Monday, December 31, 2007

HAPPY NEW YEAAAR!!

New Years Eve to me means looking as much like a disco ball as possible. Without blinding anyone, or using electronics. Mission accomplished, Donna Summers would be so proud. I could walk onto the dance floor of Saturday Night Fever and win just by showing up. Glowing from head to toe.

I hope you all are too...Tomorrow is the beginning of my daily postings. So this evening i'm poppin' some bubbly and toasting to an incredible 2008. Be safe my lovelies. Stayinnn alllliiiiiiiivvvvvvveeee...I'm off to kick the new year in with a FLASH!A sparkle! and some sequins! CHEERS.

Saturday, December 29, 2007

Justin Guarini thinks ugly sweaters are sexy.


He didn't call. He's been here for almost a week, and hasn't called. It's a little pathetic that I was secretly hoping that he would, ya know maybe to say, I'm sorry? I still want you? Or, uh, "Hey, sorry I fucked with your life like a jigsaw puzzle." Maybe that's a bit extreme, it wasn't that bad......(those dots are neverending, sort of like the ellipsis that was left on our relationship) I'm a bit frosty now, but recovering and melting my iceberg facade slowly but surely. It's just....you didn't call?!!!? Are you SERIOUS?!. It's for the best. I suppose, that's what they all say.....(again with the ellipsis)

What better way to defrost than, go out!? I had to redeem myself from earlier in the day, when Mr. McGymHot was making eyes at me while I was on the treadmill, and what did he receive, oh that's right. NOTHING. Stone cold reception is what he got from me. Because by the time, I had analyzed the situation and decided to throw him a bone and smile back, he'd already looked away. For the most part the rule with me is: If you are attractive...I will not smile at you. I just won't, cause then I may actually have to talk to you. There's really nothing worse than talking to someone while trying to ignore the sweat dripping down the bridge of your nose, and then breathlessly making small talk about how long you're gonna do cardio and then maybe comment on why Nike Shocks are the best running shoe. Asics suck. Ok, nice to meet you...see you around!From then on out, you are forced to wear mascara and tinted chapstick to the gym, your gym experience has been forever tainted. Plus, I dont' like gym guys anyways.

So, redemption was in order...After deciding not to attend an "Ugly Sweater Party" where people are admitted only if they're donning their tackiest holiday sweater, sequined sweater, beaded sweater, or patchwork sweater...I decided to attend Scruffy's Irish Pub. While donning, my ugly sweater. I figure, rejection is less harsh if you're clothes are wretched, then you can at least blame it on looking like Martha Stewart's craft prject, rather than blaming your face. MY PLAN WORKED.
"Ladies...!!!!....we brought some shots over...."
Usually, I find this behavior annoying. Part of it is the cockiness to just assume, I'd want YOU to buy me a shot...and that this empty chair next to me, is open...for you? That is usually a turn off. Especially, when i hadn't even given you the "come hither" eye from across the bar. But, one of them had a nice smile...so. SURE, I'll have a shot...
"You look like Benazir Bhuttoo..... Lets Cheers to Benazir Bhutto!!!"
Do I look like her? Or was that the worst line i've ever heard, while toasting me with a car bomb. Horrible. I entertained conversation for another minute or so, until a friend pointed out to me, the predator had an uncanny resemblance to Justin Guarini...The first loser from season one of American Idol. Oh shit, he sort of did...which now brought a heightened awareness to the fact that he was wearing a headband. A headband, that I happen to own. He actually went out and bought a four-pack of headbands from Safeway...the kind you wear to wash your face or clean toilets. Time to make my escape.

"You're done with the singer from The Counting Crows???..."
Wow, he was the offspring of Justin Guarini and the lead singer from The Counting Crows. Yes, I was done.

So maybe my redemption didn't exactly pan out as I'd hoped. I guess heartbreak can skew your judgement...and suddenly you adopt this new sad emotion...Desperation. And then any schmo who buys you a car bomb, "will do". Not so much. It just reminded me that i'm surely not looking, looking is never a good idea..I'd rather stumble upon someone, maybe literally, I'll try tripping over a dumbbell tomorrow and let you know how that works out.

Thursday, December 27, 2007

Making a LIFE.....

"I've learned that making a "living" is not the same thing as 'making a life'." Maya Angelou
Oh Maya, how I wish we could have a love child together who would speak words of wisdom to me every waking morning and lull me to sleep with lullabies of guidance and insight every night. Maya's quotes are endless, I could tattoo my body with them and still wouldn't get sick of reading them.

On Christmas day my family and I got in the discussion of work, college, life...etc. I knew one of the them would ask me..."SO what are you DOING now?!"...and i'd have to come up with an aswer that would please them. Since returning from L.A. I've been asking myself that question everyday, and looking for the answer that I think people will want to hear. People want to hear safe. Safe= a plan.
Nobody wants to hear, "Well, today I burnt 868 calories, because my goal was to sweat it out an extra 15 minutes at the gym. Then I tried some new tangerine tea, and spent three hours at the piano practicing my scales. After all of the that, I stretched while watching Oprah, lit my favorite fig candle, read 8 chapters of a new book, wrote a new blog, then... took a nap. It was a pretty productive day."

So even when my day looks exactly like that, I've worked on perfecting my pristinely calculated, vanilla answer. It's regurgitated to every relative, former teacher, former friend and strangers at Kinko's, or Starbucks who feel comfortable enough to ask me when "break" is over. Assuming someone is in college is irritating on many levels, I could be- learning disabled, a housewife dedicated to baking bread and caring for my 7 spawns, a recluse, a wildly successful business owner, or some super genius who graduated when she was 11 from Harvard and retired at 18, a crack dealer to celebrities, an internet sensation making millions off of my wit or my ass, a spritual guru training under the Dalai Lama. Or, hey, shocker, I could be someone who...just didn't go. But, those answers are unsafe on so many levels you could send a stranger into a tailspin of panic attacks and shock.

So my vanilla words go like this- "Oh... (insert charming smile here)... I applied to some colleges(this is true), i'm looking for a new job. I'm gonna work and go to school...I've always (making allll the emphasis) wanted a journalism degree. (insert reassuring "I'm doing brilliantly well, since leaving a whole life behind me and a few broken dreams along Route 66, smile here)"

The recipient lets out a long sigh. The sound people make when they're internally thanking the lord that this crazy gypsy girl, with an affinity for pop culture finally decided to wise up and stop pipe dreaming.
"Well GOOOD.....I'm sooooo happy to hear that." Oh, I bet you are.

My vanilla answer isn't a lie. And the answer isn't even a bad one. College is great, I LOVE LOVE LOVE learning, love classrooms, I love assignments and textbooks. But going to school for me has been something i've wanted to do for pleasure, not as a means to an end...the end being a safe job. I would love to have a degree, but I have never wanted my degree to define who I was, I never wanted my alma mater to determine the rest of my life. What most people consider a hobby, I consider a life, and what most people consider their life, I consider...something i'd like to avoid like a burning case of herpes.
On Christmas, my vanilla answer didn't come out. Have I alllllways wanted a journalism degree?? NO. Only recently has that sounded exciting to me. What I've always wanted, since I was 5....was to make music. TO SING. To be on stage and feel the lights on my face, and the heat...to watch the dust particles blur between myself and the audience, while I lose myself in words and sound. I've wanted to hear harmonies, and stand on different stages, I've wanted to wake up and write and go to bed exhausted and sweaty from living through every word i've written and experience i've lived and feel the satisfaction of having someone say, they loved my music...every night. I've wanted to see the world, and say "Helllloooo Cleveland" and "Bonjour Parisssss" or "Ciao Roma!!!" and then sometimes forget the city I was in and make the confession on stage so they would all know what a whirlwind my life has been. I've wanted to make people's ears ring, live out of suitcases, drink coffee with writers in small rooms with candles and persian rugs and record sounds of that exact moment. I've wanted to know everyday that this is my life....THIS is who I am. I have a stage to sing on, a band to back me up, (or even singing back up would be just as amazing) and a bus to catch. And the feeling of the lights, my cheeks flushed with heat, alone in front of hundreds of people....I live for that feeling.

But yeah, sure, I've Alllllways wanted a journalism degree.
When they asked me on Christmas...."What are you DOING now??" ...God forbid, I took the risk and said the truth.."Ya know...I'm not really sure. I'm working on music, and being patient....not really sure what's happening with me right now."
Discomfort was palpable.
"Well, ya know, eventually...you're gonna have to get a real job."
"Yeah....MAYBE NOT."
Like Maya Angelou said.....

"Talent is like electricity. We don't understand electricity. We use it. You can plug into it and light up a lamp, keep a heart pump going, light a cathedral, or you can electrocute a person with it.

33, IS a special number.

Some things about me that may be mildy amusing to you.

