Nicole is Better and Chelsea is CRAZY.

Nicole is Better just spent three nights with me....and we made a video. Cause, we're awesome like that.

Some highlights in bullet points:

• Mr5280, My Love, Nicole is Better and Chelsea Talks Smack meet for "Happy-Hour"....nine hours later My Love is picking the three of us up from a strip club. Called Shotgun Willies. Obviously, that's the classy one. 
• Waitress wants to take Nicole and I home, instead I divert her love by telling her about my vintage dress with weird dolls on it. 
• Nicole and Chelsea are assumed sisters, or twins multiple times. 
• Inordinate amounts of iced tea consumption and talks of "life plans" followed by eating cheese in excess. 
• Cuddling. love. white wine and awesome Denver lofts.

Now....eat cake and be merry. 

I found OLD CONDOMS in a Kabbalah book. No, I did- for real.

“If you think you can do it, or you think you can't do it, You are right.”

This is COMPLETELY true and sometimes, the past makes it hard to think we "can." So I started thinking.....

Eight days....eight days to NOT post is too long. So sorry. I was busy busying myself with finding ways to be more busy. If that makes any sense. 

I spent SIX HOURS cleaning my room today. No, not my house- just A ROOM. I dusted off old boyfriend's t-shirts, pants from years before my ass is it's current-WIDER size, and condom wrappers that ended up in strange places, like between pages of my Kabbalah for Dummy's book? This is not a joke, and the fact that it was a Kabbalah book reveals the date of my last cleaning attempt (just Google Madonna red bracelet or Britney Kabbalah and you'll find it was a long effing time ago that that religion was "trendy")

I found memorial programs with faces of the deceased gracing the cover, WHITE EYE LINER-since yes, at one point I was a Cholo? Gum wrappers, tampons and enough change to do a load of laundry for India. Birthday cards with outdated wishes from friends I'll never see again and school acceptance letters to places I never attended. Crushed dried rose petal leaves and fallen feathers from pillow cases that snuck themselves into crevasses and neglected nooks, and more than once I found that "missing sock." 

As I threw out bags and BAGS of old memories and old "Me's" I couldn't help by wish that I could manually go through my SUBCONSCIOUS and do the same thing. Things are just "things" the memory isn't tangible- yet it sticks anyway.

We can purge THINGS. And even when I was sleeping, night after night, among these dead parts of myself, I was breathing in their presence. Even though now, I won't break my pinky toe by tripping over a platform in the middle of the night on the way to grab some water, the exes, the rejection letters, the acceptance letters, all of that has affected me. The affect of the "thing" isn't something you can throw out. 

I've been looking into new job opportunities and My Love and I have thrown around ideas of "future" what not's and with all of that "future" there's still all of the past. The past that makes us doubt, over-analyze, question our capability and throw out the "Victim Card" where we take the backseat to our failures and place blame instead, blame on lack of luck or "if only....". 

When we're applying something new we can't help but think of the last thing that we attempted that maybe didn't work out "as planned." When we throw ourselves into the stickiness of love, we can't help but accidentally play out some of our previous bad behaviors and habits and when we talk about the "future" ending up differently, we can't help but think, "but, it didn't work last time....why would anything be different now?"

I don't want to be someone who resigns their power because of how something has previously affected them. 

Imagine if that "thing" someone told you you weren't good at never happened? Imagine if no one ever told you you "couldn't" or "shouldn't" do something? Imagine what it would be like to forget that silly comment someone made about your nose being "too big" ....would you have ever thought it was?

We operate on a daily basis out of PAST lessons, but once we've moved through it, it's just another lesson like algebra and should too be forgotten, filed somewhere in the memory but the "mistake" of the lesson shouldn't turn into a FEAR that'll it still remains. Or else, the lesson comes again. And again. And we end up treading water among the same mishaps, the same disappointments and the same self-victimization we're so used to feeling. 

LIFE, makes us who we are but it's how we react to it that makes our LIVES what they become. 

Amongst the condoms, the too-small panties, the outdated lipgloss colors and broken accessories, I decided I would do my best to MENTALLY purge the roadblocks, the insecurities and the BOULDER of doubt that tumbles it's way into my walking path all too often. 

