Everyone Wants to be a ROCKSTAR

I started bawling at a Kanye West concert. Oh that's right, while everyone was rolling their J's, puffing and passing, and doing their best imitations as a rapper's hype man; hands in the air, bouncing and attempting looking as though they had rhythm, I bawled. Snot flowing, total drama, since- that's how I roll.

Rewind to earlier in the week.....I flew out to Denver, to see Gavin Degraw, Jason Mraz, Grahmn Colton and Landon Pigg. I used to (and sometimes still do) work for one of their management companies doing some radio/newspaper promo for one of their tours, so a perk to the gig is VIP tickets, some free drinks and a music filled evening with incredible artists. The entire time during the show, I didn't want to be there writing anything. I wanted to be on stage. Singing. I wanted to feel the keys of my piano under my finger tips, the satisfaction of writing a good song, the cathartic experience of living through each story again, each emotion, each picture that you'd clipped from your memory and attached to the title. I wanted live that for an audience of strangers who'd personalized the songs for themselves.

Needless to say, later that night I proceeded to lament over a tall PBR at a scenester Karaoke bar, with Nikki Six lookalikes.

Later in the week, I got a call from a good friend who's dancing for Rihanna, and found out he was going to be in Denver on Sunday. SCORE. The line up: Lupe Fiasco, N.E.R.D, Rihanna and the spastic (though genius) Kanye West. Due to my former life as a dancer/dance studio owner's kid, and L.A. resident, I usually get hooked up for shows. I am a concert snob, VIP or go home. Let's just say, it's much better knowing the right people than getting a mad case of nose bleeding up in the rafters, while watching tiny ants move about a stage. SO yeah, call me snobbish.

The show, was. incredible. And also a little bit too much for me to handle. I've been ::this close:: so many times to being up there, that each time I'm not, it's a reminder of the fact that I'm not where I've envisioned myself being. Which may aid to my Quarter Life Crisis? So while Kanye sang Golddigger, I welled up like I do watching the Olympic games.....full of hope, full of sadness, full of salty, tears.

The next morning, I wanted to dive into a vat of peanut butter and live in it. Until I got a call from a friend in L.A.....informing me of a great backup singing audition, for a big. ass. band. with a big. ass. tour. The universe has spoken to me, and moments later....I was on a plane to L.A.

I have been doing the "shadow- artist" thing, being close and working for the artist but not actually BEING the art. So from NYC, to Denver where I was reminded of where I find my ultimate happiness, to L.A. and by the end of the day, I will have auditioned, left my heart on the stage with the hope that it is received.....

I'm set to cover Bonnaroo in Tennessee and Austin City Limits this summer, let's hope that instead of standing on the side of the stage, with my fancy laminate giving me just enough access, that I'll be out of the wings, doing my thing.

Easy there, Eager Beaver.

Can a great man come along that's somewhere in the middle....not too manly that he can't communicate, and not too sappy/sensitive that I'm the one with the bigger balls, who's bearing his children and playing softball in the backyard after installing a new shower.

I'm having some issues, I'm having a serious problem with the fact that the only attention I've been getting from men lately has been from entirely creepy, overly confident and aggressive individuals that I wouldn't date if the entire world depended on us to continue procreation. Or I'm having to "man up" while I wait for men who are complete wuss's. I'm having an issue with the fact that I can't just find someone fucking normal (albeit phenomenal human/adorable/wildly sexy and completely enamored with me, but all that's just a side note.)

"Hey!! I'm so, so sorry I'm late."

Um...a stranger on the street corner has just approached me and thinks that we are apparently supposed to be meeting? Oh God, this poor boy thinks I'm his blind date.

"Um, I'm sorry...I don't think, actually no- I know that you aren't meeting me... I'm meeting a friend and I don't know you..."
"Well, NO I was gonna call but I didn't have your number, so...."

And then, it was all clear..this strange character wearing a blazer and New Balance tennis shoes, was using a line on me. I had to give him a high five for using such a bold method of introduction. After chatting back and forth a bit, engaging in some witty repartee, I realized this odd man was actually, quite funny. Plus he called me out on being a bit spicy when he noticed I was wearing a necklace with a wrench on it that says "High Performance."

