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.

 
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