1.I sleep with a blankie. It's name is "Bankie." I've had it since the day I was born.
2.The Blue Man Group, terrifies me.
3.One time I said, "Granola makes me happy." and Heath Ledger said I should make a shirt with that qoute.
4. I can do a PERFECT impression of Britney Spears' "singing" voice.
5.The sight of peanut butter used to make me queasy.Literally, physically sick, looking at it.
6.I used to choke on EVERYTHING:Cheetos, lemonheads, oranges, jolly ranchers, string cheese, kix....the list is endless.
7.I have extremely strange eating habits, and I tear up every single piece of food before I actually eat it...could have something to do with my previous choking history.
8.I used to be a biter. My parents got sent a letter, and I got a few trips to the principles office.
9.I used to have a freckle on my baby toe, and then one day...it disappeared.
10.Baking is my gig.
11.I used to have realllly sweaty hands, and would walk the other way in middle school if I knew someone was gonna give me "daps" or a high five.
12.I've only gotten a car wash twice...in 5 years. One time cause there was actually a dead bird on the hood of my car. For at least a week.
13.I cried in front of a classroom of 40 people, on stage, singing "Goodbye my Lover." By James Blunt...Sad, sad song. Poor guy.
14.Someone once thought I was a Ashlee Simpson at Starbucks, and called me a liar when I said I wasn't.
15.I've been 5'6 since I was 12.
16.33 is my number. The explanation requires a seperate blog.
17.I hate steak.
18.I've never seen a single episode of The Simpsons.
19.In Paris I got asked out for coffee at the Eiffel Tower 5 times, 5 seperate men. I said no to all of them.
20.I used to play violin. The only song I know is, "Mississippi Hotdog"
21.My dad got notified he was fighting in the Persian Gulf War while we were building a fort.
22.I used to be on a belly dancing company. They thought I was Lebanese.
23.I'm Italian.
24.When I lived alone I only bought bread once, the rest of the time I made sandwiches out of rice cakes.
25.I got stung by a bee while go-cart racing.
26.I listen to Gospel music while I work out. And also Rage Against the Machine.
27.My nickname when I was little was "The Mean Bean"
28.Kristin Bell from Veronica Mars irritates the f*ck out of me. Her face just annoys me.
29. I have a strange attraction to Criss Angel. I'm convinced he's truly magical.
30.I made more money doing dinner theater when I was 9, than I do now.
31.I hate it when people touch my kneecaps.
32.The first song I ever learned was "Buffalo Solider" by Bob Marley. The second was "Jeremiah was a Bullfrog" by Three Dog Night.
33.My best friend when I was little was from Korea and had 3 fingers, we collected rolly pollys and ate Smacks together. Everyday.

Monday, December 24, 2007

The "feeling" of Christmas

Each year that Christmas comes around and the older I get, the "feeling" of Christmas keeps decreasing. It's like a birthday, it's supposed to be this huge epic event, a day unlike other days, astronomical, other worldy even. It's supposed to "feel" different. Your body, your energy, the air around you, has a feeling that you want to be engulfed by. Consumed.
Then I started to think about the things that were missing that I felt like I should be "feeling". When you're younger the feeling you have is anticipation. It's a month in your school year, that does, feel different. There are Christmas breaks, secret Santa's, Snowball dances, and a general lack of focus in classes...because everybody at that point just wants to get to the day where they get their favorite pair of nikes, or a sweet XBOX game in their hands. The feelings are based off of the familiarity of tradition, the anticipation of "things", the slower pace, and the oppotunity to, even if you're 15, have the childlike enthusiasm that Christmas has reminded you of having every year.
Then you're an adult...you're "in" your life, there are no snowball dances, the Secret Santa's are either obsolete, or you're trading bath salts with a coworker who's name you barely know. The pace isn't slow, it's stressful. Finances are strained and each day, closer to vacation feels like years...long hours and restlessness.
You forget to look at the Christmas lights and bless the heavens if you actually have time to put up your own. Christmas movies are the last thing on your mind, because by the time you have a free moment you'd prefer mindless TIVO'D shows like Real Housewives of the OC. Forget it's A Wonderful Life, THEIR life is wonderful.
So tonight, Christmas Eve...I looked around the room. The joy was palpable. My family, food on the table, uncomfortably full bellies, storytelling and warmth. A feeling that you don't necessarily notice when you're young...you're too busy trying to put together your new toy, or find the missing parts to your Polly Pocket Fairy Land.
The "feeling" of Christmas was absolutely there....it was just BETTER.
I wasn't expecting gifts, I barely remembered that were exchanging them at all. I wanted to listen and drink in every word that came out of my families mouths. I wanted to take mental note of every story, and visualize their experiences as if I were there. If only there were reminders everyday to let us remember that THAT is what it is supposed to be about...it's much too easy to get caight up in the worry, the stress of making your casserole jut right, or worrying that your gift isn't enough. Though every store, every street, has reminders that we should be jolly and FEEL Christmas...it's remembering that everyday, family, or the people you love make Christmas what it is. Not the gifts, not the extra strand of lights over the garage, not "Elf" or "Christmas Vacation" (though, those are fantastic films, that should always be present)...It's not about any THING.
It's simply the joy of a day. A day with incredible history, tradition, and love. And I absolutely FELT all of that tonight.

Saturday, December 22, 2007

Kriss Kringle needs a lunch break too.


Santa Claus was enjoying a large pastrami sandwich at Heidi's Deli today. I mean, he was St. Nick reincarnated. Unquestionably the upper echelon of Santa's, up there with the Macy's Thanksgiving Day parade Santa... but better. If you're a casting director working on a Christmas movie, look no further...your Santa is enjoying some chow in Colorado, it's about time for Tim Allen to retire, he could be The Santa Claus 4. Just a thought.
I would think there would be some sort of contract outlining the reasons you shouldn't venture outside the mall if you're Father Christmas, just in case he has a love of the sauce and is caught sipping Makers Mark, while cat calling 15 year old girls outside Hollister. That's just one scenario, he could just be grumpy after a long hard day of wailing children, nervous peeing on his lap, or asking for things like bows and arrows, or "to just get mommy and daddy back together"....he's not a therapist, he's Santa, I wouldn't be surprised if all mall Santa's get a complimentary flask attached to their belt buckle.
After all that drama from Nov-Dec, wearing the "costume" outside the work place seems like a ticking time bomb for some little kid's dream to get crushed, when all he wants to do is eat a pastrami sandwich...He doesn't give an F if you want a bike, with a basket.
This Santa however, was a nice Santa. So nice, the sandwich was put on hold for this little girl... I was seriously into my turkey wrap, so, I wasn't really paying attention until I noticed my dad....staring off into the distance, misty eyed.
Yes. He was crying.

"DAAAAADDD.....WHAT ARE YOU DOIIIING?!"
...he did the silent cry/choke that prevents words from forming.
This is just more evidence to add to my file called "My Dad is the Best Man Alive"
"Its just...Its just...."
Come on, spit it out weeping willow.
"...you just don't see people that are that kind. Its just so simple, but kind....Kindess like that doesn't exsist, he took his time...and was listening. It's just KIND."
AW. He was right, it was genuinely a sweet moment....that will stick with that little girl forever...and now, I was officially in the Christmas spirit.
We started brainstorming about things that we could do...in the past we've gone and bought groceries for families-anonymously, given to organizations and one time my Papa stopped in the middle of a blizzard and pulled over to give a man his jacket, out of pure kindess. I was only about five, but I remember him saying, "He needs it more than I do."

While i've been the vision of overindulgence, pure gluttony (I was dipping pretzels in frosting the other day...so wrong, but SO DEE-LICIOUS)and have been sitting in my warm home, making family festivies the norm and generally swimming in the abundance of my life, there are so many places that are lacking in areas where I am plentiful. I could be contributing, somewhere? Even on a small scale. So, what could we do....?? This is by no means a new idea, but sometimes we need to be reminded. And today, the embodiment of all things good and joy related,a giver, reminded me.
The brainstorming is in motion, I'm creating "a web"...any ideas?

Friday, December 21, 2007

The reason my Mom made me grilled cheese and soup....

The 24 hour flu bug bit me in the ass today. I am completely deserving. Karma says so, since recently i've been comparing my feelings to that of spoiled milk. I.E. "Thinking of unrequited love makes me feel like I drank spoiled milk." or "The idea of reliving highschool again makes me feel like I drank spoiled milk." and my favorite, "Gloria Estefan's Christmas music makes me feel like I drank spoiled milk."
So thank you Universe, you heard my plea to, indeed, feel as though I drank a vat of spoiled milk. I appreciate it. Queasiness should not be taken lightly, or you're just asking for nausea to pull a stealthy ninja move on you, and make you reach for the closest thing to throw up into- like a napkin or a wine bottle shaped gift bag.
Yeah. Sexual.

And no, I am not pregnant. Though that seems to be a popular trend, I'm not drinking the water they're drinking or engaging in the activities they're engaging on (currently), so, I think unless there's an Immaculate Conception...it is that time of year (you know the guy)...It has to be the standard, run of the mill, flu bug.
For those who are experiencing the other type of nausea, that involves a small ball of goop forming teeth and bones inside your uterus (fine, not teeth, but shit wouldn't that be a trip..gnawing away at your lining), congratulations- Lily Allen, Jessica Alba, Jamie Lynn, Christina Aguilera, Jennifer Lopez, Halle Berry, and that tragic American Idol girl Jessica Siera?
Make good choices. And Lily, please make another album, but not any stupid videos while cradling your belly and looking at the sky ( Name that pop star, i'll give you a Christmas cookie).

Over and out.

Wednesday, December 19, 2007

Bitter Betty and Pretty Chelsea- dynamic duo.


So I started off as such an asshole yesterday. I mean, really, I was making completely unecessary comments about strangers on the street like, "Hey, If you're gonna have a baby, maybe have a car first. Or a stroller." For all I know they could have been taking a brisk walk to the seven eleven for some fresh air, baby peas and a slurpee, but something told me (considering Mama still had braces) that they didn't have a car. Or a license. On that note, Congratulations Jamie Lynn Spears? ??

I continued on with bitter comments about people with "TRY JESUS" on their bumper stickers....I think I said something like, "Mmmm I tried that, didn't really like it. And your bumper sticker sort of makes me want to ram the shit out of your car."
I'm sure that's not the reaction they're looking for and truthfully I'm all open and groovy with you having your own religious beliefs, but how about all the people driving behind you that are Buddhist, or Atheist or Muslim, orrrrr...Scientoligist'? How about them, because i'm pretty sure with that bumper sticker you're seriously increasing the chances of getting rearended. Just a thought.
The "Coexsist" bumper stickers i'm good with....cause you're not shoving your uninivited and exclusive beliefs and invading my brain with your, "Jesus is the only way" idea.

