Sunday, February 28, 2010

Inspiration Sunday......gooey feelings and that groovy shiz.

Sundays have always been my favorite day.... I woke up this morning and all I could think was how I'm so incredibly grateful for this brilliant, beautiful life that I live in.

The mountains were perfectly clear today, the smell of bacon and coffee filled my cozy little home, my sweet man kissed the side of my face and called me "precious." I was grateful for the bed I slept in, the blanket that held me like a cocoon and the sleep that was pure serenity.
Lately, I've been running my mind into the ground, overly exhausted and mentally strained....I haven't had the time to just BREATHE, or enjoy all of the incredible things that are right at my fingertips- they've all been overlooked by stress, worry, anxiety over the future and money and all of that fleeting, "important" business, that exists only in your mind..... I've conditioned my thinking so much to worry that when I have nothing better to think about, "worry" is my default setting. If only all the energy spent thinking about the future was channeled into the present we'd be IN our happiness. We would be peace.

Today, I am grateful presently- I have fed the creative little monsters inside, funneling only that which BENEFITS me into the mind that carries me through my days..... since when did stress do anything but harm?? It's a completely useless emotion that needs "undoing" and "rewiring" in so many of our brains. Today, I am emptying the corners of my mind that have stored up years worth of expendable nonsense, emotions that exist only for the purpose of "having something to think about."

I am inspired by;

French music- the delicate syllables and darling coo' makes me want to smoke a long-stemmed cigarette, in a claw foot bathtub while eating cupcakes and drinking champagne;

I am inspired by the paintings my Father has collected from places we've traveled to all over the world, Monmartre, Riomaggiore in Cinque Terre Italy and more- for the story we attach to each picture and artist we met, fingers covered in weeks worth of oil and rainbows, coffee stained teeth and weathered faces;

I am inspired by characters- larger than life, erratic, quirky characters;

I am inspired by the people that have reached out to me through this blog, with emails, letters, comments and things- I adore all of you and your stories. Thank you for opening your heart and sharing your brilliance with me ;)
Thanks for the awesome shirts! (check out this store, you'll love her stuff) and thanks to Whiteflash for the pretty pearl earrings!!!

I am inspired by the people who surround me, the photographers, dancers, singers- you push me to be the best version of ME, to use the gifts that I have been given graciously, to not withhold my unique presence....through your energy and creativity I am energized.
Matt Morris, if you don't have his album- get it. Scott McCormick and his stunning pictures and Boulder Acoustic Society,

WHAT INSPIRES YOU TODAY.... a song, film, person, place ???? Share it with me!

Thursday, February 25, 2010

TMI Thursday; Strippers and such. Sorry Dad.

Woo hoo, TMI Thursday!!!!! I've never done this before, I'm popping my TMI cherry....

....I feel it's only appropriate that I talk about cherries and popping and vagina's in a TMI post.

The lovely LiLu, A.K.A Liv it, Luv it started this brilliant weekly posting prompt and I thought that it was only appropriate that I jumped on the bandwagon, since I'm out of inspiration (and wine) after this little, here is goes, POP!

A couple months ago My Love and I were out for dinner and drinks, it was an average Wednesday night, I was still in my "work uniform"; 3 year old Juicy sweats and a rice-paper-thin T-shirt, no makeup, greasy hair....(why he still finds me sexy? I have no idea. I drug him. And have a great ass.) I very gently suggested something about a strip club, if you know me, you know that that happens anytime I haven't eaten enough for the day and have exceeded my standard 2 drinks and start channeling a porn star (ask Nicole is Better *who was as shit-classless-crazy-obliterated as I was because she offered to trade me underwear if I felt like entering the Amateur night, since the ones I was wearing didn't match up to my standards, or ask Mr. 5280, who witnessed the events, and bought me shots, and Corona's with lime...and potential death/embarrassment/etc....they know my tendencies...they have also seen me with the worst possible hangover known to man)...back to the story.....

...after my two drinks, I dropped the S-bomb. Which, if you possess a penis, you jump on that shit like Tiger Woods on a cocktail waitress. Or white on rice. Or witty anecdotes on Twitter. My Love threw down his credit card like Daddy Warbucks and off we were to Shotgun Willy's, oh how I wish that were a name I made up myself, it is not, but it is magic.