Tonight, I'll sleep well in clear spaces with the scent of Orange Glo in my dreams-hopefully I won't die from poinsonous fumes. Tomorrow, I'll forget that TODAY I received three rejection letters and still have a nearly empty bank account. Onward.....onward.....

IF YOU COULD GET RID OF ONE MEMORY OR THING THAT AFFECTS YOU WHAT WOULD IT BE???

 

Dear Childhood, you were fun. Come back.

(yeah, that's not my body. Must be nice. Don't worry, if I see this woman-I'll trip her.)

The first indication that summer is already on it's way has come, the backs of my knees are sweating....profusely and I want to eat mango's naked, while laying in a hammock. 

When you're a kid summer means Slip 'N' Slides, full days at the pool with that new-best-friend-so-and-so-with-the-cool-nanny who shares her noodle and damp Goldfish crackers in the kiddie pool. It means going to bed at night exhausted from the heat of the sun and falling asleep with an Otter Pop in your mouth while TV Land plays in the background. It means ridiculous full-bodysuit tan lines, and accidental nipple slippage at water parks. It means "hanging out at the mall" and buying unnecessary accessories from Claire's, followed by some harmless prank calling to boys who still have little girl voices. It means first kisses on porches with the sounds of sprinklers in the background and awkward hand holding. It means getting drunk for the first time on Wine Coolers and second-hand Vodka, running from the cops in heels through a park after "curfew" (What, you didn't do that?) and "Fat Girl Nights," a declared evening with a free ticket to Binge Fest- minus the actual eating disorder/body issues which surface sometime after high school, when you realize eating Cheetos, Licorice, tubs of raw cookie dough, Ice Cream and drinking Queso with a straw is actually a problem. 

 Summer is declared "freedom" for three months. THREE MONTHS where you can skinny dip and sleep in with out giving a flying Mother EFF. It's freedom without accountability for anything when you're young. Even when you're in college, it's the "time that doesn't really count until the next semester begins," the future seems so far away and making out with your roommates boyfriend seems ethical (no I never did that.) There's no guilt if you sleep past 9am, the kind that says you should get on the horn and make.shit.happen. or rambles some BS about Early Birds and worms. The biggest concern is which cereal to eat for breakfast and how to do a better keg stand. 

As an adult, it means trying to figure out how the FUCK to get through a day without looking like someone smeared Vaseline all over your T-zone. My face is melting off, resulting in what looks like a puddle of a "liquid MAC cosmetics gone wrong,"experiment on my desk. And my ass is sweaty. Like, don't touch me or I'll Triple Lutz jump you straight to the jaw (ice skating terms have always sounded like ninja moves to me.) You know how hard it is for your ass not to sweat when you sit on it in front of this thing all day??? Can someone please invent a ventilation system that doesn't involve a noisy fan attached to my underwear.

Now, summer means sitting in front of the fucking computer when all I want to do is saunter lazily around 7-Eleven contemplating which Corn Nuts are better and then make the BEST LAYERED SLURPEE EVER, IT SHOULD BE A DRINK IN ITSELF, beverage. 

I want to wear sweat shorts, yeah- sweat shorts. Not Khaki, or what "adults" wear in the summer when they're trying to look sophisticated and FAKE the look of comfort with something "breezy" or light weight. I'm perfectly fine flouncing around in my bikini top and singing Jay-Z at the top of my lungs with the windows rolled down.... and let me tell ya, it's really hard to play Real Life Grown Up while singing Jay-Z and it's even harder to take someone wearing KHAKI fucking seriously while singing JAY-Z. I mean, come on.

As a matter of fact, I think the only person on the planet who's bad ass enough to wear khaki freely IS Jay-Z. Otherwise, you look like some rich country club douche.... or a Target employee.

I want to just have Peter Pan syndrome and enjoy the sunshine. Not return any emails for the week....or for three damn months and then when September comes around just pick up where I left off. Those bastards who invented school were tricky....they put us in a cycle of work hard/play hard, then they throw us into a NO. BREAK. EVER. School of Life where the only delayed start you're granted is when your alarm clock accidentally breaks or you're blessed with the flu. Three days of a flaming A-hole for three days of no accountability may not be a bad trade. Though the people with Swine Flu may argue that...hey, at least they have a trendy flu. Anyway....