Bitter Betty then took a back seat after she was fed a variety of holiday candies, and Chelsea came back. Betty is always an interesting character to invite to a party every once in awhile...she can be a real hoot. Yes, I said Hoot.
Apparently when Betty left, "Pretty Chelsea" decided to make an appearance. Let me tell you about "Pretty Chelsea," she generally starts off by deciding to- A. Wear heels, normal Chelsea likes to walk too fast for heels, but "Pretty Chelsea" doesn't mind taking her time. B. She pulls out a dress. and C. "Pretty Chelsea" is alll about talking to strangers. And strangers, are all about talking to her.

MAN NUMBER 1- Apparently from Texas, hence the Longhorn's hat
"Wow.....what an amazing dress...!"
"Well thannnnk yooouuuu..." Pretty Chelsea responded with a mouthful of molasses and fluttery eyes. Oh yes, Pretty Chelsea was in full affect.

MAN NUMBER 2- Older, and apparently into Fetish Sex, being that, that was the book isle he was perusing.
"WOW! What abstract colors...beautiful dress."
"Aw thanks! yeah! its bright!" Pretty Chelsea responded, using exclamation points after! every! word! Now, placing Pretty Chelsea not only in the hyper active sorority category, but also in "Loudest person in Barnes and Noble" category. Everyone hates that person.

MAN NUMBER 3- Mm, nothing was terribly special about him.
"What a lovely dress...." He did say lovely, so, he must be special.
"You're so nice. Thank you." Pretty Chelsea was now on her pedestal and feeling ultra confident/cocky and responded like he was the 50th person to say this. But, pedestals are temporary and ego's are checked when "Pretty Chelsea" sets down the book she's been reading for 45 minutes, and failed to look at the title that appropriately said,........."KISS ME I'M SINGLE. ODE TO A SINGLE LIFE."

Something tells me they didn't care all that much about my dress..... :)

Friday, December 14, 2007

Loss of Love

Ehhhh. I was avoiding talking about this. Because the idea of ever feeling NEEDY, PATHETIC, HEARTBROKEN, OR DEPENDANT, have all been emotions i've run from like the plague. I have spent the majority of my life as an adult avoiding letting anyone love me. Strictly in the romantic sense. In the beginning, I don't know that it had all that much to do with rejection, but more fear of codependancy. Losing self reliance. Fear that LOVE would in fact find it's way to nuzzle in between me and my dreams and therefore work as a barrier. And to me, the ability to rely on self was enough for me. Until I decided to love, until I decided to BE that person "in love". To actually, fully, completely, be taken by another person and allow space between myself and dreams, figuring that if it were real, nothing else mattered.

When it comes to friendships it has always been love, because with friendship- it's unconditional. With romantic love, ideally, it should be unconditional...but there's a sense of fear in romatic relationships: fear of losing, fear or heartbreak, fear of disappointment, fear of losing yourself etc. With friends, those fears aren't there...you know, no matter what, that you'll remain YOU, and they'll remain them...you'll be two complete and WHOLE individuals, benefiting from one another rather than taking away from one another. With fear involved the ability to rationalize, not become too needy, not worry yourself into sleepless nights or change yourself in order to "keep" someone, becomes a constant...out of fear of loss. Fear changes all logical thinking, whether is fear of losing or fear of commiting. Fear fixes an idea in your head, a pessimitic and stubborn idea. The road you're on , or the person you're with become fear's warped version.
Without communication, full, complete and honest communication and truth, it's difficult to know where one another stands. And that is where the fear sets in. And too often relationships come to an end from ill communication and worry.

So rather than letting romantic love....this magnificent emotion, just be, there's a desire to grip. So that you won't get hurt. So you won't have to experience loss. It isn't just a person you're losing but a significant piece of yourself, a you that only THEY know. An unfiltered, raw version of you. The you that is open and warm,without rules, without limitation on HOW MUCH to love, how much to give and wanting so badly, to be unconditional...and wanting them in turn, to be unconditionally in love with you.

With love there is risk. Ideally, all love should be received- realistically, it is not. So do you choose to avoid love? Regret it? No. Of course not.

Previously, I would have never let myself fall. Never let myself say every-single-word, feel every-single-thing, or say, "Hey, nothing else matters, as long as you're there, it'll be ok." And though it wasn't received...I could become bitter, say f*ck that, not again. But I realize that wouldn't serve me, in any way, it only makes the loss more painful. So am I hurt? Absolutely. Apprehensive about the future, about men? Absolutely. Do I have questions, do I wake up and say "what the fuuuuck??" every morning? Yep. I do. Do I wish things were different? YES. Do I wonder if there will ever, be anybody that will compare to him, make me FEEL that again? YES. Constantly. But, would I erase it...would I change all of that mixed up, ecstatic, hopeful, frenzied, confusing, sincere, uncenscored, and TREMENDOUS feelings, that was and is undoubtedly love? NO. I wouldn't change a thing. And though there's a piece, a whole larrrge piece that he has, only he knows, and only he will ever know- I wouldn't ask for it back. I would only hope he would cherish it, recognize it. Unconditionally.
Wound's become scars and scars heal. And fear has no place next to love.

To continue...


" Success isn't about crossing things off life's to-do list. It's about having the grace and fortitude to move through change, curls in tact and smiling..... The plan should be learning how to live without one, or how to carry a big fat eraser in your petite handbag. It's comfortable to have plans, but you've got to be loose enough to accept change." Stephanie Klein.

For so much of my life I've had this neurotic nightly procedure, where I sit down and write a to-do list for the next day. Even when there was really nothing "to-do",
it was more or less to give me a sense of purpose. A sense of stability.
I have always thought of accomplishment, or accomplishing something as a result of strength and drive. It is in fact those things, but i'm realizing strength and drive, perserverance- dont always end in the typical terms of "accomplished." There isn't always a happy ending, s trophy with your name engraved, a bonus or a promotion.
Sometimes the endings are messy, sometimes they're painful, or sometimes they're nothing at all. And so often you pull through situations with nothing at the end to show for them. Rather, you've changed leaps and bounds, internally. And the only person that understands that is you. So yeah, maybe you dont have something to "show" for it, but tangible or not, endings- in any sense, need to be acknowledged within for the lessons you've learned and the beginnings you're now in.
Meanwhile, your ideas of the "new beginning" may not reflect your idea. So yet, another change...and hopefully- medals or not,"perfect" or not, you can acknowledge your strength to persevere. To continue.
Life is better without lists. With lists you're only looking for what you already KNOW, without them...the opportunities, the knowledge, the observations, the day before you can be better appreciated and remaining open makes your ability to appreciate "what is" less of a struggle.

So, continue. With grace and fortitude.

Wednesday, December 12, 2007

DOUCHEBAGS. PART 1.


DUNBAR. IS. A. DOUCHEBAG. (note: Dunbar is from The Real World) And those are the kindest words I have for him. First of ALL- if any man ever called me a bitch the way he so flippantly throws it at the women in his household- they, would lose their penis.

Men like him make it very clear that men have a VERY. VERY. different view of what "love" is.

Dunbar. You make me feel like throwing up.
Note to self: I should have taken mental note when, "man I love," professed his liking for him. Hi, red f*cking flag.
Interesting that we only hear what we'd like to. I hope "sweet Julie" dumps his chauvinistic, disrespectful, scum crusted, black hearted, ass. Motherf*cker.

Monday, December 10, 2007

"The Raft"

For longer than I'd like to remember i've been dangling on a string of failure after failure, disappointment after disappointment, possibilities later to be seen as "distant illusions", options equalling non-options. etc. etc. There are many ways for me to paint the gray picture of what i've been experiencing.

In this past i've been allll about energy. Intuition. Believing and thus receiving. Visualization. FAITH. Having some sort of trust in the universe, and often even seeing in retrospect why certain events worked in they way they did. That was in the past. A past i'm having a hard time outlining for you, because frankly it seems like a long time ago since i've actually believed the words I can easily regurgitate to people in need of "words of wisdom" and scoff at when repeated to myself. I can be such a salesman. It sounds great, i'm really good at selling it and I often trick myself into ACTUALLY believing it, until I find that i'm only believing the words i'm saying based on no actual evidence.

I'm sorry I should have given this blog a disclaimer. With a headline warning you of my pity-party attitude. Actually, let's not call it a party, it's more like a whiny- diary type blog no one should ever really read or they may think you're a cynical asshole. A party would entail chips and dip. Or a cocktail.

Speaking of which- I may still be hungover from my weekend in Vegas (that's a blog suited for a better attitude. Maybe tomorrow after I've consumed 6 cups of coffee and hopefully a scone) which could be attributing to my new alter ego-Downbeat Donna who often is accompanied by Negative Nancy, Sad Sally, Bitter Betty,Dark Darla. And all those other off putting emotions with off putting sorority names.

So. Back to Faith. Strangely enough I have some, I'd just like the opportunity to use it. It's hard to put your faith to use when your visualization is looking something like: A raft. Slightly deflated. Floating. But barely. In what looks like an ocean....or a wide river. Under what seems to be a stormy sky. Movement? Mmm. Not really, just slightly from a ripple, if a fish swims by....a fish! That must be a good sign. There is life out there.

And as far as fish go. There was only one. In my sea...or my wide river. Apparently there are supposed to be many???
I'm assuming that would look something like Vegas this weekend where not only was the Rodeo convention in town, but so where the British. For the Mayweather vs. Floyd fight. That seems like quite the sea of fish in cow boy boots and slurry-British- accents and stumbling. And that also seems like the opportunity to chase some tail. Who's chasing who's tail I don't know, but was tail chased? I think NOT.
I apparently was not in their sea nor were they in mine. They were in England, or on horses and I was drinking my weight in sugar rimmed martinis.

Looks like my visualition needs some work. Slightly deflated means slowly delfating...Thank god I know how to swim.