I find it to be a great conversation piece, as well as a truthful statement. Similar to my necklace that was a hammer, which opened the door for many strangers to ask if I could "get them hammered" which not only broke the ice but informed them of my affinity for liquor and tools. (Ok, I'm lying about the tools part but, wearing a flower or a butterfly around your neck is lame. Tools are awesome, even if I don't know how to use them or even if I am one.)

I digress. BACK to strange men hitting on me on street corners....

Fast forward a couple comments on why he thought we needed to date, why he found me interesting, etc. etc. And after losing only a few points for inviting me to a Keanu Reeves movie and telling me I had a face like a cherub, which only translates to; your face looks like a fat baby with wings. I gave him my email. Not a number, just a harmless email. When I responded to his first/second attempt, my signature which included my number was on it. He called, and proceeded to very aggressively try to persuade me to go out with him and then psychoanalyze "why I am the way I am", I adamantly refused to go out because I was busy and didn't know him well enough to have a pajama date. His presumptive attitude was an absolute turn off, and his anger; completely unjustified. Men for the record, I'm not on fucking call.

If it's a Sunday night and it's 9:30, assume I have plans. Even if I don't. If you think otherwise, I'm offended that you think I'm going to drop everything in order to "entertain" you for the evening, I have things to do and I like to be treated as so, as a matter of fact....what happened to making fucking plans?!

What happened to when men knew how to get your number and use the damn phone, to plan a date or see how your day was? It's cute to do a little Facebook/Myspace chatting, but don't ask me out over a text message, unless you want to be "just friends." What happened to when men took chances, ruffled their feathers a bit, tried to impress? We still have to primp and tan and put on eyeliner to get your damn attention, so when you ask me if I wanna chill without a definitive plan, over a "comment" and it's clear that there's attraction, (we're not just road dogs) it's offensive. What about realizing that they aren't always going to get YES and that sometimes, you have to lay the groundwork first. What happened to laying the ground work at ALL?!

What happened to men who knew the VALUE of a good woman and was willing to invest? Or is that man some mythical character we've created from watching movies like Sleepless in Seattle and every damn Reese Witherspoon/Julia Roberts/Jennifer Aniston/Drew Barrymore flick (minus Fear, that one was twisted. ET is void as well.)

With all of our methods of communication you'd think that we'd be communicating BETTER, instead we're only communicating more efficiently, not with more clarity.

Because of texting, BlackBerrys, Myspace, AIM, etc...men haven't had to CHASE anything, other than shoot over a follow up email. We haven't had to go through nearly as much to show our interest in someone, so men especially have stopped trying at all. It's much easier to text it.

So no, I'm not available. I'm not available unless I know, you're 100% aware of my value and I will be 100% aware of yours. I'm not available if you aren't going to be a man. Be respectful, be interested, understanding, chivalrous, considerate.... I know that people aren't perfect, but if we're going to attempt getting to know each other, at least be willing to put in the time to do so, so that I know you think it's worth it. And maybe, you don't....so if that's the case, you are a silly, silly man. (Note: this is addressed to all men interested, not Mr. New Balance on 6th ave, sorry bro.)

An Unwelcome Guest: The Quarterlife Crisis

Do you ever wish you could just have a really good sex dream?? You know, the kind where you wake up and you realize " Oh shit, was I just violated in my sleep?" So you check the closet (yes, I've done this) peek under the bed, go through old texts to see if you mentally blocked out a "sleep-walking booty call." I want one of those dreams. I want to wake up all sweaty and confused, all the while completely satisfied, and ready to fall back asleep again for round #2. Tension needs to be released, and let. me. tell. you. why....

I am smack dab in the middle of my quarterlife crisis. The eagle has landed. Not just one eagle, an entire flock.

Oh no, this whole juncture is no myth. This is not a "tall tale", or a Big Foot sighting- the quarter life crisis is as real as my fucking panic attacks that come along with it, and my business cards (I'm no longer scribbling my "info" on Orbit gum wrappers). So real in fact that I am currently wielding a book titled, "Quarterlife Crisis- The Unique Challenges of life in your Twenties"
I like how they use the word unique to make it sounds like it's some sort of gift. Like a nice hand-crafted, ornately painted Russian egg, or something. Unique, such a patronizing word to put into a title handling such fragile circumstances. I'd like to write a hate letter to whoever invented the word UNIQUE.