Tomorrow, I'm packing a picnic and fleeing to the park...I  may even drink a wine cooler. Cause I found one in my fridge from oh, 1999 and I'm a classy broad. I may even make a spritzer with Crush soda if I'm feeling wild. Bust out your little dreaded bikini's my lovelies, it's almost adult summer time and I'm bringing back the water guns!!!

WHAT'S YOUR FAVORITE THING ABOUT SUMMER????

BLAH, BLAH, YOU BORE ME.

Well guys, turns out, I don't have a brain tumor. I guess I can stop asking My Love questions like, "if I were bald would you still love me?" to which he promptly and very seriously replies "absolutely, you'd be beautiful bald. You'd be beautiful 10 pounds, 15 pounds bigger, or...if you were a leper..." OK, he didn't say he the part about the leper, I added that for flare. Though, he may think I were a sexy leper, I think he loves me that much and he's way nicer than I am, I'd kick the leper to the curb. I digress.... 

Now that I've KNOW there's nothing wrong with me I can start dealing with my anxiety with comforting affirmations like, "chill out darlin' you don't have MS" or, "well, at least it isn't brain cancer" this is where I also insert deep breathing. 

SO TODAY, anxiety free, I couldn't help but notice a wanning sort of discontent. Discontent with a day that was seemingly content-worthy, "perfect." I went to whole foods, worked out, read a good book, didn't get hit by a any cars or attacked by a rabid dog and here I am driving around and all I could think was...."I AM. BORED."

I'M BORED!!  I'm so bored I'm considering ways to do something extreme like, get naked in an inappropriate setting just to shock people or stop wearing a bra, COMPLETELY. It's almost like having the anxiety gave me enough to think about that busied my mind from the facts. That on a spread sheet would read: I am. bored. utterly. bored. 

But why? Why am I bored? After all boredom is state, a declared state of being. We decide we're not interested anymore in what we're doing, we don't like the shade of paint on our walls, or the neighborhood we live in, we decide Pinot Grigio is the most boring glass of wine ever and you've been missing out on beautiful sweet Rieslings, and then you're bored with those too. Our jobs have become routine, the people who used to entertain us suddenly seem stale, even Starbucks has lost it's ability to shock me into some excited sugar coma. So, we DECLARE ourselves BORED. This thing, this person, this "state" is boring me. Deciding your  bored is giving up. It's surrendering in the laziest form. No need to wave a white flag, that'll take too much work. 

Deciding boredom is saying, "I've evaluated all of the possible options and I've decided none of the are good enough for me." It's giving up on the ability to look at things from a different angle and make them interesting again. 

Then, because the Universe swoops in at the most opportune moments, (except for when you're in a bathroom stall with no toilet paper), I read an article about the MOTIVATION behind why we do what we do. Lately, EVERYTHING I do, has to do with it's outcome, not with the process. I've become bored because when the results aren't miraculously set into my open palms with a cherry on top, the rest isn't "good enough." The things I love doing have morphed from beloved abilities, talents, luxuries even, into the SOURCE behind my stress, my displeasure with the things I don't have yet. 

My declared state of boredom is because I've stopped observing my surroundings and I've set my sights on some place like Mykonos instead. Dreaming isn't the problem. Seeking great outcomes, running fiercely with motivation or "wanting" aren't WRONG....they only become a problem when you forget the REASON behind why you want, strive, seek, etc. The root of that usually being, LOVE. What? Yes, love. Cliches exist for a reason people, this one happens to be true.

I seek greater writing opportunities because I LOVE to write, not just for the resume line. I make music because I LOVE music, not because I thought it'd make me millions. Though that may be the future goal, it isn't the root of WHY I'm there in the first place, if it were for the millions I would've written "Dontcha" a long time ago.

So when I could easily be bored with my current state I've decided this week I'll remember first the motivation behind my goals for my life and I'll stop struggling so hard to FORCE the "correct" outcome, rather, I'll let it happen in it's own time therefor avoiding my thumb-twiddling-boredom because I'M NOT WAITING. Waiting for "something." Instead of waiting for that feeling that "SOMETHING" has finally arrived I'll be happy with the "SOMETHING'S" already present in my life. 