Wednesday, December 5, 2007

Drinks? I think we need a drink.


I'm pulling a "Britney" today. No, I didn't get pregnant, i'm not popping perscription pills and I didn't run over a paparazzi's Nike- cause frankly, i'm not that interesting to follow around. I just look like her twin. My bun is placed-disheveld of course, but specifically piled on top of my head like a birds nest- after a tornado and yesterdays mascara has given me a pathetically sullen crack-baby look. No to mention i'm really craving cheeto's and a frappacino.

I just returned from a whirlwind trip to NYC. Unfortunately it wasn't for play, but business. So naturally the flight en route isn't going to feel like a relaxing vacation to Cancun. After a two hour delay, we finally get on the plane....the back row. Naturally.
Then three bad-ass chicks with vintage snowboots and jackets with patches- reflecting all of the awesome things they do- come barreling towards the back. Roller Derby chicks? Si. YES. I'm thinking, I can take some notes from these girls- anyone who wears a mouthgaurd on a daily basis AND heels instantly goes platinum in my book.
Instant friendships flourish, best friend necklace's are exchanged and shoulders are used as pillows throughout the flight- ok, it wasn't exactly like that but we did share a trifecta of gossips magazines and snacks. Milk duds from me and blueberries and sausage from them....blueberries and sausage? Only ultra wicked people can stray from the standard peanuts and gummi worms for produce.

Fast forward. TWO HOURS. ON THE PLANE. WITHOUT TAKING OFF. With a four hour plane ride still ahead.

So. Mid-flight....Mid nap...I smell something strange. HM? what could that be? Just a vomiting, shitting, dog convenientally taking a bath in the bathroom next to me. Welcome to the back of the plane.
Just about this time a severe amount of turbulence begins to threaten my life...I'm not big on flying to being with...So nose plugged and hands gripping my seat with a Tom Cruise- Mission Impossible 2, death grip....a sudden feeling of relief washed over me...I opened my clenched eyes to see the vision of an angel...in United stewardess garb ...setting bottles of free wine on my tray. Hallelujah.

Though the wine did the trick for an hour or so and eavesdropping on conversation regarding "The Rabbit" and duct tape, from frequent usage, did ease my fear of death for a moment, i've decided i'd much rather have daily dentist appointments, or "tax day" than fly, delayed-in turbulence-with shitting Maltisse's.

I was also unprepared for the forthcoming day where the person I loved decided to play an intense game of raquetball with my heart and then leave it at that....

I would have preffered he used a ball. Or maybe didn't play at all. Just a thought.

Tuesday, November 27, 2007

Turkey, Icecream and The Moon Face.


It's amazing the amount of things you can get done when you're avoiding writing. To name a few: Peel an avacado- and if you could see my botched attempt at peeling an avacado you'd understand the amount of time that actually took me. Work out- always the perfect diversion. Paint your nails. Update your Ipod- with every song imagineable. And the activity that has most prominently taken over my brain; FOOD.

But no folks, it didn't start, or end with Thanksgiving...I do what I like to call "The preliminary Thanksgiving" in order to maximize the holiday, I stomach stretch for about 3 days prior. The best stomach stretching foods include: CAKE, taquitos, all of Paula Deen's recipes- BUTTER, pizza, RICE, mint chocolate chip icecream and pasta. After you successfully consume all of the above items you will be able to fully enjoy Thanksgiving- as I did.

Unfortunately there are repercussions....something I'd like to call "The Moon Face"
I have this incredible talent of eating anything with sugar, carbs, or salt and magically, my face has an uncanny resemblance to a moon. Large and round. But glowing :) But large.

On the inside I am an obese child with an ravenous junk food tooth. And when unleashed...bringing the moon baby back to health is a bit of a challenge.

SO TODAY- I started anew...thankfully I'm also a bit obsessive compulsive and highly competitive with myself, so when on the "gym kick", "diet kick" or any other "KICK" I frequently kick around starts kickin', I'm full the f*ck out. No slacking. You couldn't pay me to slack.

While I was in the midst of my "avoid writing" activities, I did some ONDEMAND surfing and stumbled upon this dazzling little work out gem called: Carmen Electra StripTease. Oh yes. I had to try it. I'm like, "Ok...burn some calories and look hot doing it...bring it on baby."
SADLY, it didn't work out to be such a success. Partly due to the fact that half the work out consisted of warming up your wrists? I guess wrists would need to be warm for panty flinging, or dollar snatching. And also playing sexy in your hoodie and dad's sweatpants while mirroring Hot McHot Booby Carmen, doesn't do a whole lot for the self-esteem, or libido.

So here I am WRITING.
So many changes in my life have occured recently, and as blunt and honest as I tend to be, you may be shocked to know I do omit many things that happen. So catching up is in order. With all of these changes has come immense...HAPPINESS.
And with my new found happiness...I've adopted a hefty case of writers block.
Part of my wit, dry humor, observations....Surliness? Can be attributed to so much of the unhappiness I'd been experiencing...and also many of the experiences.
But, would I trademy happiness for some quips? I think not. I just need a change of strategy...and only through new experiences, are there new stories...and whether happy or sad, awkward and comedic experiences hang onto my coat tails.

Hope all of you ate yourself into a lazy stupor... Now lets KICK IT!

Wednesday, November 14, 2007

Emoting through Myspace

Oh Myspace, Myspace...you now serve as the perfect platform- or bullhorn-emotional podium- for people to passive aggressively express their feelings. Just another step down the slow (yet rapidly increasing) decline of social communication.
There truly is a surplus amount of way's to express your feelings through the catchy world of yourspace; Songs, pictures, surveys, about me's, friend placement interests, backgrounds, etc.
The song's are what really grab my attention. Apparently 70% of American women feel "Bubbly" which, I find interesting, I wonder if Colbie Caillat knew that everyone felt Bubbly...I don't think I myself have ever said- "You know what, I feel kind of bubbly today...it started in my toes...and now i'm crinkling my nose..ya know?"

For those of us who aren't feeling bubbles, there are numerous way's to let everyone know what's going on in your space. Emotions can best be expressed through song:
If you're feeling dangerous-vixeny-maybe a bit drunk? or you'd like to appear like you don't give a sh*t, and you dont have a WIDE musical library your profile song is: Anything Amy Winehouse- she said it best "You know I'm no good." Gr.

I find it especially therapuetic when heartbroken-angry-or recently broken up to pick songs directly related to the tumultuous sitautaion. Even better if the song speaks in first person.If it's an "angry love song" by- Rhianna, Britney, Jessica Simpson, Fergie, Ciara, or J. Lo- I dont believe you. Kelly Clarkson get's a free pass, she seem's pretty pissed off. In general its better to go with a band, or an artist who's probably been on a Greys Anatomy episode. Please avoid Evanescense you don't want people to put you on suicide watch.

If you're feeling, A. super cheesy B. super in Love or C. super cheesy? did I say that? You'll most likely have Michael Buble on your page.

The profile song mustn't be underrated, it is the core of your inner most thoughts....ha. or it's at least your current situtation and hey, we like to keep people updated. Be wary of those who from a Jack Johnson to Seether in a few days, and think twice before you get jump on that rollercoaster...

Now let's talk a bit about the myspace photo. It's basically your front cover...and you'd be surprised how many people judge by the front cover. It's all marketing people. So now, there's a whole sea of tricksters who have "that-one-good-photo" and decide, I'd like to be represented "like this!", and you're like woa man, I didn't accept you cause that picture didn't even look like you!
Then there's all those people with a Mac who like to be "artsy" with the four frame Andy Warhol picture- awesome. And overdone.
Don't forget the famous self taken photo where one tries to appear pensive and in contemplative thought- but really they've been self-taking brooding photos for 30 minutes attempting to find the one that speaks-Lost in thought. I'm so deep. Add me.

Myspace is all about how you WANT people to perceive you. You pick the background according to what speaks your personality, the picture directly represents how you'd like people to perceive your life- fun, playful, interesting, social, etc...All of the people with group photos and shots in hands, message conveyed: you social butterfly.

It's brilliant in the way that it's "yourspace" to express all and show people what you represent. Who you are. It's also perfect for stalking old friends, ex's, etc., informing everyone what you ate for breakfast over time consuming surveys-like we care, and ranking who's occupying your number one spot in your life (p.s. I WOULD take serious offense if my best friend took me out of that position. That Top friends shit is no joke.) and letting everyone in on your little world of you.

So sing out profile! say what we're dying to say! and remember, you should never underestimate the power of what your Myspace represents.

Sunday, November 4, 2007

Operation JH Part 2: All is full of lies

NOTE:: I wrote this blog about two weeks ago and avoided posting it in case any prospective employer was perusing my blog....that was first red light- If you want be YOU in your work place, it'll make it slightly more difficult.. NEEDLESS to say, I didnt get the job. PHEW. so here it is! And shame on me i've been a wretched blogger lately with my non-blogging, but I have ALOT of catching up to do...so i'll be better. promise. :)

Have any of you seen those surveys?....The 35 page surveys that are done online, while applying for jobs- regarding your personality, situational questions, temper quesitons, etc. They ask the same question 12 times to see if you'll slip up and eventually just admit that you'll snap on a customer if you're having a shitty day, or you have deep seeded control issues and you're an completele basket case. Anyways: I had to take one of these surveys- apparently I seemed sane enough for an interview. So here it goes:

I've found the only way to get hired (which I still have yet to be hired- but I know this is the solution) Is- TO LIE. Lie, lie, lie. Lie. I'm not big on lying- I dont like liars, I never lie for fun- or make up harmless white lie stories for emphasis or fluff, it's just not my schtick. I'm keen on truth-often too truthful I suppose. That being said, I'm also poor, and borrowed 20 dollars from my 11 year old sister to buy enough gas to get from point A to point B- no joy riding (which I really really miss. I'm huuuge on wasting gas for the sake of a good "drive"). I've successfully managed to drive on empty for almost 3 weeks. Weird, I know.

