The Reason Why Kisses Don't Dream

Are You Living to Die or Dying to Live?

2011-09-02T17:06:00.000-07:00

Having been awhile, I felt a strong need to talk. After a weekend visiting my grandparents in Chicago and other family, I was struck by the thought of life and goals.

Don't you ever wonder what your purpose is? What God's purpose is for your life?

I recently got engaged to the love of my life, my soulmate. And yet I say these words in a different way than I would have when I met him. The butterflies don't come in those statements. They are spock-like facts. Statements. Often if you pray for what you want, God will give you it (Matthew 7:7). You just better know what you want and then of course really want it.

My grandfather, barely grasping onto life's string himself, is taking care of my grandma who is fading fast. At mid-80s, they've lived a long time. So although there is sadness, it's just different. It's not the same sadness as when my friend Lynnsey Dawn Dennis died at age 23. She had just barely opened the door to God's purpose, or perhaps she lived out His purpose. I am not the one who knows.

Life is so short and yet often we despair about not getting what we want. Or whispering to ourselves to be patient. I believe God gives you the power to make life happen for yourself. If you want success, you make that success. Christians must also remember, that your success is not defined by the world (ie money). Our success lies in the fact that we make the world a better place. Sometimes, I forget that.

My twitter rants have sometimes crossed into that angry space that I'm not supposed to go. Even when someone who claims to be my brother or sister in Christ is spouting poison. I'm supposed to be Christlike. In these moments, I can remember what it was like for Jesus to walk among the Pharisees (Luke 14). Perhaps, that is my purpose. To know that anguish of people in power feeding lies to the crowds who desire hope in a desperate time.

Life isn't just work or play. It's your character. It's what you make of every moment of every day. I think this is how I reconcile being productive and balancing social media conversations. I don't want to live for death or believe I'm dying to live. I want to truly LIVE. The way God intended for me to live. And that will lead me to God's purpose for my life.

Google News Cares About Social Media Shares

2011-01-07T10:21:00.000-08:00

Last night on Twitter’s famous #seochat, we were discussing the impact of social media on search engine optimization. I have noticed in the past few months that not only does Google show a link with 5+ shares (or more), but that they often are ordered by number of shares.

When you click into the shared by x, you get a list of Google’s realtime results showing all the tweets that are sharing that article.

This is only on Google news today (January 2011); however, we all know that Google often uses microcosms to experiment with algorithm changes. I expect to see Real Time Shares may apply to more results (possibly videos in universal search) this year as they experiment with how to reflect the social graph in their SERPs.

Becky Jutzi is known as JadedTLC on Twitter, where she balances her days working on SEO at the video game blog, G4tv.com. Her favorite video game right now is AC Brotherhood.

Reputation Management Online - Tweets Gone Wild

2010-07-30T16:53:00.000-07:00

I just read Michael Gray's article Interview with Steve Wyer. It was a good piece and it got me to thinking (a dangerous thing perhaps).

So, I decide to google my moniker just to see what Google had found about me. What I found was a little shocking. Apparently, a bunch of twitter "apps" have scraped, not only my content, but my entire profile and "created a profile" for me on their sites. Amplicate, and frax or something - there were many more as well.

Not to sound preachy but: You should be managing your online reputation. Many of you are not protecting your identities and with so much data out there and findable (thanks Google), you should be frightened.

My boyfriend was a bit disturbed last night when I illustrated just how easy it was to find information out. I have a possible job opportunity that emailed me to see if I was interested in the job. Of course, the email indicated the person's real name and I also know the company name. So, I started to track down the interviewer through LinkedIn which showed me (even without logging in) a history of companies and some websites that the person had started in this person's past. This was just a starting point. I learned even more about my potential interviewer - not just the professional stuff. It would seem we are creatures of habit.

I found a Twitter account, but the image was one with the person's pets. So, I saw that the person only tweeted a few times. Leaning this person away from "happening" media. But, this could be a coincidence; what's in a name even with a link to the company. So, I searched site:facebook for the person's name. Same avatar. I now knew I had hit pay dirt. My knowledge has now extended to what this person "Likes" - what groups were joined - all 84 friends of this person. Thanks to Facebook and its privacy (or lack thereof) or maybe in FB's defense: lack of education of it - I could now see this person's music interests, TV shows watched, hobbies, where this person last partied (in May).

But, ever more curious, I could now see where this person had lived and how old the person is. With a quick search at PeekYou and it's connection to people search, I saw the cities surrounding the person's college and a likely person with age included. And for $5.95 at Intellius, I could buy a simple record with phone number, birthday and more!

Does this scenario scare you? It should. I did this all within fifteen to twenty minutes. I have built an identity for someone I have never met. I haven't even emailed with this person. (An executive assistant emailed me, but stated the interviewer's name and title.)

I don't know if using Steve's ORM service is the answer. But, maybe we should start taking back our privacy, our individuality. It's like the world has become a scary small town and nothing you do is hidden. And everything you do is judged. Out of context. Like Shirley Sherrod, are you being taken out of context every time you apply for a job, contact a client, interact with a vendor?

Have you ever been taken out of context? Are you frightened at all the information that can be compiled about you?

SEO Scammers Revealed

2010-07-29T12:52:00.001-07:00

I'm jumping on board to expose the idiots masquerading as SEO specialists like Edward does at pageoneresults. I logged into my old website's email. I haven't even been in that email in about 3 or 4 years. Not only am I in the US, but the web site doesn't even have a "business." I hate SEO spam, maybe even more than Viagra spam. So here I publish one of these idiots.

Hi
We are India’s leading and biggest search engine optimization and internet marketing company. We provide following services:
1. Link Building
2. SEO
3. Internet Marketing
4. Content Writing
5. Affiliate Marketing
6. Articles and Press Release Submission
7. Social Bookmarking

With our services, your site can get huge amount of traffic and sales, which can increase your business by many times. There is a great return of investment in online marketing strategies stated above. Let us know if you are interested and we will get back to you with a proposal that would improve sales of your company.
Please reply to this email so we can get back to you.

Sorry idiots. You don't know what you're talking about.

The Past Collides with the Present

2009-08-27T19:27:00.000-07:00

You can never be sure how far the past is behind you. Things that were yesterday may be 100s of years past, and yet things from 10 years ago are alive and bump into you in the present. God smooths these wrinkles in the fabric of time for a reason.

I was driving along and an old friend, or at least someone I thought was my friend, was walking in a crosswalk in front of me. My surprise nestled in my head as I quickly switched my ipod to pause and rolled down the window.

"Hey M!" (name withheld) I shouted.

He turned and a smile lit up his face, as it always had. "Hey RJ." (name withheld) he called back. But he trudged forward. I meant to offer him a ride, to ask where he was going,

but I think subconsciously I remembered that I had friended him on Facebook and he hadn't accepted. I think it had to do with a long story from long ago. At least 5 years ago, probably more now. Something about a girl who likes control and me, fighting to keep myself in my own control. I made some poor choices and partied a bit too hard once and that seemed to end my friendship with her. If I didn't do things her way, I was out of her "it" club.

I don't think too hard about those days. I was on my way to figuring myself out. Where were my boundaries, what was I willing to do? The things and stuff of younger years. She wanted to own me, to rule my actions, and I failed to let that happen. And I drank one blue martini over the line of sanity, and felt responsible for everything thereafter. No apology was accepted and for me, I can't stay frozen in the past.

I liked a guy back then and was nervous about him driving up. It all seems so insane now, looking back. He's married most happily now (or so his Facebook says).

