes without saying, but to me....the simplicity of it was resounding, in a way that started chipping away at the belief system that was paralyzing me.

Everyone at my dinner table talks at the same time, but I never thought I wasn't being heard. I learned to speak louder and faster. Directly. Everyone always told me I was "talented"....I learned to validate myself by hearing that and if I didn't hear it, suddenly I wasn't good enough.

We see things, we say things- we are grown within things....little. minuscule. things. A sentence here, a Pope doll there. A surrounding that, like a mold, forms this person that we've become.

Then we roll it all into a little ball and we stamp a label, a "storyline"; I'm blah blah, I do this, I'm from here, I work here, I want to.... and so on..... but all these things, are just skimming the surface of the little things that created your character.

But life, doesn't have time for "tell me about your character." Job interviews don't have time for "tell me why you have the temperament that you do...?"

The mold where we hold our "character" doesn't stop shifting- the "suitcase is closed" as some would say once we're an adult, but not if we don't want it to be.

Insecurities are reversible. They can be worked through....with time, effort. Decision to do so. My Love has made me better; he's lessened my temper, he's opened my eyes to my defense mechanisms that only harm me....that keep me from growth and from greatness. Yoga has made me better, I can be a crazy bitch...and yoga says, Chels- chill out with ego sister.

Whatever we put into our body, our thoughts, our words, our images comes out, or sticks in some way. It shapes us and molds us. The things people are saying to you and the things you're saying to people are doing the same thing..... your surroundings, your friends- we're all consciously, or perhaps unconsciously creating each other's lives.

All that to say....I should really stop watching so much Jersey Shore and making jokes about killing a person, it doesn't reflect well on my psyche.

WHAT HAS SOMEONE SAID TO YOU THAT "SHAPED YOU??"

Maybe I had too much whiskey.....

Everyone has an Elvis story.

And they'll always preface it with BPB&J, or APB&J (before and after he found peanut butter) Don't believe me? Ask you Mother, or better yet- your Grandma. Elvis gave everyone a piece of jewelry or a Cadillac at some point.....or maybe that's just my family and maybe they're all liars. Either way, I know this is true because My Love and I just spent four hours drinking whiskey, smoking Carlton 100's and eating Chinese takeout with my grandparents while we talked stories. Serious, serious stories. Elvis, Fats Domino, gambling and The Mob all made appearances. Like every good story, naturally. And then we talked life, standard dirt roads, apartment homes, grandkids and bar stools...

My grandparents didn't meet until they were in their late forties and here they are with, what seems to be a LIFETIME worth of experiences together- good and bad, rags and riches. Where many people in their forties are settled into their lives, their kids, their careers and so on....or at least that's what you assume will be your fortysomething self. You assume, the stories will lessen, the routine will settle, the bank accounts, the savings and the assets will start growing and things will just.....float. Comfortably. You'll resign to the fact that "this is my life". But in reality, LIFE if you're living it, will continue to give you stories...... beyond living vicariously though TV, your children, or your "younger you."

Whether it's today and you're 25, or you're 18- you're 50 or you're 32....when we feel stuck, or feel like... "this is it" or when we get all angsty and 20something like and start babbling on about not wanting to resign to the "real world," we just want to travel and dream. We just want to be heard and successful and fuck-god-damnit-FREAK OUT......

..... There's a moment, when we have to stop. and realize, we can push that little hypothetical "reset" button and try again, because the tape on the stories that you have at the end of your life doesn't stop running.

We can start over. Quit. Move. Sign up. Flee. Blog it out. Break up. Let go. Apply. Nothing is DONE. We are creating our stories EVERY DAY, whether we're in Tahiti, or bum fuck random Midwest. Whether we're living some "fancy" entrepreneur existence, or we're still trying to get a fucking job.... when it comes down to the end, when you're under the weight of your comforters, sipping a night cap and thinking "how the hell did I get 70?" all the bullshit we busy our frenzied typing fingertips, worrying and cluttering our minds with won't matter.

Live more by living NOW first.....right?

As I sat there listening I thought, this is what every failure, every broken down truck and every year spent doing the hard, skin drying, back-acheing labor and dirty work is really for. This is what every "what am I doing with myself, this is not 'THE PLAN'" moment is for. When you're IN IT, when you're a month late on your credit card bill, you can only buy the generic brand and the elastic on your underwear is literally hanging by a thread- it's hard to see any of it as worth experiencing. You sort of just want to punch someone in the face, or cut people off on the highway, rather than say "Thanks for the memories."