First off, they address; How Do You Recognize Your Quarterlife Crisis?
Oh, I know how. When a burly/frightening figure traipses into your mind, with big BLACK BOOTS and then proceeds to point out that you are slowly losing your identity, all the while eating processed foods, "ya know, you can't live on peanut butter and dried apricots forever....." THANK YOU FOR POINTING THAT OUT, MR. MIND ASSHOLE. Unfortunately, I still have a thing for Lucky Charms, are you going to judge that too?? The "inner voice" who tends to be a snarky biatch is a pretty clear indicator that you're in it. One day, you're putting on your "adult clothes" and kicking your skull and crossbones Converse tennies under your $40 hand-me-down dresser, while picking the right blazer that matches perfectly and you look in the mirror and say- "Who the fuck is that? And how am I drenched from head to toe in taupe?"

Luckily, I haven't gotten to the taupe part yet, I'm not nearly tan enough for that business. But I see it approaching like a damn steam train painted fire engine red....either that or another bartending gig, which lord knows in the midst of a "crisis" I'd be the one taking the shots, or drinking whiskey with a straw.

They also attempt addressing; How Am I Supposed To Figure Out Who I Really Am??

For me, this isn't the problem. The problem is realistically BEING who I already know I am. Is that every one's problem?? Or are some people walking around like, "Who am I? Who am I?" I am very in tune and very aware of WHO I am, and what I love and don't, what fulfills me, where I find my happiness....however, on paper, the description of me would have an uncanny resemblance to that of a vagabond, wearing a lot of jewelry (and telling exciting stories that sound mostly like lies, but are actually true), creating, singing, writing and living. I am a modern day Gypsy with a modern day taste, which leaves me in a modern day conundrum of deciding what to sacrifice in order to live in line with my happiness....

Having ridiculous motivation, like many of us Twentysomething's often get us to a point- a fork in the road, where you are choosing to be a "yes" person, while sacrificing the inner/outer aspects that may suffer as a result: family, friends, personal fulfillment-unless personal fulfillment is centered solely around work and that is where it gets tricky... If it isn't the other road is finding/acknowledging that WORK isn't what your sole purpose is in life is, because you find fulfillment in other areas as well.

This is where the fine line is, the balance beam that I toe, knowing some of what makes my life rich, flavorful and fulfilling is that, that comes with work...while other parts are that that comes with following my heart, whether it's lucrative financially for me, or not. As an artist, I have no cushion. But as an adult....I know that I'll need one. The best words of wisdom my mom said to me once while I was planning a budget were, "Budget Fudget...." So this is the school of knocks I come from. Even though, my family personally can't fudget- it's a nice idea.

So here I am, in my hallway of an apartment, in my twin sized/loft bed- eating chocolate- from Easter (whoever said the Easter bunny shouldn't visit adults, was heartless) and reading this book, while taking notes and praying I can BALANCE. Being in the midst of a crisis is like being in a fish bowl and until someone takes the fish out of the water, I suppose I have to swim in it.

Priorities in check- movies and icecream

I sometimes wonder if I'm too ADD to be a writer. Today I have successfully dodged all productivity and instead have watched two Paul Walker movies, apparently someone over there at USA has a massive Paul Walker crush and decided to make Sunday "Paul Walker Marathon Day", cause poor thing can't act worth a lick, speaking of which I would LOVE to lick him. So, congrats on a successful career Paul for being so incredibly lick worthy.

I have Googled Ben and Jerry's and all of their new flavors (Stephen Colbert's Americone Dream and Raspberry Chocolate Chunk in the "light" version), and have had enough restraint to not run down the stairs and go sample each of them, simply because then I'd have to run SIX FLIGHTS back upstairs to enjoy it, and exercising is not in my "do nothing at all" plan.

I have had a Leona Lewis, Bleeding Love "dance break." That's right, you've all seen them...the "dance break" is commonly used in romantic comedy's, I'm pretty sure Cameron Diaz popularized the "dance break" however, I was wearing pants. Since, my dance break wasn't going to be seen by millions I didn't need to get in my skivvies to rake in the numbers, I just needed to shake it off. I also like to do-a-lil-jig anytime I start to zone out listening to depressing Alanis Morisette songs (shut up, she's still cool) and watching the History Channel.