The giant neon sign flashed it's lusty, buxom, glowing cowgirl figure at us and it was ON. I was going to get a lap dance, and she was going to be hot; the hottest stripper known to man would magically be in Shotgun's, she would look like Meghan Fox, but blond, with bigger boobs, long legs, real hair (no extensions) and she would be mute. Talking just fucks it all me a dude.

Stage 1. I pick the stage with the most seductive option and within seconds she b-lines for me....I'm thinking, "oh fuck, I'm not nearly drunk enough to not feel like a lesbian looking at her, SHOTS PLEASE." She starts making small talk, asking about My Love and I...and the next things I know, MY BOOBS ARE OUT OF MY SHIRT. Not only that, while this chick distracted me with her small talk about weather, undergarments and her retainer (she. had. a. retainer.) she has managed to reach down my shirt, take out my boobs- AND IS NOW LICKING MY NIPPLE. Is this even legal????? Before I can gasp, or cover myself up, or cry from public humiliation- she's on Stage 2. and I'm bare-titted in the middle of a strip club, with an empty shot glass in front of me and a slew of 40 year old men wearing John Deere hats looking in my direction, and salivating.

I recover from the trauma of the stripper with the retainer licking my nipples and decide to focus, hone in on the prize; finding the "hot one" for the Lap Dance of the Century. I do things in epic proportions, and this lap dance was going to be epic, simply because of the sheer fact that my "girl" would be supermodel hot. And I would drunk....and someone else would be paying for it. Cha-ching.

Stage 3. I think I find "my girl", her torso doesn't look like its going to eat her legs, and she isn't one of 5 girls wearing horrendous mesh body suits, (this should be a stripper felony, that and belly chains, WTF is this a 1998 teen movie?) I decide after a few impressive "Dances" to music by rappers that make me feel like I have an STD in my ears, that she's "the one".......UNTIL I SEE HER IN THE BATHROOM.... in all her stripper glory, platforms, tiny purse of dollar bills and lipgloss my potential lap dance, ASKS ME FOR A TAMPON. Then the light reveals a gaggle of stretch marks, zit scars, unwanted bikini hair and discoloration.....fuck, she is a real live girl after all. The fantasy is burning out quickly...sort of like the time I was 5 and realized no matter how hard I thought "happy things" I couldn't actually fly to Neverland.

I'm quickly losing my "sex buzz" and my tequila buzz...until I FIND THE HOLY GRAIL OF STRIPPERS ON STAGE 5. TWO. BLONDE. TWINS. (They weren't really twins, I'm not into that shit....but you get the idea) I decide that My Love and I will get a joint lap dance by the babes that resemble Playboy bunnies during Hef's "blond stage."
The girls kindly oblige squeeling that they "LOVE DANCING FOR GIRLS!!"....all is looking like peaches, until one trips over a stiletto on the way to the "lap dance area" and fumbles out a slurring sentence that I translated into, "hold on-I need to get some blow."

Listen, strippers, when I come to the strip club- it isn't Coffee Talk, I don't want to hear about your period, your drug habits, your affinity for Red Bull and vodka, or your insecurities (one girl whispered in my ear while dancing on the stage, "do you think I took my bra off too I look OK?") I am here as a sexual being- do. not. attempt. bonding. with me, we are not friends, this is not Starbucks. mmkay? thanks.

We quickly get a "fill-in" stripper to take place of my once HOLY GRAIL DUO of strippers and we proceed with the lap dance....during our 3 minutes of what should be a sexual haze of body parts and heavy bass, my stripper told me her "real name," while making me feel her gigantically rock hard boobs, offered me a sip of her Kryptonite green cocktail...and by the end of the song, put her cell phone number in my phone, with a message that said, "Hey girl- it's Dani, call me!"

Needless to say My Love mourned the several years he'd spent going home with blue balls after a strip club visit, when all he really had to do was bring a chick with him and he'd get free nipple lickings and phone numbers. So men, next time- take your date...who knows, maybe you'll end up seeing her boobs too, before you even hit the sheets.

Sorry Mom. and Dad. And My Love's Christian family...and potential employers...I'm not a whore, I'm just awesome (new resume line perhaps?)