I have changed much since then. I've been living on my own for four almost five years. I have 3 cats. I've volunteered for animal rescues including the Westside German Shepherd rescue and the SoCal Siamese Rescue. I'm 2 jobs past that time, and several titles upward. I've grown in many ways and have managed to dig myself out of almost all of my debt.

I'm going to hold on to his smile. And I'll pocket it. Maybe if he's ready to be Christlike, he'll friend me on Facebook. But until God calls him to be a better man, I will continue on.

Oh Bitterness, There You Are

2009-03-18T21:02:00.000-07:00

I've found that I want to crawl to the Peace of Pepperdine. To stare into the mists of a night sky. To feel free, to remember the real world is OUT THERE and not over here. Reality can blur with the past and I can be back where I think I belonged.

I feel that I'm finally scaling the mountain of goals I had planned to achieve. I'm getting everything I wanted. Then I look behind me, and I see that I'm missing everything I already had. The hard edges are slick against my wrists and I can hold on no longer. I must choose between who I was and who I will be. And this colossal fight is tearing me up inside.

I'm not even sure what to be afraid of, what to worry about. All I know is that I smell weariness in every step. I try so hard to be. And in that I lose me. Am I always going to lose? Can't I have some of my past and some of my future?

I want to speed down the highway and forget that I can't merge the past and present. That what was, is lost. Reconciling that makes me want to shove my elegant ride down PCH and coast to safety. Standing on a campus that is no longer mine. Wondering how time stole my life and won't give it back.

Love is supposed to be the great warm blanket and the devoid is what?! Just because I'm not married, joining an ancient tradition. Because I choose to forgo that path, I am ostracized. And maybe I am missing out. But so what? Who isn't... If you know Los Angeles, you know singlehood. You know that trust comes never and there's nothing anyone can do to stop that.

Where does this end? Where can I go to find that peace? That perfect place where what I want is what I have, and what I have is all I want. And that's the truth.

Fostering Cats: Compassion in Economic Recession

2009-02-26T22:32:00.000-08:00

I got nostalgic tonight and was paging through old emails from the foster kitties I had in 2007. I was remembering the joy I had in new little kitten noses pressing in on you from morning 'til night. And the immense happiness I had to get them from shelter to sheltered. Protecting them deep into the night. Feeding them when they were sick. I reminisced about that compassion I felt, sometimes exasperation, when they wouldn't eat, but forcing them to live. To just get past that line to life.

I shed a few tears. Remembering those moments. How precious life is, but also how close death is. How we should strive to live every moment like that. Fighting for the very things we love.

A few of the kittens touched my heart so it's so wonderful to see snapshots of them all grown up and to know I was a part of that. The joy that the cat gives his or her new family.

I have my own bundle of kittenhood, but he's growing up fast. Caspian, darling, I love you too. He was the foster I couldn't let go.

I saw the posting on the Los Angeles Animal Services Website. His picture was posted there and he looked so scared, so frightened. So, we went there to the county shelter. L and I approached the cage, nestled between hundreds of kittens at the height of kitten season. All of them were small, 8-week-olds who had such a greater chance for rescue. This four month old kitten, abandoned by his previous owners as an "unwanted gift" (their words, not mine).

So we got him home and he was just the most loving kitten of all. Friendly, purring, and happy and more beautiful every day.

Please consider fostering a cat. The California Siamese Rescue needs foster parents. All you have to do is donate your heart for a month or two. The compassion is worth it in these economic times. Please help!

Lynnsey Dennis: Rest In Peace, I'm Sad

2009-02-13T20:17:00.000-08:00

It was a long hard week. The news broke on Sunday evening. A tragedy. That SUV traveling down the 101 freeway, the one on the news, the one that was broken, the body of the young woman in the wash, that, that was Lynnsey. That was a part of your heart breaking. Shock, mingled with the tears of caution, of 'how can this be?' and still you breathed, but barely.

You went to work, but you're not sure how you got there. You arrived and it was different but the same, and somehow that confused you. This was real. More real than anything. You needed to get through the day, through the silence, through the aching, through the awkwardness of not knowing how to get through a day scarred by sadness. And yet you did. And you helped them get through it too.

You were lost. You got through the second day, but you weren't sure if you could. No one and someone understood, but it consoled you only a little bit. Sometimes you forgot but then you remembered and it all rushed in like the rain pounding on your window last Saturday night, when she was probably singing along to some song or other. When you stayed inside your warm room, staring out the window at droplets flooding the Venice streets. You were safe; she wasn't. She was lying out there. Left for dead, because she was. It hurt some more when you thought about that.

Then you went to work and a lady talked and it felt better but somehow it didn't change the past, the history. It was still tragedy lying out there in a heap of sadness, tears, laughter, joking, remembrance. But you held on because she wanted you to. You saw her in heaven and you knew she wanted you to love, to laugh, to live. 'Cause she was ...life.

Then it was Thursday and everyone felt better, but not the same, and not happy, not yet. You read some more of the Facebook entries, and cried again. But you tried not to. You had brought them to a memorial to dedicate to her memory. Because, that, at least, was still strong. Still echoing through the streets of Hollywood, of Encino, of Las Vegas, of Culver City, of Sherman Oaks, of California. She was a dream. And yet she was real. The memorial was nice. You sang for her, to her. You put a cup o' simulated coffee, a grape-flavored blow pop, a picture of a rabbit, an angel, a red rose-scented candle, and some mock flowers on the ground at the crash site, and somehow they were enough, but not enough. The insides of you crushed your lungs; you tried to breathe, but you couldn't forget the morning chatters: "press the on button, anything for you, don't be a debbie downer" - the dancing and lemonade-vodka blowpops until late at night, - the rabbit teeth faces on days when you didn't want to wake up - the angel who was she. And it hurt to bring in air and you wondered if that was you reliving what she went through that night. And you cried some more.

And you barely made it through the nights, but you slept, not well, but you did. And you weren't hungry, but then you were and you ate a lot of junk food because somehow sugar reminded you of her. It was happy and soft and it got you through another day. You held her picture against your chest; you read some more blogs about her and you realized you hadn't written yet or that you'd been avoiding it. Your words were choked up inside, release calling, none too comforting. You were afraid, but you knew it was a matter of time and if you didn't start now, well what were you waiting for? Time was short. Didn't she teach you that?

And so you Wrote.

And then the phone rang. And God knew you needed to breathe, to sleep, to live. It was a celebration of life on the phone. Then you hung up and heard the firetrucks pass your window, another accident, another life unlit - day in and day out, life goes on, ends, and returns.

When will God call me home? I don't worry about that. But I know I've been touched by an angel. And that satisfies my broken soul. Death is just a gateway to the next; I will miss her; I will miss me around her, yet now I know I can draw strength. My written words, God, my friends, and the knowledge that I have to move forward.

It'll be months before I think we'll be able to write, sing, remember - without crying. We'll think fondly, and love completely.

Lynnsey, darling, thank you.

Five Minutes To Post - ACK

2009-01-05T23:56:00.000-08:00

I have but five minutes to post this entry. So here goes. :)

Back pain both better and worse.

Disappointment that my game disk is scratched. Just after the major boss fight.

Extremely sleepy.

Goodnight.

The First Weekend in 2009

2009-01-04T23:29:00.000-08:00

I've enjoyed the first weekend in 2009 the best I could. I've had back problems for a couple of years now, and of course this weekend it decides to strike. So much needed rest and almost nothing else. It's not as bad as last year during super bowl weekend when I had to go to the ER. Fortunately, this was its more benign cousin.