Instead of being productive I have read from cover to cover every. single. magazine. in my apartment, which is a SHITLOAD of magazines since both of my roommates work in fashion, and I write, while aspiring to look "fashionable."

Part of the reason I've wanted to be a complete black hole of procrastination is due to the fact that my brain has been functioning on high-speed in the Red Zone for a solid week. I haven't slept and haven't plucked my eyebrows, or taken care of "my needs" and apparently while meeting people, exchanging business cards, emailing and attempting looking as if I am "on it" the thought of Ben and Jerry's and "movie day" has etched it's way into my subconscious. So while I prepare to work on a Sunday, which I did on Friday and Saturday night, my body has said "Eff you, work. Take a backseat. See you Monday, bitch."

And with that, I bring you a slideshow....

FINISH THIS SENTENCE.....

"Instead of doing_________ I procrastinate by doing _______"

New York has stopped doing the dishes.

Taxes sent, check. Back on the "healthy eating" plan, check. The Pope has landed, check. Speaking of which, the whole Pope thing really amuses me, and so do his outfits, that are really just costumes.... but whatever, Happy Birthday.

New AWESOME job freelancing at a magazine, check!! I'm so terrible at keeping my mouth shut (hence the blog) however I couldn't be more stoked (yes, I will still talk like a California surfer and say stoked, gnarly, and for sure) on this one, it's a huge, huge career step for me that will involve a lot of fun gallivanting about with starlets and such, fusing entertainment and writing, my two favorite things.

I am still loving New York, but now- our honeymoon is over. New York and I were dating each other and we were on our best behavior for awhile; it was impressing me and showing me all of it's attractive qualities, I had stars in my eyes and I sashayed down it's streets. New York was courting me in the old fashioned, chivalrous way that a big, strong, city (I'd like to insert MAN here asap so that my relationship with NYC doesn't have to get intimate, kissing dirty concrete is not my gig) should.

New York, just like anyone you're dating after some time, is starting to show me it's true colors.
All week long I've wanted to slip on a California sun dress and flip flops, I've wanted to throw my hair in a messy bun on top of my head and not give a shit that I didn't IRON my fucking jeans, but New York wouldn't like that. I've wanted to wear sweatpants and tank tops like I did in L.A. every. day. and not have New York wondering why I didn't get dressed up.

I've wanted to invite friends over and spread out on the carpet and play Sorry while one of the men of the group barbecued on our balcony, but New York won't give me space to do it.
I really need to get my nails done, so they don't look like a rabid animal got a hold of my hands but New York wants me to save my money for other things.
New York has stopped showing up on time and doesn't always get me a taxi when I'm in a hurry, like it used to.

I'd love to lay out on the beach all day long and eat frozen yogurt with my toes covered in sand, sunburnt skin and my best friends....but New York hasn't give me a day to lay on the beach and New York doesn't include my best friends. New York doesn't like nature and wouldn't ever want to go camping or take a hike. New York doesn't understand why I miss Target so much and things Duane Reade will suffice, this is a big argument for us. It doesn't understand that my idea of "home" doesn't inlclude a doorman.

I really needed to run a simple errand and New York reminded me that I, "lack direction" whatever that means. New York loved taking me out and now it wants to eat foot long Subway sandwiches because there's an "amazing $5 dollar deal." New York isn't as clean as I thought it was and New York doesn't want to cuddle. Worst of all, New York is constantly nagging me about what I'm going to do next, New York had a glass of wine to celebrate my new venture and immediately wanted to start talking about work again instead of kicking off it's shoes and watching Rock of Love. New York doesn't care about my family, or the whole "family" thing at all, which is a major concern for me, New York never wants to cook at home and won't set down it's Blackberry. New York is "leaving the seat up" in a big way.

Like many of my ex's, Los Angeles included, New York is showing me that it isn't perfect. Shame on me for projecting perfection onto it, but again New York is making it very clear to me that maybe there is a reason I'm usually single....

"Use yo brain not a gat"

Fuckin' balls. I don't know why, just because.

Don't you wish you could blame everything on "gangsta rap."