Any stripper stories out there???

Friday, February 19, 2010

Let your freak flag fly, especially if your flag is made of thongs, or cheese- or something weird.

"I want a life where I stay in the Presidential Suite and call on people to bring me chocolate covered gummy bears and champagne. And, I'll wear a silk robe all day long. And take bubble baths....and wear false eyelashes to bed."

Those words came out of my mouth.

Very seriously in fact, while I was lusting over my girlfriend Kim Kardashian. I mean, fuck, I want a reason to go to "hair and makeup"...and have a traveling stylist on hand in case something is puckering weird, or I forgot to bring Spanx. Or when I'm feeling fat and need someone to throw me in something that looks like a trash bag, but sexy. The Kardashians and I have kindred spirits, if you hate them, well then- you hate me too. They're a little crazy pants and wear entirely too much makeup and say inappropriate things in public and tell their mom to fuck off, then tackle her to the ground and rub their boobs in her face, until it's all copacetic. Yep, sounds like my household.

I've always wanted to be famous, since I was a little tot singing Annie while running around naked with nothing but a muff and Pearl earrings on. For a long time I felt bad for saying that? Not the naked part. I felt like it made me a bad person, for openly admitting that "yes, I want fame." The reason for wanting to be famous is actually much more complex, more than wanting to buy vintage Cocoa Chanel dresses and having people draw creepy pencil sketches of your face... (if this ever happens I'm retiring) it has much more to do with it than that- I want to be acknowledged for doing what I love, in the biggest most grand way possible. And not only that, but I want to do it ALL. Every little. tiny. dream. I want to accomplish. The big ones are no brainers....but I want the resources to do them all, in the most grandiose way imaginable.

I've come to realize, the people we love BEST, don't apologize for who they are.
You can't win your way into peoples heart by apologizing.

Whether you're writing a blog, or strutting down a red carpet. Whether you're at a dinner table and you're voicing your opinion, you're standing your ground in an argument, or you're out on a date just hoping that they'll "like you" enough to see you again. Or you have this burning desire to create a rock band and sing Native American songs translated into French, while wearing band uniforms and pink eyeliner. Whatever's clever. So often we're forced to be chameleons so we don't rock the boat too hard, or make people uncomfortable. We just want to be "liked...." we want people to call us and think we're cool. Everyone wants their own "Cheers" bar, of "Friends", we all want to BELONG somewhere.
The memo we so often miss is the one that says, "you'll find your place by being yourself." So we put ourselves through this roundabout of flaming hoops, (or sororities? depending on who you are) to try and just fit.

Sometimes the idea of being unabashedly who you are is scary....because if people don't like it, then they essentially, don't like you....but IF THEY DO, then they're loving the spirit, the heart, and the mind that is YOUR OWN. They're connecting with your soul.....and that's so much fucking better.

I won't apologize for who I am....for the flaws and the quirks, and the awkward things I say, or how sometimes I linger a little too long in a conversation because I don't know how to get out of it. Or how sometimes I talk too much about penises in front of strangers. Or that I want to be famous and see my name in lights and do VIP shit...with private jets...and umbrella holders....(too much?) Things of that nature...

I certainly won't apologize for the things I say on this, or in the past. And I hope that none of you lovely bloggers out there will either- this is our space, to scream or cry, whine or act crazy. This is the soap box we get to stand on, and if I feel like standing proud and screaming pure gibberish, or scatting, or singing Alanis Morisette's "Jagged Little Pill" album on repeat, or saying fuck until my face turns blue- then I WILL.

This is for the freaks, the Lady Gagas, the Kim Kardashians, the lovers, the fighters, the people who dare to wake up in the morning and put on their face, and be shamelessly, messily, and BRILLIANTLY who they are.

Wear every shade of your dysfunction proudly, we will love you in all of your unkempt, delirious, SPLENDOR.

This is for YOU, whoever it is that you are..... Shine brightly.

In the meantime I'm gonna go put on more lipstick.

Three adjectives that describe YOU____________????

Tuesday, February 16, 2010

I am a girl and I throw fits. And punches. And telephones.

I'm a girl....and I throw fits.

Actually, it's not that I'm a girl, it's that I'm a monster. A petite, vicious, little monster- with carny teeth who won't hesitate to bite, or punch below the belt, while simultaneously biting you some place on your collar bone.