Other than that 2009 is swiftly moving in. So much for that. I wrote; though not much. It's done. Happy New Year in case I didn't say so before.

How To Go One Day Without Speaking

2009-01-03T19:13:00.000-08:00

I haven't spoken to another human in nearly 24 hours. In this day and age of cell phones, where no one is truly alone, (unless your network fails), this is somewhat strange. I'm receiving information from TV, internet, and books, but no actual human voice. As an experiment, I'd say this would be a failure. The Internet is communication with other humans. It's anonymous and yet not. I'd wager you communicate more of who you are through your written words, than you do through real life transactions.

Silence would kill me. So I know this is the most human-deprived that I could make myself go through, but I know of so many people that get energized from non-communication. They like to fold unto themselves and hide themselves away. I can't quite understand it. Perhaps, I will put my mind to these thoughts and come up with a reason why this is. Today just doesn't feel like that day.

A Resolution Almost Lost

2009-01-02T23:47:00.000-08:00

Day 2 for one resolution and I almost didn't make it. If I try to blog every day for a year, what will come of it? I think I'll even write if I have nothing to say.

Work was good...slow. Most people aren't working today and the dull excitement of what I could be doing overshadowed what I was doing. With that in mind, I made it over to BlueEyes for some home cooked French Onion Soup. It was delicious! Homemade items are another of my resolutions. I'm going to try to cook more meals, and when I say more, I also mean more than the five or so dishes that I've mastered. :)

It's a challenge and yet I have 363 days to experiment. Anyway, I'm sleepy. Have a good evening all.

What Happens To My Social Networking Self When I Die?

2009-01-01T20:17:00.001-08:00

Emo Moment Ahead
Another death of the old year and the birth of the new one Happy New Year 2009! And I started thinking morbid thoughts. It could've been because I just watched "The GodFather" for the first time. The Don dies so swiftly towards the end.

But I started really thinking about all my profiles: MySpace, Facebook, SodaHead, my blog here; every website I've commented on, logged in, filled out information on. Though I'm still young, vibrant even, I wonder what will happen to my information when I die. Can I will that all those sites delete my accounts? And how would I go about that anyway? Am I permanently etched on the Internet, immortal in my young pictures? Are my friends with their dating profiles on Date.com or eHarmony, forever etched as whomever they were when they signed up? What if I forgot all the places I put my information? Or all those profiles that we made that weren't really "us." Or how would I will a profile that doesn't have my Real Name to shut down my profile for JadedTLC?

The only sure thing that I know, is that my web 1.0 sites will die without my credit cards. But Google or the Wayback Machine will hold a cache of them for some amount of time. It's a preponderance I hadn't really considered before. But as I age, it's something I may think about closing down. However, I can't know exactly when I'll die, so this does present some complications.

So the new year begins. Resolutions, so often broken as they're spoken, are there to be made. I don't know what mine are this year. I don't like to resolve to do things that I know will never happen, or be quickly dropped for new priorities. I just feel that growth sometimes happens so quickly that today, the who I want to be, will change six months from now. I wonder if that happens for anyone else.

In any event, I hope that the wayward reader who finds this post got something other than a wasted 120 seconds. I may resolve to write every day in this blog for the year. We'll see if I can keep my word.

Another Reason Kisses Don't Dream

2008-12-15T20:59:00.001-08:00

I was watching friends in action. The girl, her friendly flirtatious mannerisms, combined with the shy, hero-type guy. The kind of guy that somehow ends up friend before foe, banished to that nowhere land men despise with more than their soul.

I saw it all in slow motion. As if the outcome was written in some book I read years ago, and yet I watched. Silently, almost fascinated, like a rubber-necker on the 405, leaning out their windows, braking suddenly, at the commotion on the side of the road. The ambulance sirens blaring in the distance. But all of it was predicted. By me anyway.

I saw the way his eyes glittered when she ushered into the room. The smile slowly growing and emanating from his soul. How his hand, ever so cleverly, dropped to her knee as he fought to sit close to her, to breathe her in.

All that time, I felt it was within my power to stop it all. The splattered heart, liquid dripping down the concrete on the side of a road. The ditch filled with all those shattered daydreams, leaking out and jaded thoughts filling the empty spaces. The same feelings I remember feeling a long time ago.

In my own accident of sorts. When my heart bled. I remembered, and yet I said none.

October is Different, This Time

2008-10-15T23:30:00.001-07:00

I woke up feeling a little better about the world. Not so down or monotonous. Maybe the winds are dying down and the Ions are back in place. Then I drove under a splendid moon. And upon arriving at the beach, I felt the cool wet breeze sliding across my cheek. Indeed, I felt better.

The cold dark sand, glowing under the moonlit sky. What few stars winking among the airplanes circling near LAX. The chill in the air and the thought of hot chocolate commingled.

I stood against the world. And God wrapped me in love. What more could I possibly want?

Advertising Poetry

2008-10-08T21:57:00.000-07:00

Have you ever wondered at how time keeps chugging along? I really don't understand how I keep doing the same thing every day. And even when I'm bored, I still do the same things. Waking up guaranteed.

Ever felt alive? That feeling of superimposed joy? I forgot it.

I used to wake up at Pepperdine and look out the window at a usually gray sky and sometimes you could see the great Pacific as a backdrop. I felt energized by experience.

Now I know I'm not done experiencing, but if anything, I'm stalling. Those breathless moments that nearly bled in my life, have fallen into a drought. They are rare times, and only a small reservoir in the desert.

Most of all, I miss falling in love. How do you let go when you've hurt so much?

I reason that I read other people's love stories; their serious thoughts when they blog about the drama they enthrall in. Almost as if I can taste romance on a Baskin Robbins' sized spoon. It leaves you feeling hungry and unsatisfied, but I still do it. The day the music died, came but I don't remember what day that was. When was it? Manufactured infatuation isn't any consolation to these questions either.

I searched high and low. I know I'm human, but in some breath, I feel too serious to be alive. Too somber and controlled to truly live.

Perhaps, destiny will find me again, and of course, I'll miss stability. But until that day, I miss you.

Jesus Camp - How The Devil Works

2008-09-18T23:57:00.000-07:00

I watched the Jesus Camp series and my heart broke. Who would've thought that Christian brainwashing was going on in the Midwest. What happened to real family values? Real churches? Are meth'd out homosexual homophobes really leading our churches?

Becky Fischer is an agent of the Devil although my heart would hope she really is saved. But her mouth, and its vile poison, spews forth such hatred, that only a demon would dance at the words. Kids shouldn't be crying with religious emotion. Their brains are not yet formed to understand. These people confuse the Good Word with Satanic Knowledge.

Even Jesus said that Satan could battle the Bible word for word. (Matthew 4:1,3)

I often wonder at Christianity's fall from Jesus. Slowly, because things of the world begin to scare people, they run to extremism. Jesus always said "Fear Not" and yet there is fear. So parents resort to brainwashing their children, to falsely believing that they can educate and prepare their children for jobs in the real world..

Yes, evangelicals, there is a real world, and no Harry Potter doesn't run it. How can they take stories and twist them in their hatred. Witchcraft in the Bible is in no way Harry Potter, regardless of Rowling's beliefs. Every thing you do or read can be taken in different ways.

I love Jesus, and I went to Camp, but it wasn't this sick form of anger and twisted bitterness. And if it was. shame on those adults who made it so. I would love God without being taught about inherent evility.