This week I'll look at things differently, I'll write sitting on the floor in my laundry room, I'll mediate upside down, I'll do everything without seeking results. I'll do a cartwheel in a parking lot, I'll braid my hair, email an old friend, I'll LINGER, and I'll declare that boredom isn't an option, instead creativity is. 

WHAT WILL YOU DO THIS WEEK???

How much "CRAZY" can you see on an MRI???

The LAST thing you should do to a person with massive anxiety is put them in a small tube, with their head in a cage. Come on, med school 101 right? Don't cage crazy people. 

Yesterday, I had to do just that. Except, I was the one being caged. 

Surprisingly enough, this is actually a topic I haven't covered on my blog, and we all know there aren't many topics that go untouched-especially if it's TMI or anything revolving around my neurosis, sex, or my desire to be enlightened and famous (oxymoron?) 

For the past three years I've struggled seriously with anxiety. And not just the sweaty palms, I'm nervous about "blah blah blah" kind of thing. It's the knock down, breathe stealing, "I'M GOING TO DIE RIGHT THIS SECOND" kind of panic attack. It starts of gradually, my right hand goes numb, then I can't feel my ear, then the right side of my face, then everything sort of spins and all ability to rationally talk  myself out of freaking-the-fuck-out goes out the window. I start pacing, or excuse myself to some bathroom stall where I repeat a series of affirmations surrounding me in white light and sparkly bubble gum pink glitter. Yeah....are we still friends? Then read on...

I deal with it on a daily basis, usually and have only had three massive panic attacks- one in LA, one in NYC, and one in Amsterdam where it felt like the Red Light District was caving in on me. I ran, full on SPRINTED past boobs and delicious marijuana, back to my hotel where I suddenly became religious and screamed to the sky, "I'm not ready to diiiiiiieeeeeeeeeeeeee." Then I woke up the next morning and poof! still alive, just a little more crazy than the day before. 

In between times like that, the people who are closest to me start seeing signs when I tug on my ear, or start twirling an imaginary baton in my right hand. This is usually when My Love steps in and does anything to distract me, often that means giving me a cocktail or singing the first song that comes to his mind, which has just so happened to be "Tomorrow" by Annie. Don't know what prompted it but it was helpful nonetheless (or nonethefruitness)

Like I've noted before, Googling symptoms is bad. It does for Worry-Warts what circling the pie counter at Village Inn does for fat people trying to lose weight. It's a downward spiral always. 

So as I'm sitting in this metal-tube-cage-hell I'm thinking to myself....I could really go for a few Codeine washed down with tequila. I've ALWAYS refused to take meds.....I'd go a little "Tom Cruise" and talk about self healing when people suggested it because I'm kind of a hippie like that, but when the Dr's told me the symptoms were that of anxiety, but also linked to other HORRIFYING-GREYS-ANATOMY-LIFE-THREATENING-SHAVE-YOUR-HEAD-SAY-YOUR-GOODBYES-HOSPITAL-DEATH symptoms, I took the precaution to get an MRI. If (and hopefully) there's nothing beyond what can't be cured with yoga and a Vicodin every now and then.

Exactly how much "crazy" can an MRI detect??? 

I stood there looking at the scans of my brain in my living room this morning and thought, "Well, I don't see any tennis ball shaped  bumps." This squiggly, creepy little thing stared back at me. The thing that houses all of my dreams, my knowledge, stories, fears. The  thing that creates the anxiety in first place, that tells my heart to beat and hands to feel...this little mushy thing, is so. fragile. I wanted to hug it and tell it "I promise brain, I will take care of you because you've taken care of me.....please be kind...."

So now that I'm all emotional and brain-loving, I feel like maybe that's exactly what I needed to see to start healing the anxiety. Who knows, maybe some meds wouldn't be too bad....Until then, we'll keep our fingers crossed that I am healthy inside, and meanwhile I'll be better about taking care of the outside.

I should consider managing my stress....maybe that would help???