When I was six I tore buttons off of little girls dresses so mine would look prettier. I fought off 6 strong men (all family members) when my ear piercing closed up and they were forced to shove it back in...or so they tried. I'm that kid that lays down, in the middle of a crowd and throws her body wildly in all directions, then kicks over the precariously stacked pyramid of Nilla wafers. I have the mental strength of steel, especially when I want to get my way, thus inducing the physical strength of baby Hercules....or, those people that pull a Semi off of their loved one in an accident.

.....Now try dating me.

It's not that I was that kid, I AM that kid. I just have learned to throw temper tantrums more discreetly, or in moving vehicles...where the victim cannot escape your wrath. My "short fuse" didn't grow into a longer one and my outbursts didn't lessen the more I "understood my emotions" as I got older....if anything, the more I defined my own opinions, the more impassioned I became.

I can be impossible.....

... because...I am a girl and I throw fits. I throw fits with cold shoulders, misplaced anger and the silent treatment. I kick and I scream, I glare and I seethe, until it's unmanageable to exist in my presence. I throw daggers into open wounds, because sometimes it's the easiest shot and though the pride of winning fair is "nice," guaranteeing the victory with enough time to gloat is better. I "take it there" when I shouldn't...and I go to bed angry. (Or I "toss and turn" angry.) Angry over little, silly, ridiculous things- sometimes I fight so hard I forget what I was even angry about.

When I throw fits, firing off words like whoever encounters me is my verbal punching bag, I want to vomit. Kicking and screaming doesn't make me feel better, like it used to, when it was just a pillow to punch, or a teddy bear to throw and some "girl rock" to scream loudly to......there isn't that SIGH at the end of a good tantrum, where the heat in your face settles and your cheesy are speckled with pink, eyes watery and red from fighting of the "weakness" of tears.... that isn't there when I fight.

The only thing that makes my tantrum better is when he grabs my body, and holds me....tightly in his arms. So tight it takes my breath away, until he can steady me again. Until he can fill me with new air, air that calms me. Air that makes everything CLEAR again.....

I'll admit that there have been times when I believed my "passion" for something would be validated if I were "stronger" by being more willing to get bloody and dig my teeth into the meat of life, with tenacity to hunt, kill and feast. If I fought viciously- like two chickens in a fight, the only winner is the one who is willing to go in for the kill. And I wanted to be that chicken....the one everyone's a little bit scared to pet. I confused tenacity, or fierceness- with being mean and being stubborn. So stubborn my tunnel vision was giving me a fucking headache.

For the past year and a half- My Love hasn't taken away my "fire," my "vibrant energy"(that's what he likes to call it), or that kick in my step that both works WITH me and against me, depending on where (and how hard) the kick is actually swinging....he hasn't taken away ANYTHING....but he HAS taught me when the kicking and screaming is worth it.

When sometimes, it's ok to just throw off the gloves- because strength isn't measured by how hard you can punch, or how loud you can scream. Strength isn't measured by how long you can "be right." Or how long you can "win." By keeping score, or being "better than" With all of your "I told you so's." That type of strength keeps people apart, it separates you; making you, "you and them".....and really, what a lonely place to be. It keeps compassion from growing, relationships from developing, and leaves just enough bitterness to, over time, harden you. Bit, by bit. Letting it go can be the greatest redemption. Furrowed brows, pursed lips and sucking air through your teeth, while biting the inside of your cheeks aren't qualities that scream "love me" or "life is good!" they scream Cruella Deville. Or, bitter and "not getting laid."

I am a girl and I throw fits. But, I will be better about throwing fits in the right direction. I will kick and scream until I am living the life I dream. I will kick and scream when I believe in something, so deeply it makes my stomach turn. I will kick and scream at the naysayers in my head, the doubts that tell me "I can't" and the people that challenge me. I will fight for the things that make me happy, instead of fighting against things that makes me sad. For the right to have a job I love, live with a man I love, for the body I live in that I love, and for the family that makes me. I will fight when what I'm fighting for creates harmony in my life, not stress.