Back to my successful interview of deciet.
"So tell me what appeals to you about the cosmetics deparement at ::BLANK::"

In my most political tone- whitout hesitation. Pure confident storytelling.
"The People." -My inner voice is laughing at me."I just love interacting with people, it's changes it up day to day, I like to make people feel good, the company is outstanding, the service is exceptional, the customers AND the employees are treated with utmost respect- I mean...I was living in L.A. and on set there were always make-up artists, crew, etc. And I would sit there and think- (I'm such a liar) If I weren't doing this- I want want to be doing what they're doing. I just have such a passion for it!!"

Ok- So the first half was mostly true- Did I really need to go the extra mile, and make up a story about dreams as a make-up artist??? Seriously? I could give a shit about Dusty rose or Paradise pink blush, and skin tone and blaaah blaaaaah.

She totally bought it. I feel like an asshole.
"Wonderful! So...When I hire someone, I really, really, want to make sure that they're someone who wants to be here for a year plus- I mean we all have sales goals, and we work holidays, we work weekends- and we do this to reach our goals...now...does this sound like you..."

Here I go again.

"OH! OF course, of course,..."
Honestly i'm already considering quitting. Give it 3 months. But really, why do they even say "part-time" on the survey? or which hours you'd like- if they're going to have you work FULL TIME, all the time, regardless. Don't tease me with options you nazi's. Sure, I'd love to spend Thanksgiving with you people and your goals to sell massive amounts of bronzer.

They want you to say: I want to grow with the company, I want this to be long term. And I know there are companies out there I'd love to grow with....it's just a matter of finding them...thankfully I have some time to spare to try and figure it out....but the clock's ticking...

Sunday, October 28, 2007

Operation Job Hunt


Man oh man, how I love evening radio talk shows. You can just sink into your little car space, and get allll reflective, wistful, and misty-eyed. Delilah was surely missed when I was in L.A. but now, I can tune in nightly, and she's there with her lonely listeners and dated top 40 hits, that speak to the soul. "Were taking dedications tonight...:Stacy has been single for 12 years and she is so, so, so, lonely. Bill would like to dedicate a song to his son in California, Mary would like to dedicate to her husband Tim, you've been through some rough times but you're always there to hold them together, and Jennifer would like to dedicate a song to her best friend in Kansas who she misses so much....Here's a song for you guys"

Hm. One of these things is not like the other.......So, everybody has someone to dedicate something to except for Stacy...is she dedicating a song to her loneliness? I almost wanted to call in and dedicate a song to Stacy myself, party foul Delilah you could have put her in a seperate group, now she probably feels even more lonely, smooth move.
Anyways- I'm on the hunt. It's appropriately named- Operation Job Hunt- Starring the unemployed huntress C-dog The Unemployable. Apparently, I have done something devastatingly wrong in terms of job hunting- I dont know maybe I look a little desperate-ish...."Please, I really do want to slug coffee to feinds and addicted teenagers, would you like a scone with that? " or "Please, I'd love to fold clothes for an insurmountable 20 hours, and practice my volture techniques on innocent Christmas shoppers. Really, please." Or, "Please, let me take you to your table, I reaaally want to take you to your table.Damnit."
This desperation must be in my eyes (I have been told I have big eyes. Big expressive eyes to be exact), cause I'm cool as a cucumber in interviews. Coooool, coool, just like LL. Smooth even. Charming. But yet,unemployed. I can fairly say I've hit up every retail store, salon, hostess opening, even my ex-boyfriend's place of work, because i'm a masochist and would like to be reminded that he's moved on and i've moved backwards, into his place of employment. Ok, so i've never worked retail- "You need experience." Ok, and how do you expect me to get experience if you will not hire me?.....Come on. I've worked plenty of jobs with more pressing issues than this months, "winter colors." Then of course, I've sent a long resume's for jobs, which may be a bit lofty, but only lack of experience would say so, I would be overly competent, and exceptional if offered a position.

There is a light at the end of the tunnel...there's a light at the end of the tunnnelll........and the light looks something like: The Gap?

Wednesday, October 24, 2007

Strike ONE! striiiike TWO!

God, i'm brutal. There are a few things that have changed with me recently- one being the new found appreciation I have for sports, which I think is in direct correlation with my need to STRIKE everything out. I'm in tune with my sports terms. I mean...people are really freaking INNNTOOO their sports here...Granted, we are going to the world series (woop woop!) And yes, I am going to a game( woop woop!), Papa scored some tickets, and actually- sports lover or not...I am seriously looking forward to the madness this entails- A. Passionate people with a few Budweisers in them, and their favorite team on the line always make for good people watching. B. Hot dogs happen to be one of my top five favorite foods- Oscar Meyer was a close friend growing up- him, and Kraft. and C. Condensed male form. Male-ness. Man bodies. Men. And that brings me back to the why i'm using the term STRIKE.. I have a black, black soul. I am convinced I will not get past a first date ever again....In the story of my life- I will be the "One Date Wonder"...I'll break records, show up on Regis and Kelly to break some new Guiness World Record, and they'll say, "Just how do you do it?? Tell us your secrets. The key to your success-less success. (and success is sounding a lot like sex the more I say and type it)" and I'll say, "Well Kelly, Well Reg, it's called the One Strike, Two Strike- and those all pretty much happen before we order dinner." That is, if we even get to the date part. I'll be given some medal for being the most powerful spinster to ever walk the face of the Earth, and feminists, and single women all around will find their single power in my singleness. It'll become some mantra, like the Spice Girls "Girl Powaa"... Forbes- Top 100 Most Successful Spinster's to ever live- and I'll be listed right above Barbara Walters. And...Probably Mariah Carey, I dont think she's dating anytime soon. (Cuckoo cuckoo). With good reason, those high notes could drive anyone to insanity. Back to sports. One huge, huge, MEGA strike- Texting me anytime after midnight. I find it a bit bootycall-ish. and bit is an understatement. And also rude, though it is 2am right now, I do enjoy sleeping. And actually as far as texting me and expecting me to be immiediately available- i.e. calling/texting anytime after 8pm, and assuming I dont have previous plans- When I have to say i'm busy, I feel like an asshole, and when i'm not busy, but i'm already completely content catching up on a good book, I feel even more guilty for just saying no- so then, because you're the asshole who made me an afterthought, i'm left feeling guilty in my jami's, while you're onto girl #2. Now, that rule is exempt if we communicate before 8pm. IF YOU ONLY EVER TEXT ME IN THE EVENING. I ALREADY KNOW...you're not that into me. And if you're not into me, I'm NOT into you. Don't bootycall me, unless we've made previous arrangements. ya know. Strike two usually happens somewhere around the time, when he accidentally mentions he's, "Just not that into books...." and says it as he flex's, this is usually followed by something like, "Yeah me and my buddies...blah blah blah he was talking shit blah blah....and I just totally stomped his face into the curb...blah blah." Ok, so you're tough and you're a douchebag. NEXT. So - One Date Wonder it is, i'm doing my best to remain diplomatic, and open minded....but the more I think about it, being a spinster wouldn't be that horrible. Spinster's are usually "the cool Aunt", and collect exotic spices and take bike tours around Tuscany- or own a cat. And cat's aren't all that bad....

Friday, October 19, 2007

Time. Remembering. Questions.

The universe always has an interesting way of reminding you of who you are when have somewhat lost your way.
Nothing makes this more true than when you come home. All of the ego based emotions, all of the walls you've bult as a means for protection, all of the new insecurities, and barriers, or on the opposite all of the things you've done that make you feel "accomplished" don't mean as much, you're still little Johnny who picked his nose in 6th grade, or Little Sue who cried when she wore tights to ballet cause they were itchy.

On one hand I suppose it keeps you grounded, on the other- I can't imagine what it would be like to never leave home- how do you ever grow out of that image into your own personal adult identity? It's as if the last three years of my life are on a pause button, while I reverse back in time.

Is that why the idea of living in different states is so appealing to me? Besides the fact that I'm constantly seeking an adventure- the only option is to start NEW. There is no one who knows you as "this", there are no reminders that remind you of "that", there is absolutley nothing that puts you back into where you've been. Everything is new. And the opportunity to grow into something new, is far greater. You give yourself a fair shot for opportunity. Don't get me wrong sameness isn't always bad thing, and each personality has a different reaction towards it- it's just more of a struggle to move into change consciously when you're on auto pilot.


I've been taking my time. Time has always been a seriously nagging part of my life- i'm never late. I'm always planning, and I seriously feel that I never have enough of it. Woa, shocker, I'm sure i'm not alone there.

I stared at a tiny red spider spin a web for a solid 25 minutes while I waited for my mom in the car- Now, my normal reaction would be to kill the little monster- because they freak me out. BUT, I sat in awe as he made this incredible home with such precision. He made me feel suuuper untalented, I actually came to have a great liking towards him.

The colors- OMG the colors in Colorado are so, so, so incredible- I want to wear them. Or eat them. They're that beautiful.

Yesterday was my sisters very first dance performace at her new school (my old school) and rather than checking my cell phone for the time, every 10 minutes to see when the torture of "dancing" that resembeled a rave, or a bad SNL spoof would end- I let myself drift and enjoy- bad dancing completely disappeared and I fixated on the green and yellow unitards for who knows how long and thought about corn. It would seriously be the perfect Halloween costume - Green spandex leggings- Yellow spandex leotard- POOF! You're a corn husk.

Time. Grounding. And remembering have been the keywords for my week.

One of my fellow bloggers who I adore and is awesomely inspiring- Flaming Renaissance- Megan, wrote me the most amazing letter in regards to some of my current situations. And she posed these questions to me:

*What excites you?? What gets you so pumped up you talk super fast about it, and your friends just wish you would shut up cause you can't stop talking about it???