I'm enraged tonight. I hope Becky Fischer is quashed. That God takes her tongue from her. Because this world doesn't need her and her intolerance. God said LOVE YOUR ENEMIES not hate. They preach hate, and they lie. Even the end of the film showed the kids assuming an African American family are Muslim. Based on ?? Well, they have their white trash families to blame that on. Who wants to live that way?

Not I. I can be a Christian and be loving. That's what I'm called to do. Regardless of those who preach against me. Their opinions matter not, due to the Meek Inheriting the Earth. Not some fat lady who has a screw or two loose.

Amen.

2008-07-22T21:21:00.001-07:00

Worldwide focus looms.

Iran, Iraq, perhaps we didn't start the fire, but perhaps we can put it out.

Fires, Northern California fires. War. Endless war, endless recession. Can we get past it all?

I'm skimming through life now. 31, on to the next stage. Twittering endlessly. Talking to Matt Cutts, and Danny Sullivan. Blogging, thinking, then some reading. SEO, SEM, everyone dots. I guess the tune took over in my head.

Strangely enough. I'm falling in lust with John from To Catch a Thief, though Matt's hot too. I ran across some strange pictures of ex friends. It was kinda sad and scary. Then I miss Ghost Hunters and I'm stuck with GHI, I guess I'll get over it.

Are We Web 2.0?

2008-02-23T01:35:00.000-08:00

Ok, welcome back. I know. Something so pivotal, simple and apparently hadn't quite made it to viral status of Numa Numa Dance, but however it has been rather enthralling to watch. I endeavor to say, I was tickled pink, that the paradigm shift is in full swing; I have been a part of its evolution and for that I am proud.

I graduated from Pepperdine University in 1999 with a degree in English. Most folks with English degrees either go to law school, become teachers, or a few entered the rat race of the publishing world. The year I graduated a small little startup was born, you may have heard of it - Google? The industry I've become an advanced member of, Search Engine Marketing/Optimization, hadn't even been invented on my graduation day. Looking back, I know that I can relate to the concept. How reading on a screen is so different from a book. And those beloved pages I was rue to let go of, are indeed falling to the wayside. I hadn't predicted this.

I say this with sadness and frustration, but I'm starting to lose focus on reading something "linear." I have four books I'm in the middle of and I just can't finish one of them. Instead, I meander through each storyline, not unlike the Attention Deficit Disorderly ways that hypertext lets me bounce from reading about Obama-Rama and then in a split second, I'm browsing some blogger's reaction to the housing market, 2 seconds of skimming, I see that bright blue underline and click - I'm checking my Yahoo! stocks. Then, I'm just bored, and maybe I've installed stumbleupon on my browser toolbar so I can literally click and bounce from random selection to random selection and "grade" sites based on my preferences. But that's not including the tab with my SodaHead profile open where I'm in a hot discussion on whether George W. Bush is a not quite fully evolved human being, or voting on whether I think Zac Efron or the Jonas Bros. are hotter.

It's not all bad though. I'm not yet finished.

31 Comes So Softly

2008-01-29T22:44:00.000-08:00

And so it came to pass and I turned 31, ever so slightly and so softly. A new year beckons and as my resolutions start dropping into place, I know that I am moving through to the blessings God has offered me.

Financially, I'm out of credit card debt and my credit score is almost the opposite it was just 10 years ago. I have savings in the bank, in case of emergency and high credit limits I will never touch because I've learned to be more frugal and fiscally responsible. And yet I have so much more to learn.

I used to take out a cash allowance for lunch but that hasn't been my habits as of late and so I will keep myself more accountable for making sure I'm spending my money on the right things at the right time.

When I am braver, I will post my financial goals and let you, the audience help keep me accountable. Until then, I am learning from my favorite bloggers: Stop Buying Crap, Christian PF, and Gather Little By Little about the necessary tools to build a healthy lifestyle of balance, of savings, and yet still relying on God to take care of me.

It is a wonder how often we stumble around in life only to realize time is still passing us by. My purpose is to keep up with my reading of the Bible, which I'm trying for daily, and to continue to follow God's lead. I think there is my plan.

By living God's will, I've forgotten the fears of the past. And somehow I'm seeing life anew. I pray that I can find a congregation that God can call me to where making a difference matters and not rock 'n roll.

Ecclesiastes 5:10 - "Whoever loves money never has money enough; whoever loves wealth is never satisfied with his income. This too is meaningless."

Happy New Year and aaaah Choo

2008-01-06T23:16:00.001-08:00

Not only Happy New Year to all (and you too Grumble!) but I've gotten the proverbial Christmas cold. Typical, of course. Though this year I don't know whether to blame the folks on the plane or in general the folks that don't know how to cover their faces when they sneeze, but her my drippy nose calls to the softness of a kleenex, often.

Well, on that note, keep posted. I will write more in depth should I get rid of the fatigue that this cold has brought on. Until then... good nite and God bless.

Snowy Roads, Christmas Memories, and a New Car

2007-12-29T11:22:00.000-08:00

and a partridge in a pear tree... :)

The snow was really coming down the weekend before Christmas, my celebration with my family in Chicago. I'd flown in to a $400 discount in comparison to flying the weekend after. The first night wasn't so bad; but then it was snowstormin'. Myself and my family are driving down a "highway" or so it may have been if I could've seen the road. I gripped tightly to the steering wheel looking at the mausoleums of dead SUVs and sedans puzzled into white drifts on the sides. Trying to keep the Toyota Corolla rental in those truck tracks because something bad was going to happen if I didn't.

But we made it home and had a good time.

Then the next weekend ole Blue Eyes and I headed up to Northern California to visit his parents for Christmas. The road there is always so much faster than the road back down. But we got to ride in his new 2008 Toyota Matrix on the way down. All fresh miles slipping off on the 5 southbound. The laughter, the board games, the family, and the food all twizzle together in my thoughts and it was Jesus Christ came down that night.

But we made it home and had a good time.

So the new year is upon us and I also have a SILVER 2008 Scion tC to celebrate this year. That was my own present giv'n at the start of December. A thought to the reason for the season goes a long way. Love to all, Peace and Joy. And Thank God He Sent His Son.

28 and Free: bitter delerium

2007-12-11T19:18:00.000-08:00

i remember the elation bubbling within as a blue scion xa cruised down the 405 south. elation, not born of love, but of freedom of choice slithered in. i arrived at your doorstep and you let me in. you casually exposed me to jon stewart, and i remembered distinctly the first mp3 you sent me and the coy way you copied papers just down the aisle from me at work.

i stared into your hazel eyes and you stared into mine. i debated a choice and what it meant and where i wanted you. want and need are funny little words.

so for once i demanded what i wanted and i got it.

the tense awkwardness was intimate in its own way and i think it wasn't supposed to be my intimacy. we shared minutes that are locked in at age 28 and there's no going back. no matter where you are today or what time says to me, that moment can't be erased.

a first kiss like none other. i think you'd agree. i can't see a screenwriter on strike jotting that one down in a notebook for the sitcom next season. nor a movie in production filming a moment as naive and strange as that one.

but that was why it meant something and nothing. randomnity. i think you helped me figure it out that night. i preached the gospel of randomness and yet i had no idea what it was. it was like faith and fate wrapped us in a curtain of desire and repellent and we were motionless to stop it. freedom of choice has its price. i see that now. i lost a friend that night, because after our lips pressed and pushed and slid and tongues fought furiously, you weren't the same, and neither was i.

unready to face that fact, were my thoughts. it was morning after and elation turned to lust and neither of us were fated for more. and then we partied and lusted (don't lie, i know you did) and drunkenly said some things perhaps i shouldn't. because lust isn't justifiable and hardly controllable, even in the best of times, and certainly we weren't controlled.

so you left not a note and erased me from your cellular and you accused me of things that were easier on the conscience, even if untrue, because lust and a moment and a locked in memory can't be defeated. and even the future can't change that.