I am a girl and I throw fits.....but I promise at least this much....I will stop throwing them in Blockbuster. (Waving at you, couple that saw me throw a dvd like I was ten, sorry about that.) and yeah, I said Blockbuster....because I'm archaic and fucking hate the idea of picking out movies online. So there.


A year ago today: My Valentines Post

Friday, February 12, 2010

Who wouldn't want to be friends with THIS FACE???

"How cute!....we have friends!"

"Yay we have friends!" then, we chest bumped and shimmied at the Gods, like we were wearing an outfit from Toddlers and Tiara's, our sequins reflecting off the stage lights. Show 'em your teeth baybee!

This was the ridiculously nerdy conversation My Love and I just had this morning, while I attempted to be domestic and served him eggs with broken yolks. We nerded out so hard with excitement that lately our circle of friends has grown IMMENSELY (thank you, fuck. That put me in the upper echelon of nerdiness just now... but I don't watch Twilight, or speak code? Do I gain points back? I also partied with Lenny Kravitz daughter once...? No? Nothing?)

When we first started dating I had just moved back from New York and he had just stopped being a Christian. So, basically....we didn't have any friends, or friends who didn't judge us for one reason or another. Reason 1. You left us for fame, fortune, and men that look like GQ models. Reason 2. You abandoned Jesus. (My Love's reason is so much deeper, I'm gonna stick with the vain stuff, cause I'm into "balance") He lost his core group when he realized he couldn't talk about sex, booze and rock & roll. Ya know, sinful shit. And I had to reestablish old friendships and find/build relationships that reflected my current lifestyle- or the one I wanted to see myself in as "an adult."

So we went on a mission- a Nerdscapade (Definition; people who were physically awkward in high school, that still have a complex about it- on a mission to find friends and take over the world, one cocktail & business card at a time, take that suckas) if you will; To A. stop nesting and watching Lifetime B. Break out of our "musician only" circle- because though our musician friends are lovely, they're generally broke, drunk, and flakey. All fun; all unreliable when you need someone to just-bring-the-fucking-chips-to-the-pot-luck. C. Stop flaking out. After all, we are those musician people I was just speaking of, with better hygiene. We decided to start saying "yes" to invitations, new friends, new opportunities and new experiences. And free booze.

Since the beginning of our Nerdscapade we have; Hosted a Taco Tuesday night (if melted cheese is involved I'm so there...) Taken various trips up to Boulder for internet awesomness like Ignite Boulder, gone on "double dates" with like minded couples, started a book club (this is my personal venture, any Denver/Boulder bloggers that want to be involved email me for details), and we've lengthened our life expectancy. This is fact and since I'm sensible (??), I need facts, otherwise I'd go on hibernating in solitude. Though that would be easier, I'd save so much money on mascara and pewter eyeshadow if I was less social...but hey, you win some you lose some. In this case, I win life. And who knows, possibly somewhere down the line more chances to wear an ugly bridesmaid dress and eat cake. If that's not a goal, then I don't know what is.

Figuring out a way to meld your dreams, your friendships, old and new isn't always easy. We wanted to find friends that we felt empowered us to feel and think exactly the way we ARE, not shadowed by who we think they want us to be. Then there's always the trick of finding a couple that each of you likes the other's significant other- nothing worse than two guys with a "bromance" when the girlfriends can't stand each other. And we have found those people!
We're laying the foundation now for future dinner parties vibrant with conversation, summertime adventures through our beautiful state and those evenings where everyone has one too many tequila shots and someone ends up doing a backspin. Or breaking a tooth.

We want to surround ourselves with people that inspire, debate, create, live their own personal "dream life"...... and we'll live ours. By deciding that's what we're seeking, those are the people we've found. No it isn't a prerequisite that you's just magical that everyone we love has an affinity for loose juice. Yeah, LOOSE JUICE. I coined it. Ok fine, maybe it is a requirement that you drink.

Shout out to the people that are inspiring me and putting a smile on my face;
Doniree, Grace, Matt, Erica, Ashalah just among a few....cheers to you.

Do your friends inspire you and why (or why not)???

Tuesday, February 9, 2010

Gwen Bell and feeding little monsters.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, February 2, 2010

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

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

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

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

Then I basically started levitating....

ah, I kid, I kid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

So tell me, "A YEAR AGO TODAY_____________"