*What do you want your life to be about?

*What do you want to leave behind??

*What do you want people tothink when they think of you?

*What do you really want with your life?

On the surface I think I know the answers to all of these questions- but they've been on my mind heavily...and the the answers the them I find still need some developing.

Those are good questions to consider....




Saturday, October 13, 2007

DRUMROLL- Our future role models are...

"It looks like shes gained a pound. Or two."
Excuse me while I find myself in a frenzy of uncontrollable word vomit, while cursing the television. If you have yet to be graced with this new reality show gem "Making of the next Dallas Cowboy's Cheerleader" (or some shit)- I suggest avoiding running across it, or you may feel the same nauseating feeling I have been left with.

The photo above is of some poor soul, being fitted for a 1x1 pair of briefs, and gracious 2x2 wrap top. First let me rewind- these "lucky" girls have been narrowed down from a thousand plus women to a shining number of 45...and I believe 20-something make the team....they claim to be searching for; Beauty (No shit. Stop there.), dance precision- which is why the director- Ms. Kelli Malicious Monster, stresses the "KICKS" and the "JumpSPLIIITS" a solid 100 times, per half-hour episode, grace, style, and last but not least, they're searching for true athletes. Why of course.
They claim their standards to be so high, they're virtually impossible- well thank the Southern Lords you said so, because if you'd like me to kick my face in front of thousands of people, with all my goodies wrapped in mere white gauze, you may see an ass cheek, or two, that slip out from time to time.
Also in reference to the photo- this is where the poor soul is caught for, gaining a pound. Or two. Oh no!...Maybe she had a sip of water before she came in!?...A pound or two.....Can you see a pound sitting in the nosebleeders??? And lets also point out the fact, that other than the lucky set of breasts she has, the rest of her body looks 15.

Yea yeah yeah..So they're cheerleaders it's their job to look bangin'. But apparently in the the great state of Texas, or America- they're also supposed to be "Our wonderful group of ambassadors and role models"....HOLD up a second, before you start singing Yankee Doodle, Hold your horses, or your cowboy boots, or whatever- Since when have cheerleaders become our role models????

In this particular episode, the women were taken to etiquette class, so they could learn how to be proper role models- they cut crab, ate spaghetti and french onion soup, the "proper" way, and then presumably spent 7 hours in the gym so they could shake it on the field wearing their bathing suit from 3rd grade.

Not to mention, that in the interviews when asked about their thoughts on Condoleezza Rice running for president- one golden role model replied, " Wellll...I think that it's just great HE'S running!...I meeean, I love what our president is doing now, but I meean, I know he has to give up his chair. So it's Great! He's running."
Oh dear. Later she corrected herself, "OH! OH! I didnt realize Condolisa Jones was a woman!"
And lets just say I wasn't shocked, when most of them were uncomfortable with a woman president. What would you expect from the docile little things. THESE ARE OUR ROLE MODELS?

To be the perfect size zero, with perfect teeth, washboard abs- so thin you practically disappear when you turn to the side, the perfect bounce in your hair, the proper giggling response- those qualities do not make you beautiful- if anything, they make you a phembot-These attributes are not the norm.

You know what the norm is: REAL WOMEN, women with brains, with laughs that aren't perfect, with smiles that don't look like a Crest commercial, women who eat, women who look at themselves in the mirror and wonder why they don't have smaller hips, women who have big hips and love it, women who don't feel as beautiful because of "role models" who set an unrealistic standard, women who try to diet- when they don't need to. Women who work hard, women who don't have time to go to the gym, women who aren't the "typical" standard of beautiful, who have spirit beyond what any carbon copy blonde (I know they're not all blonde)could have, women who go unnoticed, women who don't realize how perfect they truly are, women with shapes, with with color, women with lines and wrinkles, women with history from they years they've had and the meals they've enjoyed, women who strive to be better when they're already enough. WOMEN.

These are role models. But we're too busy looking for the perfect JumpSplit to notice. Hey I guess it just adds to the list of things in our embaressing vault of American Pop Culture. Best of luck ladies in becoming tragic symbols of iconic American history. :)

Thursday, October 11, 2007

Take your bow now- Sit. Still.

Road trips are always fun..Who doesn't enjoy a Cracker Barrel, and the perfect excuse to listen to your favorite CD over, and over, and over. Or Eminem's "Say Goodbye to Hollywood"-(note to EM- come back, your music makes working out at the gym much more motivating.) I'm home safely- i've taken my bow and I feel....good. Today is interesting for me...I unpacked. Cleaned out old dresser drawers, and said goodbye to unecessary photos of friendships with people I barely know anymore, that still hung in my old bedroom. Which isn't my old bedroom anymore, it's my new-old bedroom. So in order for me to feel at home, I need to feel that it reflects me. As fun as swimming in nostalgia can be, it was time to just let go of certain things that held no value for me anymore.
After the trash bags were thrown out, all of my current belongings were set into familiar spaces, I felt a strange sense of....contentment. ? And then instant panic. Of course.

After everything was where it needed to be, where did I need to be??? I immediately started thinking of ways to busy myself again, since "hustle" had become a personality trait, not an action.

"Job hunt, plan your future, do the dishes, paint your nails, send out resumes, attain some knowledge somewhere-grab a book, any book, read it.. Your socks are all put away, the clothes are folded- now GO plan your life you lazy biatch" Woa...inner-pyscho-self...take it down about eight thousand notches.

The contentment I felt was in direct correlation with the fact that I had nothing I needed to really worry about in that exact moment. Even when I was home in the past, I was always fidgety, always ready, always worried I was missing something back in L.A..... I was home but I was carrying a big fat rucksack called "HOLLYWOOD HUSTLE" on my back, at every. single. moment. I never set it down...until today? Which is also where the reason for the panic comes into play..I'm not sure that i'm ready to empty my bags and hand 'em over to goodwill, "Hey it was a nice ride, now let someone else carry you around for awhile." Even if the truth of the matter is there are some holes and tears, and the bag needs a little mending- or a replacement. Like your favorite pair of jeans, that can be ratty and torn- they can always be your favorite but eventually, you need a new pair... ya dig?

I'm always dreaming up the next move. Even without a 20 ton elephant on my back. So I suppose spare myself the actual physical ache, and let it rest.

I've never allowed myself "the process"...I see what someone has at the age of 40, and I think- I should have that now. Because I know i'm fully capable. I like the challenge, even if i'm not. I've never allowed myself to do certain things just because i've thought it would be "fun" if it were taking away from being "goal-oriented" and then when I wasn't attaining anything, I was missing other exciting/appealing opportunites and came out with nothing on either end -but a lesson learned.

I'm in the process. We're all always in the process. You cannot fight it. So i'm putting down the gloves for a second.....I'm so incredibly excited to just let it be. And let it be f*cking phenomenal.
There are so many things I have yet to do- so breaks I still have yet to take. I let myself sit in the "panic" for a moment and rather than actually flip out, which tends to be my initial reaction, I thought- i'm gonna roll with this... I'm uncomfortable, and unsure of where it's leading, I don't see the perfect plan, the perfect step, the booming voice of guidance isn't calling my name... and for once. Thats OK.

Friday, October 5, 2007

With a little help from my friends...

Marsh
Nik's
Schman
Bruce-y
B-rad I LOVE THESE PEOPLE.







THESE PEOPLE. ARE MY PEOPLE.



The Beatles said it best-
"What would you think if I sang out of tune,Would you stand up and walk out on me.Lend me your ears and I'll sing you a song,And I'll try not to sing out of key.Oh I get by with a little help from my friends,Mmm I get high with a little help from my friends,Mmm I'm gonna to try with a little help from my friends"

I have to say there's this bittersweet feeling i'm having and the idea of not seeing these people all the time gives me a bit of a pang in my heart. They've been the "real ones" in my L.A. family. or, they've been my "L.A. FAMILY"

I felt the need for a tribute at the end of a chapter, I had to include the characters.

SCHMAN- She's the one that looks like a pole dancer. I assure you, she is not a poledancer. Not to knock pole dancers, she just isn't one. She's my sister, my hand twin, the regis to my kelly, the salt to my peppa, the junk to my trunk, the yin to my yang (she is half Asian), the jig in my step... etc. etc. And, she's dancing for Bette Midler. Who is my musical theater goddess. She is the 'wind beneath my wings' and does not judge me for finishing an entire pizza, and encourages breadsticks as well. Soulmates.


Nik's, Nikole, Stubborn little biatch, Ice- "Chels, get up off the floor, i'm leaving. Go sleep in my bed." At a particular desolate hour, all of us ladies lived in a two bedroom apt, two of us sharing a living room- I occupied the floor as my sleeping area. And every morning Nikole left before me, she offered me an actual bed, and didnt mind that I took up all of her space- sanity, joy, etc. She's the only Republican I can fairly say I love deeply- besides some of my family members- but that's another blog. (and who loves "The Secret"...?). I love our debates, Rum and Coke, Poker playing, acting, cynical/optimistic highs and lows. You're always welcome on my floor.


Bruuuce- I have perfected my accent because of him. He's the only guy who's allowed to call me stupid, because when said in a thick English accent it sounds almost like a compliment. And I know he means it in the most adoring way of course. The hours spent making stupid inside jokes, calling me ugly, watching Kimora and "stealing" wine are priceless. You'll be Feymous- and I'll be your back-up singer. Now go get me a date, with a certain friend of yours I always ask about, club kid.


Marsh- Aw Marsh. Lets talk about life, and peace, and politics, and energy, and vibes, and creating, and debating, and then lets top it all off with a six pack. Twelve pack? Lets play Sorry, free-form and color for hours with Schman, with the foodnetwork playing in the background. You made my "return" to l.a. worth it, you're like a brother from another mother, the last three years have been quite a journey, a blurry one sometimes? Go create something awesome.