Even The Stars Lie Sometimes

2007-12-10T23:02:00.000-08:00

Even the stars lie sometimes.

Sometimes loneliness creeps in. And you can't save yourself from it. Sometimes you're in a crowd and depression falls on those most fortunate. Time is a thief; it steals from us that which is most precious.

i read a post from a sixteen year old tonight:

im obsessed with a lifesyle i want, but cant have for legally another 2 years.
even then, i dont think ill be prepared.
im done with being a teenager.
i dont dont dont want to hear that ill be saying i wish i was 16 again when im in my twenties.
dont tell me, I already know.
I want to be on my own, make my own decisions, pay my own bills, do what i want, when i want to, with whoever i want to do it with.
its whats been consuming my brain for the past 3 days, it wont leave my thoughts.

and then i thought: but you don't know. you just can't know. i stare down the barrel of 31 and though i'm frightened, i am not perfect. time is one unforgiving thief. you're wiped out of a decade before you've even had a chance to sigh. and then you seek to fear the future, but the future is past before you truly feel it.

Stasis calls the pondering fools of immortality. If only such fools dallied, our poem would be written. Only death isn't fooled.

Today i write a thousand characters and not one means much in the scheme of things. Four or Fifteen people will read this or won't make it this far and so my words are still private. My thoughts are still dormant. A message in a bottle sunk to the bottom of a sea. No island rescuer to pull its precious curled fibers from a sacred lair. And yet I feel depression sliding off, like raindrops on a black umbrella where despair shrugs off freedom.

We, the American People, worship the white man and allow him to prejudice us against our brethren of darker skins. We call the President, god, and then he determines the fate of our grandchildren (or yours as I shan't have any). Because our children's children will live on islands of trash and global warming will thrust her deadly weapons upon them. They shall reap the unholy crop, not us. For them, we sow a thousand SUVs and they shall reap destitution and famine. We drink oil as if our glass can't ever be empty; we taste its liquid darkness as it seeps, warm and salty, downwards into our own oblivion. We won't face ourselves until we're hungover like a dying animal, grasping a white bowl of regret, its waters circling, circling.

The night toils on and sleeplessness beckons. I shan't answer her call tonight. I have lines to write, but another night I will dance with her. Because she won't have it any other way.

Are You Watching This?

2007-11-27T22:59:00.000-08:00

Yawn. So much action and fun.

I had a wonderful Thanksgiving with a few close friends like family. With good food, good times, and good people; I have a great job -- and I am Thankful to God for all of it. Sometimes you fear the valley because you just can't see that at the top of the next mountain there's a plateau and then another mountain.

Black Friday came and went. I finished most of my shopping and then some. The writer's are on strike and I'm afraid TV will get very boring. Once again, I will enjoy GhostHunters! Reality TV at its best.

Not that I have a whole lot of time on my hands. Work is very busy. We're growing a site where opinion polls matter.

Never stop dreaming. Watch the leaves fall into the crunchy snow as the seasons fade one into another. Pray for our soldiers. Pray for a solution. And think of someone else this holiday season.

Pepperdine Fire 2007

2007-10-21T13:28:00.000-07:00

Wow..

The Malibu Canyon fire that began early this morning continues to burn around campus. The Malibu fire is zero percent contained, according to fire officials. As of noon, more than a thousand acres have burned.

Buildings surrounding Pepperdine University have burned, but no campus structures are threatened at this time, confirmed Director of Public Relations Jerry Derloshon. At least ten fire response vehicles are on campus protecting structures and students from the Malibu fire, which is fueled by Santa Ana winds, he said.

All students on campus must remain in the Café and Firestone Fieldhouse and no students are being allowed off campus at this time, Derloshon said. The fire does not immediately threaten the University, but flames have burned structures directly outside of campus.

Students are watching news updates from video monitors in the Fieldhouse and Café.

That's a quote from today's Graphic, Pepperdine's campus newspaper. But this is so surreal. I was at Pepperdine in 1996 and these images, words, news, was all mine to behold from the INSIDE looking out. Now I'm on the reverse and it's like watching history on fast-forward.

Malibu Presbyterian church burned to the ground. I worked at that church when I was a sophomore. I remember the stained glass windows. Soul-searching the meaning of all this. Strange events all colliding from decade to decade and sorting out the facts from the perception is all too difficult.

That castle that burned sprung tears to my eyes. I always wanted to visit it and it was these words: next time. There is no next now. I pray that the newly restored Getty is safe. That no lives are lost, firefighter or civilian. Prayer is my only friend now.

I've called several agencies trying to find ways to help. So if anyone reads this and can find a way for me to do something. Do comment ASAP!

Wow. You Really Deleted My Number.

2007-09-27T06:22:00.000-07:00

It was more than a question or a statement. A fact really.
I'd sunken to this low on his book. Or by some force of nature
he had fallen for me. Or this was my imagination's way of helping
me feel important again?

Crumpled ego. Melted.
Time sent a message.
Crisply folded, not yet wrinkled.

If only I knew this was how it was going to go down, would I have
neglected the tender innocent kisses of the curious? Random lust.
Nahh..the memory, cemented as it is in time, is worth every penny.
I wouldn't trade that moment for what it's worth. No Regrets; perhaps
questions, perhaps quizzical looks, but never regret.

Betrayal lives on to the noble. We can only stand still as if change can't
change me. As if whispered promises could be kept. Somehow, I stand alone
in my moral compass.

I thought it was for fun. He meant it for keeps. Which is partially why
I think he disappeared. As if his disappearance, could erase that video tape
in a dark and sullied casino. As if, by avoidance, the attraction,in the spa,
was fantasy, and reality is muddled under kamikaze clarity. Well, I refuse to forget.
So that's what I'll remember as I grasp remnant thoughts at 84, in some lucid minute
or two, and although, they'll argue it's just crazy, I'll know it was real. As real
as a kiss can get.

Some mingle kisses and love into the same story. Ours wasn't written that way. I told
you from the beginning. I promised. I kept my promise. It was a real kiss, but love never touched that one. I promised you sting less kissing, blessed kissing, but the kind that soul searches and finds nothing. Did you hand Cupid a note one night when I fumed within at how unright you were? Were you convincing yourself of a lie? I meant no pain; foolish as that may seem now, but a kiss is a kiss. No more, no less.

Now mind you a kiss was wow. But a kiss doesn't lead anywhere but "sittin' in a tree"
until you say it does. I told the kiss to stay put; and mine did.

SodaHead.com, Autumn, and Full Moons

2007-09-25T19:55:00.000-07:00

I was driving home from my new job at Sodahead.com, (you should check it out if you have any opinions whatsoever). I thought back to the first year I started blogging and when I talked about romance veiled in infatuation. I think I pointed out to my life events with hyperbolic storytelling. I enjoyed every luscious retelling of the story that is my life.