Like, "oh yeah....that bill? I couldn't pay that one. Gangsta rap made me do it. "

Those rappers are really onto something there. Gangsta rap is the the new, "My dog ate my homework." Gangsta rap is the new "traffic" excuse. Gangsta rap is the new "It wasn't me." I happen to be a serious fan of ultimate denial...."It was NOT me." Blaming gangsta rap is the new "flat tire." or "vertigo." (one of my favorites that I keep in my back pocket for rainy days) Gangsta rap is a snow day. Brilliant. I'd like to be completely unaccountable for all of the shit that I've done in the past. Especially that, that was/is? detrimental.

I'm pretty sure that most people would like to blame Gangsta Rap, for instance;

*Eliot Spitzer, he was all about some hooker action and I think he'd like to take NO RESPONSIBILITY for it. It's the pimps fault. Or the the mafia (we can blame the mafia too, since they're the OG of all things gangsta inspired.)
*Bill Clinton, blow jobs at work are either raunchy or are they gangstaaa?
*I'm sure Britney Spears would like to blame that whole head-shaving fiasco on the hoodlums, they definitely had something do with those dice tattooed on her wrist. Oh wait, maybe that was Kevin? Which is one and the same, or so he'd like to think.
*Fergie should definitely take NO responsibility for doing a front walk over in leather pants on American Idol's "Big Give" last night, from what I know of leather garments, there was no give in those suckers. Fuckin leather pants?? Can someone check to see if she's packing a stash, she's lost her damn brain.

On a more personal note, I would like to take a moment to blame Gangsta Rap for the following actions I have taken;

1. The various times I have responded to a relative, employers, cashiers etc. with "Word." Instead of yes, or thank you.

2. The time I broke into my house. At least it was mine.

3. For my affinity for greenery. Legalize it.

4. For not calling or returning calls to most men who hit on me: the guy from Utah who gave me his card- sorry bro, all of the dudes I have talked to on planes (and I travel a lot), Mammound, you're in my cell phone but I have no recollection of meeting you? The guy from Starbucks who let me listen to his ipod, and all of those who I've lost interest in, after a single conversation. You know who you are- it's not you it's me and my inner pimp. Actually, I'm still wounded and I'm sure the "inflicter" would blame his FUCKING UP MY MIND, (temporarily, we hope) on gangsta rap so, I'll let it slide.

5. For bartering with a street vendor on the cost of a churro. from $1 to fifty cents.

6. The time I drunkenly tried to convince my mother that Mcdonalds in Oklahoma would deliver, "Ma, they'll delliverr, caush if youuu lived here, you'd be WAITING to get out, MA- I'd even tell 'em I'll promote their businesss if they deliver. Give me the phone. It'll be the best day of their life."

7. The copious amount of white eye liner I wore in 7th grade.

8. The time I threw a party in high school while the 'rents were out of town, and til this day there are stains on my ceiling from people shotgunning beers in my kitchen. Classy.

9. For the crush on my 8th grade math teacher. Mr. Cisna if you're out there- holla.

10. The time I gave someone a sympathy kiss.

11. The nickname "C. Giggly" that's right- Night at the Apollo. you. don't. even. know. I'm coming with some fresh rap talent. With a crumping dance break. Stand up.

12. Parking in the handicap spot with an expired sticker my Granny jacked for me.

13. Road rage. Which has turned into "Walk rage" down NYC streets. My pace is on fire.

I'd like to blame gangsta rap for my secret desire to want to evade paying my taxes, for making me press the snooze button more than three times, for forgetting birthdays, and for picking at my cuticles. I'd like gangsta rap to justify my neurosis, my sailor's mouth and my urge to spend my non-money on things like candles and tapestry's.
Gangsta rap is responsible for sticking my foot in my mouth, thinking not all babies are cute, liking Shayne from The Bachelor, judging people who wear Crocs (even if they are comfortable), and for thinking I'm always right.

So from now on all of my mishaps, overdrawn fees, cravings for chocolate bars dipped in peanut butter, "running late", and hang overs. Are due to, gansta rap. Which is a better excuse than, "My parole officer said..."

What would you like to use Gangsta rap as an excuse for?

I'll start AND finish with the appetizer.