Bradford- I will forever carry lessons on how to be liked by everyone and their mother, and their mothers dog because of this kid. B-rad. Brad dated a girl that was on the Bachelor, he's from Texas, has an unecessarily HUGE truck, plays a lot of beer pong/halo and has a certain affinity for blonde girls, that he'll never, ever, live down (after deciding not to date me). Hahah, i'm glad we're still friends, I still stand by the fact that you're probably the only guy my mom still asks me about. Thanks for letting me talk in an Anchorman voice, no matter how unattractive it may be.


Man, I am one lucky girl. I am proud of these relationships, and the people they are- and let me tell you they are fucking amazing people.
If nothing else. They were absolutley worth my time here. xoxoxo.

Wednesday, October 3, 2007

OZ HAS COME TO AN END.

Chelsea-land has officially been flipped on it's ass, and things are not good.
The world of happy little munchkins, and fairy godmothers, in bubblegum pink bubbles, granting wishes and her little dog too, have had a big mother f*cking house dropped on them.

- Series of events going something like this:

-Roomate leaves you. roomate is your friend, your homie, your road dawg. and now not only have you lost a friend, but you've lost have of their rent. And my bank account is cursing me for that.

- Cant find new roomate

-Search craigslist - "rooms wanted"....this is incredibly disappointing, and somewhat scary- it amazing how many "raw foodist" there are out there...who only want to live with other "raw foodist"....is there some veggie cult somewhere? and they must all live under the same roof. Or the smell of "COOKED" food is too much to handle?

-Oh, did i not mention, i'm jobless?? so....resumes sent= 500. 500??!!! Thats insanity. Pure straight jacket craziness.

-The decision to move back to Colorado is made. For my own health, future, lack of options. etc.

-The crippling defeat wraps its dark little claws around me. And shakes me like a baby.

-Crying like a baby begins- actually more like, Halle Berry sobbing, on the floor, followed by dry heaving, and wails of "WHAT AM GOING TO DOOOOO????" I'm not sure why the authorities weren't called during this episode.

- Ex-boyfriend tells you "he doesnt love you anymore." Wow. A seared heart covered in salt- that's how mine feels.

-Episode "Halle Berry Sob- part two" BEGINS. AND CONTINUES. and leads me to completely irrational behavior....which involve pizza, unecessary spending, and erratic driving.

-Generic-Jane-Replacement-Chick- has swooped up and stolen your one and only, ever, love. and if basking in what should be yours. And it's good i'm miles and miles away. I'd fucking glue her locks. Best advice a teach ever gave me: Super Glue.

-Audition for very important show occurs- Chelsea is cut. AGAIN. and again.

- Episode "Halle Berry Sob part three" repeat.

Everything I see or hear, or smell reminds has some attachment to this person, my experience, my failures. EVERYTHING. So now the rewiring must being. Have you ever rewired a brain? It a tedious f*cking task.

I have on the other hand, found joy in Skittles, winning POKER. over and over again, and I love to win...my friends hate that about me, theyre just bitter I'm a better poker player ;) And the CD A Fine Frenzy---Good shit.
So, i'll be driving back Tuesday morning, the proceeding blogs have to get better right? Only up from here. "Everything happens for a reason"....if someone says this to me one more time i'm throwing sharp darts in their direction. That's just a warning.

Monday, October 1, 2007

Start your day off with pie.



I'm really a "theme" based person. Like for instance- If I decide to have movie night...it's going to be full out, not one movie, not two, but a solid FIVE of spectacular choices, accompanied but a bucket of popcorn, none of that bag shit, junior mints, and my best pajamas. That is, if my movie night is a solitary one.

If we're playing poker- (which I also did last night) its going to be a bit boozy, Barcardi, a smoke filled room (smoke from what is entirely up to you, cigars, cigarettes, MaryJ, the heat from you hot body, etc.) and of course only good friends gathered around a table that get to practice their best poker faces. I was having somewhat of a moody day, WHICH ABSOLUTLEY WORKS as a "poker face" ....they think you're not in the game, you have a shitty hand, and BAM.. I got your money. Bitches.

Back to themes- the Holidays generally send me into a talespin of THEMEY-NESS. There are just so many opportunities to celebrate- and everyone knows, I like a party. As a matter of fact, I can't wait until I'm old enough to wear the stupid holiday sweaters without people thinking i'm being kitschy, but see that I am very serious about my- Autumn leave sweater with gold beads around bountiful corn husks and pumpkin patches... Come on, your grandma totally has one.

Christmas cookie parties, Pumpkin patch dates, Pumpkin carving dates, Pumpkin seed toasting with cider rendezvous, Scary movie night, Snowman making playdates, EGGNOG. Did I not mention alcohol is generally involved in some form- spiking holiday drinks is accepted at my parties. The list of party prospects is never ending really....(I can't say 'neverending' without thinking of the movie- NeverEnding Story...maybe i'll have aparty and celebrate how that movie gave me an imagination.)

Today's theme is- Pumpkin Pie for breakfast. I didn't want a bagel, or boring protein bar, and the coffee shop I was at had a glorious looking piece of pie staring at me. After I bought the pie- at 8 AM, it set off the line behind me in fits of joy, laughter, chatty conversation regarding why I was the most awesome person alive for eating pie for breakfast and affirmative support in my choice. So. Eat pie for breakfast.

Its fall, happy Oct..... Theme time baby.

Thursday, September 27, 2007

This week I've learned....

Let me start by saying, stealing WiFi can sure be a pain in the ass when people start getting stingy and locking up their junk. Jerks. Don't they know my freeloading self needs a connection? It's called be charitable people, unsecure your networks.
I've been hopping from cafe to cafe for the past few days, WiFi caffeine junkie, cause you cant just go and chill for 6 hours without at least buying an iced coffee. OR seven.

Wow. A very tall woman with dyed blonde hair is currently choking me with her Liz Taylor White Diamonds perfume, I should suggest bathing with soap instead. This is outrageous.

Ok, she's gone. Back to what I was saying.

This last weekend my family was in town- so it was a bit difficult staying updated, we had our usual quarrels but they always fizzle out and I spend the rest of the week recupirating from the sadness that looms over me when they're gone. I know, we're cute. I love my family in a big, stupid, puppy dog kind of way, even if the version of me they see is more like, a fiesty, snappy puppy.
Um- it's difficult to remember things when you dont do this consistantly- shame on me.

Here are some things I learned this week:
-Planned Parenthood in L.A. waaaay different than Denver- A. I waited 2 hours B. Everyone with tacky tattoos on tacky areas of the body inhabit the PP, for example; TACKY forearm tattoos: tweety bird, a purple rose placed in the crease of the arm? Why is that a good choice? and you cannot forget the name tattoo in swirly script, as seen on the back of trucks with a picture of the Virgin Mary.Next the - TACKY boob tattoo, I am not lying. I know saying I saw a boob tattoo would be a good affect, but it's the absolute truth. It was a person. On a boob. Falling out of a tank top. Not hot. and last but not least, you can never visit the PP without seeing a symbol of something "highclass" placed cheaply on a wrist or an ankle- i.e. the BMW symbol.....

anyways, most importantly I learned- the PP will give you a full years worth of BC if you're Po' Folk. "We also threw in some extra condoms!" .... judging from my recent track record, that seems entirely unecessary, and maybe a bit mean, but I accept the gesture. Maybe it's foreshadowing for better days to come, like my fortune cookie said at dinner "Joyfulness will prolong your days" UNDER THE SHEETS.

-Have you noticed, when it comes to driving it really doesn't matter who it is- grandma, grandpa, teenager, imporant-business-blah -blah-person, potential employer, etc. If any of these people cut you off, ride your ass, swirve in your lane, drive too slow, or miss the light- you do not hesitate to let your irritation boil, honk, give a dirty look or wave a finger. I think its important to remember these things in L.A. where it's all about status. When driving on Sunset Blvd. it's all equal playing field- even if you're driving the Range Rover and I'm not.

- Fall in L.A. isn't fall, it's just Summer extended with light showers and then people expect you to be all "yippe-ye-haw" over Halloween, Thanksgiving, and Christmas but you've been wearing flip flops for the past 7 months. It's much harder to get hyped over Santa when wearing a summer dress.

-Greys Anatomy is back tonight. I will be completely out of commission for an hour every Thursday, so please do not try to contact me during this period. Thank you.

Tuesday, September 18, 2007

A "Stand up" Day...

Seriously? Must all hair salons take off Monday, like they're creating their own little "Hair stylist holiday" Is that a rule?