I lost a friend; the same one I pretty much kissed to satisfy the inner curiosity that bled within. Somehow, he mistook a myspace comment after he was safely engaged to a lovely lady. I wonder about Maverick, because I enjoyed the jokes, the conversation, and a part of me hopes he joins sodahead.com. Perhaps, I'll run into his poll or something like that. I just want to tell him that I'm happy and enjoying the ride that age 30 has given me. And I want to tell him Thank You for converting me to Alternative Music. But since he carries resentment close to his heart, I think I shan't hear from him, door open and all.

I'm crossing oceans of time to start seeing who I am and who I will be.

After a brief interlude of some really bad news and some really good news, I am arrived to a higher level of thought.

So, I work on content management and I love every minute of it. I wonder often at the sun sliding into the ocean, a single palm tree leaning in the breeze that Venice is known for, darkness closing in on the ceiling of stars. The full moon echoes in the heavens, a silent song, its beauty forever on the set of Los Angeles living.

Destined to be.
Destined to breathe.
Destined to think.
Destined to believe.
Destined to hurt.
Destined to love.
Destined to argue.
Destined to achieve.

And the leaves began to fall.

Financial Blogging

2007-04-16T19:34:00.000-07:00

So even though I haven't blogged in a long while -- I have been reading a lot of financial blogs. StopBuyingCrap is one of them. I've been basically living my life to pay down debt and analyzing my finances - seeing where I put my pennies on a daily basis.

And what I was seeing wasn't good when I started, but now over the course of a few months is looking so much better. I started out by mapping out my net worth. And even though I'm not yet ready to unleash my net worth to the public, as many financial bloggers do, I do know that credit cards and debt have played a huge part of my struggles through the years. And perhaps it's the extravagant housing prices for not-so-special homes/condos, or because my generation doesn't save, but even so, I didn't want to see a dismal future. I want to be able to use some of my money for investing. And I want to stop buying crap.

I was on my way to success, but I really am tired of driving a stick shift. Granted, I loved my car (see Indigo Ink Pearl Scion xA), love it still. But that shiny new pearly tC caught my eye. And isn't it ever so much the lesson we always learn. So instead of using my tax refund for a downpayment. I'll just pay down the current car's payment and perhaps reach for a shorter amount of time paying it off. Then I'll have a huge amount of monthly money to use for more productive endeavors.

Thank you to those who keep on reading. Even when I'm not posting. I'm going to make a commitment to post at least once weekly. So please look forward to that.

SwiftBoat Launch

2007-03-14T20:27:00.000-07:00

Again, I write. It's the political turmoil within that boiled me badly. I felt useless at times, especially after viewing the truth at 911weknow.com.
I felt it hard to revisit 9-11 but I was able to face it with scientific facts and face it folks, it wasn't just "dem terrorists" on site there. Yes 3000 people died at the behest of military grade bombs placed in detonation style. And yes our government did it. Not unusual after Pearl Harbor or even the 6000 youngsters Bushie sent over to Iraq in the name of oil, war profiteering, and perhaps idiocy. I'll let him have his brainless existence if that be all he can hide behind.

Perhaps the best analogy would be: The Emperor Palpatine = Cheney, Darth Vader = George W Bush.

Aside from that - heroes rejoice. Perhaps the elected Congress will get us free from lies and pardon a few dead poets, Truth and Honor.

So life does pass swiftly.

Tremendous but nonchalant change sneaks by while soft harsh waves still lap upon memory's shore. I languished there for a day, an unusually globally-warmed day in Southern California.

Fear darkened the alleyway of potential loss and perhaps regret - so an impromptu trip to Florida's sunny shores - exit stage left.

And days follow closely to the nights, and its raw breath sticking to my cheek, indecision and worry and change all wrapped loosely in cloth. Ready-baked perhaps, ideas following one another.

Love pouring without; time and day - once again chasing each other's tails and fierce cries for kibble. Feeling as if once belonging and yet so far removed from family and what is real. Struggling to find the balance between independence and togetherness, in a city of vain loners, cash dripping from the tailpipes of their McLarens.

Harboring bitterness no longer, but finding the real me in a random combination of the prior me's I tried out. Unsure if Grey Goose had ever been a kind stranger in a lighted hell. Resolving to be true, watching Truth spill over the shores and cliffs and into the wheatfields in the middle. Dying to read another word by authors far greater than I. Yet reading printed material unworthy of mine own eye.

Smiling underneath the pain of fear, wandering if wondered, preaching the good fight and crying never. Which emotion was missing? and then accusing anger of dismissing sadness. Wanting for some reason to cry my eyes out but realizing to what purpose. Feeling hopeless and hopeful at the same time. How strange.

Resolving the past, pursuing the present, and planning for the future in a Choose-Your-Own-
Adventure style. Seeing that there is a link from Southbay Ford Reviews on MSN and not knowing how it got there.

Seeking solace and resting in lonliness, and realizing it's not so bad.

And that, folks, is where I have been. I will begin to write anew. For fresh ideas abound.

Happy New Year

2007-01-04T22:49:00.000-08:00

Happy New Year!

I finally found a moment to write. Time keeps falling away. But tonight, the keyboard couldn't keep me away. I was perusing my newest set of alums from college. Something I haven't done in about eight months or whatever. And there he was.

The guy with the green paper. Well, if you skip back to my very first blog on here, that's the guy. He apparently is married and has twin girls who are about a year old. Not surprising except I expected a brood of seven children five or six women. I truly am the JadedTLC.

I wondered at the story that became his life and how I am Jaded because of him; and how I let him have that much power in my life. How I love so hard. And let go so hardly.

How many people have passed through my life -- so many. Faces and names mingle like lost letters in your Alphabet soup. Swimming images, memories - not all good or all bad, just memories, dancing like sparks under the moonlight. I guess I feel finished and maybe that's not what I wanted. And whatifs are NoMores.

Sometimes I wonder why I am alone, and then I remember that I write better as I suffer. And I avoid the paper when I'm happy. The screen ever waits for me, and I never have to wait for it. My words comfort me. As only words can. Notably, this reminds me of that quote near the end of "Lil Miss Sunshine" where Steve Carrell's character talks about not skipping the suffering because that's what builds the character within and that was something Proust wrote.

How am I going to get my story out if I don't keep writing? Even Sir GFish reminds me to write and I guess I'm often afraid of the Truth. You can't write lies, because even wrapped in fiction, the Truth beams out on some form.

I am the cat lady. Loved by my furkids forever (or at least 20 more years), startled into reality by one hardened memory. Missing pain and "love like that" - the kind that we call first love when we really let everything go and just jumped, but realizing that is gone; too many roads are darkened, may I find the one less-travelled and build a lamp-post with a gas flame licking the glass, at the end of that very less-travelled road.

Just Around the Bend

2006-10-09T22:39:00.000-07:00

Finally, I find some time to do something productive. With the TV shut down and music blaring from my new super cool speakers for my computer... I can write, update the website for the German Shepherd Rescue group, and organize six months of papers. Spring cleaning in Autumn, if you will.

And I'm aiming to go to bed early - but not before turning the pages of a great novel by Ray Bradbury. Death Is A Lonely Business. So far, the novel has been well written. Ray Bradbury is a former resident of the city I live in so it's pretty fascinating to read the resonations of what my neighborhood was like in 1949. The streets are the same, though more crowded and noisy these days. But I have reason to believe, the same folks he writes about reside in the weathered beach shacks that still raise their gray heads between the wealth-driven condos, shimmering in sunset after sunrise, after sunset.

The more things change; the more things stay the same.

Time is just the vessel that carries us from Point A to Point D. Point B just a dot above the 'i'.