I abide by my expiration dates. Everything I do has a shelf life. I'm not a damn twinkie.

I don't know, maybe it's the Sagittarius in me, so I can easily blame it on the stars and the planets. Maybe astrology is responsible for why I mentally put an expiration date on everything that I begin, everyone I meet and everything I scribble down onto a list of goals. The list is long, so dating it only makes sense.

Most people get into a habitual pattern of sameness and what they do never expires. I am aware and completely comfortable with the fact that I am indeed FICKLE. I learn QUICKLY, I observe even more quickly and I can evaluate whether a situation (or a person) is going to be beneficial or worth it in the long run of my, "life plan." Which either makes me a terribly difficult person, or a fucking genius. I stop ingesting things into my life when they have gone stale.

I don't call back if I know it's a waste of time. I don't nod yes to a date #2 if I know I'll be counting how many people are wearing red in the restaurant while he divulges his family dramas or I'll be counting down the seconds while he kisses me for it to end. I don't waste my time because I don't know how much of it I have, so I'd rather use it wisely.

I have become a "one serving" person. The first course. An Anti pasta. Or no, I'm the second since that has more meat to it. The first course is always a fucking tease, that leaves you licking pieces of salt off of a tiny plate like a rabid animal. I give someone just enough, I convince someone JUST ENOUGH and get them all excited and what not, and then.....I flee. I begin, I ace the test and then I'm uninterested in what I was taking the test for. Call me a true product of the Sesame Street generation- 2 minute clips will suffice.

After round one, I have already made up my mind. And maybe that is precisely the problem, I am already a closed book before course #2, #3 and...dessert comes along.

I live by impulse. When my mind becomes aware to another opportunity, I am on it like white on mother fucking rice and I forget where I even began in the first place.
I am so content with people in my past, and the promises in my future that presently I tend get caught up in where I'm going before I can be where I'm already at.

I have become a "dab'll do ya" person because the things in my life have not lived up to their expectations, so I seek MORE. And is expectation the problem? I'm a list maker, a goal maker, I have a plan on how I spend my OFF days. The puritan values that Americans live by that make us feel guilty over indulgence, or make us feel like "good" is bad, has never stuck with me however- if anything I've taken such an opposite approach that I've given the big finger to all things carbon copy. I've said fuck off to 9-5, I've said screw sitting through another dinner an acting interested and I've stamped a BIG FAT "ceases on" this day stamp on EVERYTHING. I've said "fuck off" to so many things I'm an official fucker and sadly only figuratively speaking.

So far I do really well with everything for about three months and then the panic attacks start to set in and I'm ready to elope.

I am fully responsible for rebuffing security because security has only meant boredom to me in the past.

If you relate my seemingly neurotic sense back to the fact that we ARE animals, it actually makes sense. I follow the seasons, I'm in tune with the cycles. Isn't that part of what contributes to our depression in the first place? Is feeling as if we have no freedom to follow our instincts? Caffeine, Nicotine, Alcohol, Schedules, etc. all numb us out just enough to COPE. To cope with the fact that we don't know how to follow our GUT, or "listen to our hearts," or understand timing and sense danger or feel chemistry most of the time. So much of our time is spent out of sync, that we've learned to live in the discomfort.

The best things in life have an expiration date: Fruit- bananas bruise, strawberries shrivel, apples turn to mush. Veggies- Have you ever tasted rotten broccoli? Holy hell if I've ever experienced it. Meat- Animals live, then they die, then they stay fresh only for so long before WE die if we ingest it. The seasons- Our bodies prepare for that change, we hibernate, we bundle up, we feast and we relax. Season renew the parts of our lives that feel stagnant.

So the best things in life BEGIN and THEY END. That is where WE have be aware of when things have started going sour.....For me, it's about every three months.

The Question is, if living in this way may be healthy, is it truly realistic with the standards of the modernized world? Probably not. So call me a fucker, or a job hopper or perpetually dissatisfied, all of those; I am not.

I am a seeker. I seek the newness, the high of feeding off energy from change and drinking in AS MUCH as possible and adding as many chapters as possible in this life....that DOES expire.

What are you doing or who do you know in your life that is FAR past its expiration date???