Sure, its the glamorous stories that you envision telling, but what makes the sweet sweeter is the fact that you've tasted some bitterness too.

What we should strive for is having a dash of humor, a no-bullshit attitude and the foresight to see that nothing is permanent. Nothing. So, when we're all flying high to every peak there is a down slope.....or we wait for a helicopter lift hoping we don't freeze our tits off first.

It's hard not to get to caught up in "wanting to live." Wanting to be out, wanting to meet more people- have more friends, have more experiences, more work....more....everything. While we're so busy busying ourselves with the "need" to live more, we don't realize that we're already living some of the stories we'll relish telling later on.

So yes, do I want to travel more and DO BIG THINGS ALL THE TIME, do I want more interesting twitter updates about what airport I'm in, what amazing accomplishment I have, what "Life List" goal has been crossed off and what awesome-new-person-i'm-omg-bffs-with-fml ....yes, yes I want all that- and I fully believe I am experiencing that now. But, I'm gonna be good knowing that small or large- Elvis or Bob from the Last Chance saloon will give me stories worth telling.

One more thing, since contradiction is my middle name, next to awesome and well, since I have NO SHAME and time is a tickin'- I was nominated in a few categories at 20Something Bloggers for the 2010 Bootlegger Awards, Vote here and I'll virtually lick your face. If your face tastes good.

What's your FAVORITE "little moment" today.....?

This year I will LIVE ABUNDANTLY....and meet Jay Z.

ABUNDANCE:

–noun

1.	an extremely plentiful or oversufficient quantity or supply:an abundance of grain.

2.	overflowing fullness: abundance of the heart.

3.	affluence; wealth: the enjoyment of abundance.

4.	Physics, Chemistry. the number of atoms of one isotope of an element divided by the total number of atoms in a mixture of the isotopes.

Notice that the definition isn't solely about possessions, or monetary value- but abundance of HEART. I love this. This year I am choosing to live ABUNDANTLY. Of heart, mind, spirit and sure, affluence too.

I noticed when I was talking about my resolutions- I don't like to call them that, cause they have this "DON'T BREAK ME" attitude which frankly, can be too damn much to live up to, but I digress- when I was choosing what I wanted my year to look like, I was cutting myself short, or deciding not to make a "Resolution" because it seemed like "too much." Or "too good to be true." OR, mostly- How the fuck do I actually plan on doing that? All of this was decided simply off the belief that in that PAST these resolutions were left unresolved. The minute you start to ask "HOW" when you look at your dream, you'll almost instantly decide otherwise. Because the how, or the why, or the WHAT IF.... are all abstract questions.

There are a million WAYS to any solution and outcome....you don't have to know how to have a dream, you just have to believe in it. The how reveals itself once you decide to get out of your head and look at the options in front of you.

...I was allowing my vision of future goals be determined by the outcome of past goals, when in reality both past and future are an illusion....All there is, is PRESENT and PRESENT choices, dreams. GOALS. Fulfillment.

We are not governed by our past unless we choose to be. We will be a victim to what life has to offer, if we have decided we have been victimized- as in, it's all a matter of perception. That's what it comes down to. So for 2010, I am going to refrain from saying, "I'm afraid that..." or even acknowledging that I've been struggling with anxiety, or panic- that to me, is no longer a real thing. I will refrain from saying "I hope...." Hoping, is really just a cushion... a window to allow a little disappointment in just in case it doesn't happen, you wouldn't need to hope for something if you decided to KNOW it instead. I will refrain from; saying hateful things about myself....talking to our bodies is no different than talking to a human, and if you tell a person you hate them- they're likely to hate you back. Why would that be any different from talking to yourself?

Making a resolution doesn't mean that in one day it is made, or broken- it's a lifestyle CHOICE. And that is what I like about the idea of ABUNDANCE..... you cannot measure abundance, it just is. One dollar to someone IS abundance, where a million to someone else is. A hug from your little sister is abundance to one, while to another a walk with their dog is their source of abundance. To some it's a full belly, or a packed social calendar- a room with a view, or a room at all. It isn't one day, or one moment- it's something that permeates through every thought, every action and every belief, every choice made from a perception that sees ABUNDANTLY. It's a choice of spirit; that thing that shines through you. Would I rather shine FULL and radiantly, or do I want my spirit to wreak of lack and discontent. Hi, no thanks.

I've decided, I HAVE CHOSEN to look at every year as getting BETTER and in turn, it does.