Fine. I am loyal to my hot hair man, who's straight, and always teases me with things like, "Oh man chels, if I didn't have a girlfriend....You're totally a little hottie..." etc. etc.accompanied by sweet nothings, and then by the end of our hair cutting session, he manages to completely turn me off by asking me the same question- 7 times, showing that the first 6 answers I gave he clearly wasn't listening to, and then manages to throw in random musings about how he wished disco was still around cause "Everyone was on coke, and happy and just SEXXXY..." Yeah. Sexy.
Though I've stuck around for years of these sessions, today I was in dire need- I was hired for a job based off of a picture in which my hair was shoulder length. Now, my hair had gotten to ridiculous hippie length, flowing to the middle of my back, and severly in need of a brush and some detangler.
So here I am face to face with my new stylist- Marilyn. Marilyn is 65. Marilyn is from Oklahoma. Marilyn is nice. Marilyn is definitly going to give me a "Steel Magnolias" haircut. Fuck.
Surprisingly, Marilyn didn't suck. And I think her day at "the only salon that was open" was so slow, that she confessed to me she told everyone back in OK, that she liked L.A. because she wanted to be "Polite.".....
Well Marilyn...You have found yourself in the wrong city.
"Can you tell them to go fuck themselves??? No really man, you just say- HEY, go fuck yourself, and then you're outta the contract...."
It's amazing that no matter how interesting the book you're reading is, hearing someone say the word fuck immediatly grabs your attention.
This was the gaffer speaking to a business partner, or, some other 30-something TV production type, who clearly smokes pot, has been wearing the same black T-shirt for eight years, and is oblivious to his binge eating disorder, due to years of working on sets with incredible Craft Services.
Marilyn's concern for politeness came to mind and I imagined her in some rural town in Oklahoma saying to her boss, "Hey Jim, um...go fuck yourself." In her sweet mid-western way...
Can you imagine if this is how we did business in any other place other than L.A.? Polite is an urban legend in this place. It's like a foreign word...
Kind of like the word, red- is to me.
"We're gonna need you to bring a red outfit"
I was already worried about my hair cut, until he said the word RED, which rang like the plague in my ear. I happen to loathe the color red, but at 7am I was to arrive on set with a red outfit.
After rummaging through my closet, I found a red track jacket that i've had since I was 15 and said uninspiringly- "It'll do." They're not paying me enough for me to buy anything, horrificly red, so, red track jacket it is.
"Stand-In" could also be described as; living prop.
While the "starlett" sits, because her life is so gruelingly strenuous- afterall, they do make her say the word "Excluuusive" 600 different ways, while introducing people on the red carpet- it's really hard work- she rests her tiresome Marc Jacobs clad toes, sits in some red gown, by a designer that's hard to pronounce, and I stand in front of her in my red Abercrombie track jacket, while the producers comment on the shadows of green that are reflecting off my face.
She eyes me like a hawk, clearly thinking we look nothing alike. She's skinnier- more botoxed- more fabulous-etc. And I think- damn, that was nice of them- i'm obviously a solid 20 years younger than her.
Stars are weird.
The two stars today were former "Dancing with the Stars" contestants, which is why they're stars now- cause no one can remember what they were in before. It's amazing how they can turn their fun-loving, "magnetic" personalities on and off like a switch.
An eager reporter corners- BLANK- with a camera and a notepad, she asks shallow questions and BLANK turns on her "charming" ways elaborating on why such and such is sooo fantastic, and the reporter smiles and nods, eagerly licking up every drop of this oozy, imitation star, giving her that face that says, "Gimme gimme more, great, good, yes, you're perfect, those words are like candy to my ears." BLANK teeters (i'm guessing from exhaustion?) on her ridiculous high shoes and cuts the interview short. Brief. Consise. Vague Answers. Good luck conjuring up a story with that one, smiley reporter lady.
At the end of the day, you really are just a "stand-in" for their lives, which isn't always a bad thing....because when you're cut, you get to go back to your charming REAL life and cozy up in clothes from highschool with a bowl of cereal and an extra 150 bucks. Being normal doesn't suck.

Sunday, September 16, 2007

The need to escape- perfectly.

"You should get in th Carpool lane."
"I don't want to get in the carpool lane."
"WHY?"
"Well, because, we're going the same speed as the people in the carpool lane, plus it makes me nervous. Driving all fast next to the wall like that, and then not being able to change lanes if I feel like I want to. It's restrictive. And if you drive next to the wall you have to drive perfectly, if you drive in the middle lane you have a little bit more room for error. And you can escape."
"Fine. I just don't understand why you wont just get in the carpool lane. It makes way more sense...."
Most people think like this. Most people think it's perfectly sensible to drive in the carpool lane if there are two people in the car. It's like, "YAY! Carpool lane!"....I've actually heard people get that excited.
Now I, am not one of those people. As a matter of fact, I prefer to not even take the freeway- I'd rather take a longer, but more scenic route than drive super fast sandwiched between two high cement walls flying down the road at dangerous speeds... I also may decide on the way to wherever I'm going that, I dont want to go there, I'd like to to go somewhere else first....It's much harder to make choices like that when you're on the freeway. It becomes an ordeal.

My whole issue with driving in the carpool lane is a direct relationship with that fact like I like to have an escape mechanism. Which also speaks loudly the truth of my instense perfectionism mentality- If I can't drive next to wall perfectly, I wont drive there at all, or if there isn't room for me to be "less than perfect" in that situation i'd rather avoid it- when manuevering heavy machinery it's a bit different, because you may break an arm, or smash the side of your car, or your face, etc.... However, I feel like this is a symbol for the way that I live my life-...I need an escape mechanism and I "do it perfectly, or dont do it at all."
Perfectionism often = paralysis.
And always looking for the door- either literally or figuratively, is my way of maintaining my freedom? Everything I do, from the type of jobs I apply to- to the places I decide to live (which is a big one for more lately- there's been much consideration/apprehension to where, when, what I want to do, not because of lack of option- but from indecisivness between one possible good thing to another- with very muddled details of how it all will work.), to my nightly plans, etc.. are all motivated by whether or not I think i'll be able to "get out" of it , if it doesn't suit me. My disdain for the carpool lane revealed how deep this actually is for me.

We do have free will, so there really isn't anything we have to do, we are allowed to make those choices. But there are things that society or people have decided we have to do, which makes our will to stay free, less simple to decide.

You may be thinking, well- what if you're going to work? You can't just decide to drive somewhere else first, or what if you have plans- you cant just decide to change them cause you feel like it. Well, I know that's what you'd think- however, I often decide I'd rather do something else cause I feel like it.

The problem is, I can't decide if this is a great thing, or an extremely bad thing- a selfish thing?

Or if it walks a fine line in the middle of both extremes.

The need to escape and the need for perfection, alone often put you in a predicament and then paired, make deciding. doing. a bit tricky.

Everything that subsequently happens in your life is the result of choices. Those choices do change your experience, even if for a brief amount of time- I guess I have to remind myself, that we are never stuck...even if you feel as if there is no way out, there is. ? And if I truly believed that I would probably have a list of way more life lessons and experiences under my belt, but in the absense of action, I do not.

Because I'm afraid choices I make will affect me negatively, and leave less room in future for the option to make different choices.
I hope i'm not losing you all with this.... hah.
But I suppose those are just fears, and fear is a thing you create- it isn't an actual thing. Action is.

Some of these thoughts were spawned from seeing one of the best movies, I have ever seen in my life- Julie Taymor's "Across the Universe"...They were all fearless, standing for something, imperfect, beautiful....GO SEE IT.
Next time i'm on the freeway I think I will drive in the carpool lane...afterall there is always that opening to change lanes somewhere....
















Saturday, September 15, 2007

Heartbreak sucks because...

....need I elaborate on why heartbreak sucks? Other than the fact that you physically can feel your soul crushed in the pit of your stomach, I'm pretty sure we all understand why it blows. I never even use the word "blows" but, that's exactly what it does. The word "blows" should be under the definition of heartbreak, along with: dejected, "may cause weight gain", miserable, rain on a good hairday, finding out your dog got hit by a car, dreary, and the fall of Hanson. I'm pretty sure all of those things are under "heartbreak" in Websters...?

Let me list the other reasons- they happen to be very fresh, like a fresh little heartbroken baby born into the world, like cut grass, or ripe tomatos, or febreeze- my feelings on heartbreak are that fresh. So here it goes with- You know you're hearbroken when:

1. You feel like a character from "One flew over the Cuckoo's nest" or a patient from "Girl Interupted." Being heartbroken makes you feel like that times a 1000. Straight crazy.

2. Along with feeling crazy- you feel a bit like a stalker. Which is crazy.

3. You're familiar with laying in a ball, on a cold surface, which is pathetic, especially while sobbing.

4. You make a mix CD titled- "Love sucks" or "Songs that say I miss him" or my favorite, simply- "Sad mix."

5. The sight of other couples makes you lose your lunch, accompanied by feelings of fury.

6. You find the "new girl's" profile on Myspace.

7. You ask you friends 8,000 times if shes prettier than you. You say things like..." Why herrrrrrrr???" In the tone of a four year old.

8. You consider being a lesbian. And then consider who you'd actually be a lesbian for- Angelina Jolie? No, shes taken.

9. You feel like Fiona Apple is your best friend and she wrote music simply because she knew this would happen.

Here are the songs on my SAD MIX- sad, or happy. This mix is playlist worthy, itunes would buy this mix from me it's that great.
1. Songs that say goodbye- Schuyler Fisk
2. Hello- Schuyler Fisk*
3. Love Ridden- Fiona Apple
4. Where I stood- Missy Higgins*
5. 9 Crimes- Damien Rice
6. Gardenia- Mandy Moore----- please put "Candy" out of your head for a minute, this song rules.
7. Love is a losing game- Amy Winehouse
8. Grey- Ani Difranco
9. Gravity- Sara Barilles*
10. Better that we break- Maroon 5
11. When you come back down- Nickel Creek*
12. Littlest things- Lily Allen
13. Last Request- Paolo Nutini*
14. Ode to Divorce- Regina Spektor
15. The Letting go- Melissa Etheridge
16. I cant make you love me- Bonnie Raitt----NOTE: You are surely sobbing at this point. hah.
17. Why- Annie Lennox
18. Hows it gonna be- Third Eye Blond
19. Round here- Counting Crows
20.Desperately- Michelle Branch
21. Gotta have you- The Weepies*
22. Dry your eyes- The Streets
23. Rain- Patty Griffin
24. Waiting in Vain- Bob Marley
25. Does he love you?- Rilo Kiley*
and finally 26. One Fine Day- The Caprenters.
*- suggests to play on repeat

So that's for all you heartbreak kids (that movie by the way looks hilarious), jam out while clutching to old photos of ex-boyfriends/girlfriends, and keep the faith.
Heal with; funny friends, good music, long bathes, sleep, throwing things, Ben and Jerrys, episodes of Friends, skipping, The Golden Girls, paint by number, or anything you can do involving tweezers cause it takes serious focus.






 
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