The news hasn't been so happy, so I think I will skip that part - FoleyGate and the rise of the idiot dictator aren't happy topics and you can get more info at AirAmerica. In case you don't keep up with politics, which you should as we only have about four weeks left until we vote. And let there be JUSTICE.

Delight in the dance called decision. Have you ever wondered just how many stars die every night? Or how many insects are born under the majestic mountains in Yosemite National Park? I can still remember the glow of the dying sun shadowing the mountainside. I can feel the breeze wipe across an exhausted cheek as I truly felt peace, and accomplishment, and perhaps purpose. Isn't that what we fight for anyway, our Purpose?

In an audience of One, I stand for justice and equality for All. I choose that which benefits the most. And I sing my uniqueness and feel that much closer to God. I hope and Pray for better days. I Believe those Days are Upon us. If we just Hold On and Breathe.

Tonight, I Write

2006-10-05T21:54:00.000-07:00

I haven't written in what feels like forever and probably was. I've had so many ideas and so much going on almost like life in reality leaves no time to reflect. Which isn't really true, because to be honest, a People's Court/Dr. Phil addiction certainly doesn't allow me the audacity to avoid writing.

So I write something. Anything.

As my little housemates wander around my living room, one usually crying incessantly to be played with, the other probably sleeping, curled up against the world. And a dark world it is. Yes the other is curled up peeking out of comfort looking for a token pat on the head. And perhaps I oblige, but just this once.

I've taken up a habit of listening to Progressive Talk Radio (1150 AM in Los Angeles) -- Air America for everyone else -- and I even listen all day at work, because the days have gotten long. And corporate. I find myself hating coporate more and more each day, and I fight it off because I think I was called to be a teacher the day I decided to be an English major, and only I have struggled against it. Not for naught - I have learned so much and I'm just not born of politics and the unfair rules and regulations and paperwork, and how hard work means nothing in the scheme of things. It's whether you can make numbers stay on a piece of paper, and ink it in a way that makes only you look good, but meanwhile pretending you were the only reason for it.

God hates liars.

That's why even though I didn't want to become SUCH a political blogger, I'm going to fall into one. There's no doubt that the more lies Hastert and Boehner (sp?) heap upon the sacrificial lambs' fire, they cannot live. Even though the real reason the Republicans should be banished from the House is because they want to torture men in homoerotic ways that they condemn, and because they think a dictatorship is safer than a democracy, even though those are the real reasons we shouldn't vote, or let them fix the vote, them back in -- the reason that will hopefully knock off the holy rollers who don't know holy from the back of a cereal box, off of this pilgrimmage to make everyone love Jesus cuz they said so.

I've loved Jesus since I was 'yay high' but I don't want people to fear and pretend to love Jesus because the holy rollers want it. That's not what I read in the Bible. So as in 1995 when I cried because a murder could be released into society because he made a billion dollars - I will cry if Foley isn't put in jail and punished as Gacy and every other sick human being is. Along with those "soldiers" who said they obeyed George Hitler so they tortured people who (yes they are people REGARDLESS of their beliefs and/or intentions.)

The more I cry for our nation, the sadder it gets. I'm still trying to sort out how someone who wasn't born of politics can fix this mess. Because everyone's just scrambling around at Capitol Hill to keep their job and the power and money behind it, so much like corporations, maybe that's why I feel sickened to work at the bottom of a Tribune/McLatchy union. Maybe that's the reason I despair at arriving to work on numbers that benefit crazies and purposeless fools who believe that a nation where everyone is the Same but not Equal is what America means, even though most people would disagree with it if they didn't clutch so tightly those beliefs that God is the Government. Because Clergymen sin as all men do. And sometimes I think you turn 80 and you forget that - that and the good ole days weren't all that good (see Grapes of Wrath).

I love God too much to cry tonight. So I write. Because voices must be heard and their lies must be lit.

Summertime

2006-06-22T23:15:00.000-07:00

Thoughts toss on the breeze like a cool iced tea. Soft, but not too much. Sausage stirs from its slumber and the people celebrate life again. He looked into my eyes and what did he see? Cares washed in blues and whites. And love so enormous, it crushes the very pavement it moves on. Delight and stunning dancing on the moments that memories are made. S'mores and spicy sauces kiss lips entangled in young love, while grandma and grandpa rest tired arms and legs on sandy loungers while backyard vacations thrive. School, but a fleeting thought; kids run rampant as water erupts freeing the spirits within. Even I had to smile. The sun, still favored, winks in a sky of puffy dreams and laughter pours from the heavens. He danced with me and I was lost again. I couldn't remember it being this way. Somehow, the sky opened.

The Library

2006-05-24T23:01:00.000-07:00

I get to go to the library for lunch breaks at work. I sit among the students and the homeless tirelessly locked into their daily routines, as I attend to mine -- a BLT with 2 carrot sticks, sometimes a bag of Fritos (TM). The water feature glints in the sunlight pouring from the sky above within the center of this mecca of knowledge and of my adventure.

Sometimes I'm a detective -- I drift back to being one of Nancy Drew's crew, silently stalking the criminal, in the most dangerous places, while retaining that 1960s ladylike behavior, so that Ned will always know he's still the man, and that she's the woman, though only 18 and for sure accomplishing more than my modest flight from Chicago to Los Angeles, 3000 miles away from everything in my own Known world. Sometimes I'm frittering away the day, studying about my latest hobby, whether it be gardening or cat care or some other subject. Occasionally I am romantically swept away by Prince Charmings that don't exist, or hunting strange beasts on islands that the TV series "Lost" cannot even describe. Once in awhile, I challenge myself to decoding the antics of Hemingway or Faulkner, living a rich and full life in the South, charasmatically wearing the Scarlett O'Hara dress, and telling Rhett "I love you." (Ok, so sometimes it's a romantic drama, and not just one of those cheap Harlequin matters, but you get the point).

It has been often that I have begun retreating from the online world, and to some extent the outside offline world, into this private haven that someone else wrote. But what I constantly forget is that I have a story to write, and if I don't get to it, it'll die in my head, forever mummified in my remains until ashes become ashes and dust becomes dust.

So I abandon my own blog, my own stories, in favor of artificial snapshots from someone else's unfathomable mind. And I derrive a fantasy of sorts, that I, could never be as good as them. Which is preposterous, not because I am a genius, though that certainly could be the case, however, because I merely cannot know until I have tried. So I have whittled down a few phrases and I know this isn't my best work, but it is indeed work, and that is a start. As I wrote that last sentence I heard a little "british" accent come through. And that, my friends, is what every writer misses, whether he/she knows it; that voice is in there, aching to come alive and to breathe life into these things we call words/letters/symbols. We may not be named William Shakespeare, but I think the JadedTLC, the GrumbleFish, the Kid, the Leese (who goes by a more regular name I might add), and the Jen and Jimmy Jazz; we have our voices, and with this chorus of blah plus genius, there is some kind of music out there to be written.

Volunteering

2006-05-07T22:23:00.000-07:00

I know that my blogs have become slightly obsessive accolades to my furbabies, but they have become a big part of my life. I started volunteering for the Southern California Siamese Rescue about a week ago, and my life has changed for the better. Today, I got to play with four very adorable furballs no heavier than my cell phone.

It's hard to believe my growing beasts were once that size.

I'd have to say that volunteering has left me with a better life view, even with such an idiot in the White House. It kinda makes me feel as if I can change the world, even if just a little. Sure there is so much mess, but for once I'm not uselessly complaining about politics that I no longer can fix, at least I can try at the next election.