In 2009 I: Fell in love, spent more time with my family than I have in years, I went on tour, recorded a full length album, played more amazing shows than I can count, lived solely off of writing and my various talents, I camped and hiked, embraced Colorado with open arms, I partied and paddle boarded, I did yoga like a maniac, I moved into a new home, I rekindled friendships and started new ones. I coast hopped and planted roots. I LOVED my year. And I cannot wait for what 2010 has to bring.....

I know, we're human- we fall and worry, we doubt and judge. We look at our lives sometimes and say, "Why me" or "WHAT THE FUCK" but, I'll try my best this year to say, even during what looks like a big wall of adversity or uncertainty....that I am so happy and grateful that......after all, there's always a silver lining and that's where I'd prefer to avert my eyes.

WHAT IS YOUR "RESOLUTION?"

We are going to starve. Or live off mini M&M's.

The holidays were lovely- my Scroogey attitude was quickly reversed when I realized I'd be getting gifts.

eek. Gift highlights; A letter written to me from my very favorite blogger/author Stephanie Klein, petitioned by my super sweet man. A month of unlimited yoga, from my parents. The box set of The Tudors (I've been speaking "tudor" for 5 days straight now, "Come hither boy!" and "What say you?" my two favorite phrases.) and plenty of goodies that smell good and make my skin soft.

...now onto bigger issues.

The other night My Love and I got in a quarrel. Just a small one. But the weight of the issue, is grand. Issue: WHAT'S FOR DINNER.

Let's preface this argument with some history: growing up with a Mother who owned a dance studio, she worked from 3pm-10pm....dinner was Taco Bell at eleven o'clock at night, or rubbery chicken that my Dad baked. Or some odd assembly of food that came wrapped in plastic. It wasn't until much later in my adult life that my Mom changed her schedule and started using the cookbooks gathering dust in our junk drawer. I learned how to "fend for myself"....if you will.

My Love's upbringing was different; he came home from school, greeted by a snack. A pb&j, crusts cut off and large glass of milk (he still will not eat anything with an OUNCE of sugar, if it isn't accompanied by milk.) He ate dinner every night with the family at 5pm. In fact, meals were planned....a year in advance at times. Impressive and also never gonna happen in my house. Eggs were on the table every morning, there was always an abundance of Icecream in the freezer and "special" bread in the bread box. AND to wrap it all in a perfectly family bow, there were placemats, seasonal and handmade placemats.

How he's even attracted to me in the slightest is by some act of God. Or confusion and desperation. But, I'd like to think God has something to do with it.

The exchange that made me realize we're going to have to find a solution for this "What's for dinner" madness went like this:

My Love, "Babe.....what are we gonna do for dinner?"

Me, "I don't know. Whatever."

Him, "How aboutttt...Stir Fry?" (first of all, I don't eat STIR FRY unless I'm ordering in and probably a little depressed.) "It's easy; just some veggies, Ground beef, rice, NOODLES and soy sauce."

Me, "Are you serious? You want me to eat rice, noodles AND soy sauce all together, in one meal? Do you want to have sex with a balloon later? I'd be able to float after that meal."

My Love proceeds to give me this dumbfounded look as if he's never heard of the affects of sodium on the human figure. Then the debate goes, well who's cooking this alleged stir fry? In all fairness, he HAS cooked more than I have in this home...but like I said, I'll just eat yogurt and call it a night. We bounce back and forth food options, his all involve some absurd caloric value, while mine carry some monetary value and a waiter.

In the most dramatic fashion, I end up crying with a spoonful of peanut butter in my mouth, as I question my ability to be a good housegirlfriend.

So what do you do about this? No one gives you a manual that says, "Here's how to live with your boyfriend: Chapter two- Change your eating habits and learn to cook, bitch."

When you're living with someone you have to find a compromise with everything; with things you didn't think twice about before. First it's peanut butter, then it's laundry detergent, then it's "I can't dry my clothes with a Downy Ball"....downy ball? Next thing you know you're at Target looking for a Downy Ball. Then there's; do we eat breakfast together every morning, do we decide dinner plans ahead of time?

The IDEA of being that woman who knows how to bake things according to altitude, and who makes a "signature" something that everyone asks for when you attend a party is all a nice IDEA. The idea of being perfect is always nice, it's just not real.

My solution is this; We cook together. TOGETHER. If we make mushy pasta, or overly salted sauce, we do it together. We chop and dice and smell and squeeze to check for ripeness, together. When we fend for ourselves, we decide together that it's a cereal night.

AND if I am going to take on some roll as cook extraordinaire.....

What's YOUR favorite meal to cook?