Our Bodies, Our Machines

For most of us our bodies are complete enigmas. They’re these things that function completely without really any conscious thought. They’re full of gushing, messy pieces that look like they could be cooked and put on our dinner plates, they have different valves and parts, holes and linings. They’re responsible for our ability to live and breathe, yet their pieces are completely foreign to us. We claim no responsibility and often have no real relationship with our bodies, yet we live in them, carry them with us and beat the shit out them in the mean time and often they retaliate. They remind us that we don’t necessarily have “the power,” they do. They decide.

Your body decides to get gas, you don’t; it decides to punish you for eating spicy Southwestern quesadillas, you don’t; it decides to crack, to wrinkle, to scar and to stretch- you don’t. It decides to get tired, even when you’re mentally awake your body tells you to stop; to slow down.

Wouldn’t it be amazing if all of the things you often feel you can’t control within yourselves had an on/off switch, and worked and functioned just as efficiently as the rest of the pieces that make up our being.

I'd like to be able to access SWITCHBOARD in my mind that allowed me to turn off certain emotions, bodily reactions, fears, sweats, blushes....etc. If we had the access to turn on and off ALL OF THE EMOTIONS and REACTIONS that happen to us that are on automatic I think I would feel more connected to mySELF, rather than feeling like I a puppet playing victim to my internal master.

If we could all turn on our “you-ness” and all the pieces we LIKE all the time, rather than just around the people who you know already accept them.

We strive as people to be who we are, and end up only being who we are most of the time with people who know who we are- already.

There are times when I feel like Superwoman and I have this stone cold, hard as a rock capacity to remain tough, to use my inner wall like a shield and build it when I need to or break it when it’s safe. The mind is a powerful thing, it's just a matter of finding the power to harness it and use it consciously.

There are parts of myself that I have turned off through circumstance, experience, desire, relationships, surroundings, etc. My brain has this subconscious outline of who I am and HOW I am in every situation and location and often reacts accordingly without my conscious decision that I wanted certain parts on autopilot.

In LA I turned off warmth because I was used to cold. In New York I turn on warmth because I’m afraid of cold. At home I turn on ease, I turn on this whole side of my personality that makes everything feel and look effortless, because I know I am safe and taken care of. In New York I turn on survival mode,. Where even stopping on a stoop to get an eyelash out of my eye looks frazzled and hurried. In New York I don’t feel pain until I’m steady, until I’ve gotten through the whole day, my back doesnt hurt when I’m lifting (yes lifting, I’ve started a new side job that I’ll inform you of in another post) and running and my feet know that they have a long way to go so they keep going. I turn off awareness and turn on tunnel vision. Tunnel vision though motivating, can also be negative because you lose perspective.

I wish there were certain parts that could stay on ALL THE TIM in order to balance out the switches that turn on without my approval that make me feel insane.

Most importantly, I wish that I had the TIME to USE my brain the way I know I could in order to consciously turn off parts that are unnecessary and often harmful.

The buttons I’d like to keep on automatic all the time are:
Kindness- which is on most o f the time and is usually only tampered with when others are unkind….

Confidence. This goes into hibernation mode at some of the most critical times of it’s importance…what the FUCK is that about?

Compassion. Because it makes everything better. I believe it is the number one healing emotion that a person can have.

Faith. If I had Faith all the time, I wouldn't worry about the future because I'd know its taken care of.

Humor. making life LIGHT keeps you grounded.

and Courage.

The buttons I'd like to have control over:

Rationality. I don't want this on automatic, otherwise I wouldn't have experienced HALF of what I have. Moving tow New York with 800 dollars was NOT rational...but I'd do it again.

Charm. Though it can be useful, it can be taken as disingenuous.

Lust. If I could control this, I would have made far less bad decisions. But it's fun sometimes...

Perfectionism. This one emotion is often the cause and demise of greatness for me.

Gluttony. Sometimes too much of a good thing IS good.

Snark. yes, sass, snark, spice, BOLDness...I have these ON most of the time, they govern many parts of myself but I'd like to be able to control them a bit more...

The buttons I'd like to keep OFF always:

Anger.

Jealousy.

Doubt.

Fear.

If you had the access to your inner SWITCHBOARD, what parts would you keep ON/OFF.....which emotions are useful SOMETIMES and harmful at other times??