Which makes me wonder which Democrat I want to run against Arnold. We have to get that numbskull out.

I'm still struggling to understand why gas prices get to rise to 3.50 and the oil companies are enjoying their highest profits ever. Is there something wrong with a picture where someone is making all the money off of stuff everyone has to have? (Come on, Los Angeles has no public transit system.) This sounds alot like dictatorship. How dare Bushy call Saddam evil until he's looked at himself in the mirror.

Anyway, spring is slowly sifting its way into the air. And I guess I've started to do a lot more outdoor stuff, less indoor games. The internet is losing it's grasp on the features that the sunny spring days allure.

Using Your Senses

2006-04-26T23:30:00.000-07:00

Sight is our favorite sense that we take for granted. Sure we have memory of cooking smells and perfumes.. and though they are memorable, we don't remember everything we smell. But in a way we always remember what we've seen.. maybe things we don't want to remember too.

I thought about the blind today. And I don't know how I'd write if I was blind. Sure you can speak and the software will type it, but that doesn't feel as precious and private as writing. Someone could hear you, but your writing, unless you choose to publicly blog or publish (as I obviously do) is yours. I still write in a diary.. and those thoughts are mine with only God's knowledge.

A blue sky with puffy clouds means less on paper to someone who's never lain open-eyed and lazily twirled a dandelion between fingertips - pressed lips against the bloom -- and painted shapes in the sky. A rabbit, santa claus, dancing twirling butterflies, and a dragon blowing smoke.

I am more thankful after these thoughts. And it makes me feel warmer inside and helps me ignore the monkey the conservatives worship, the 3.25 dollar gasoline in my car, the stress that is inevitable at work, the attempts to bind my relationships closer...

for a few seconds, minutes, days, I am 8 and a lady on a quest in the wood - magic and creatures abound, and i see with both the imagination and the beautiful reality, because escape is what makes us human.

Feeling Guilty

2006-04-19T22:34:00.000-07:00

I haven't posted in a long while. And the writer inside was crying a bit, but the reality of it is:
Don't you have to live life in order to write about it? Cuz writing about writing can be done, but can get old if you have 100 posts on just that.. however much Peter Elbow or Noam Chomsky would argue with you.

I could write tomes about the irritation I've experienced in just three weeks. Anything from Arby's encounters with the stupid kind to the cigarette smoking driver in front of me, flicking ashes that fall on my blue baby. But that would seem negative, and I haven't felt much negative lately. I do feel settled though.

I scarcely realized that being a furmomma would pull my heartstrings to stay home and watch. Whether they be good boy and girl or bad boy or girl, they're cute all the same and I want to be there for them. Unfortunately for us both, I have to hit the "hi ho hi ho it's off to work i go" just to keep the kitty kibbles on the kitty table (ie floor to the humankind -- i am not THE cat lady yet).

Perhaps, I'm just enjoying the California sunshine basting my face in it's springtime lull that isn't unlike midwestern summer. For we all know -- only two seasons touch southern Cali -- fire and flood.

But I really pondered this point earlier -- and it's true. I love all of those things and I've caught myself strolling along in life and not online -- and that may not be entirely bad. Other than my bi weekly or so jaunts over to Catster.com to learn about all the things I want to be afraid of -- and yes having to start a blog for each kitten. Kenobi can't keep his paws off of what his sister wants and is a true Nemesis to her. Perhaps the young Jedi is leaning towards the dark side?

And Princess Tai pawing at the streaming water from my toothbrushing episode 2 -- and trying to catch it, not yet able to figure out that water is as living as you and I, and in a sense, freer and less capturable, kinda like trying to get her into a carrier on the way to the vet.

Or Kenobi letting wind pass and then smiling at my face -- with that "oops i done it" look. And stinky though it is, he's so cute so you pet him anyway.

Unfortunately, no one has yet to adopt his two brothers. If anyone in the California area reads this, please let me introduce you to these two kittens. They were soo sweet; if only, I was a rich cat lady. . . (a single gal can dream)

And then I look at my chewed up receipts -- and regret buying a fifty dollar shredder -- and the fighting and the running across furMomma in the middle of the human night... and yeah, two bundles of trouble are plenty.
This is a rare picture of the troublesome twosome in sleeping mode -- together no less...

As If Life Isn't a Metaphor for After Life

2006-03-19T22:55:00.000-08:00

Thank you readers for hanging on.. and a nod to Gfish for reading my last post. I had a dark period which has now passed. Thank God. :)

I went to a concert tonight. Mozart and Mahler, two very different composers, two fine symphonies. I thoroughly enjoyed the swift river-like flow the pieces encapsulated. As the music played, I felt myself visualizing a prairie field, the weeds blowing in a late spring breeze. And of course a historical past that could only belong to perhaps my great grandparents. I got nostalgic for that time period.

Whenever I read Faulkner, or another great American literary writer, I always find myself wondering how these folks have so much leisure time. I know that with technology, we've built ourselves alot of free time. However, it doesn't always seem so. As we climb our corporate ladders or soccer mom schedules, or whatever, we are all feeling the crush of time. I know that even most nights I get to bed before 11:30 or midnight but still feel there just isn't enough time. I think that there are only three things I need to refoucs on for importance: God, Family, Friends.

And maybe just lying in a field on a warm spring day, watching the clouds play.

I just added my two babies below to my family. Tai is the lady gray tabby and Kenobi (yes I'm a Star Wars geek) is the white baby boy. I feel my heart expanding at this very moment, just treasuring their very funny kitten antics. You haven't lived until you've seen a white kitten jumping over the charging gray mass of fur hurtling towards him, all in a split second.

Wow I wish I was that smart. ;)

Rain

2006-03-05T17:47:00.000-08:00

And then the wind blew softly, at first. Isn't that how it always begins? That faint scent on soft wind air. The season doesn't matter; it could be spring or summer or in the South -- fall or winter, but always her tender tendrils whip about your face as you turn your head up to a sky more static-y white/gray than anything else. Not unlike the color your watercolor brush turns after several lighter color dip, dip, dips.

Trouble is, the wind never stays the same. Its invisible strength can be felt as the thunder particles crash, in the distance now, but not for long. And in your heart you feel the energy building and you don't know how you feel.. maybe angry or disappointed .. maybe reflective or saddened .. and there isn't any real tangible reason why, almost as if the sizzling air has cut even to your very core and read your inner thoughts. The thoughts that haunt you enough that you push them down deep inside, so you can giggle and say "hiya, how ya doin?" without looking phony, although inside, truly inside, you feel those other feelings, the dark side if you will.

Stronger still the trees bend to a will not their own, sometimes snapping and sending wayward branches down the street. Your hearing is muted to the other everyday noises as the draft grows cold, colder, colder still. Your breath turns white and you shiver involuntarily, from that tingle down your back. The thunder is right overhead and startles you as you lean over the edge of your balcony or deck. The sky is darker, even darker than a crisp cold deadly night. But you're drawn to stay outside, as the first mists begin to land on your cheeks and to dot your hair and skin in super small little half bubbles where much of life begins.

The wind begins to pick up again, gusting sheets of water, no longer called rain by the meteorologists, who stand on the news reporting the conditions in yellow slickers, and eyes half closed as it pours. You also feel your negative deep seated feelings release into the cold nevermore as ravens huddle under what tendrils of leaves remain. Your release is full, not unlike orgasm, but fuller, more satisfying. As if you'll never be lonely or hurt again. The rain falls in pathways down your cheeks and the salty consistency makes it difficult to separate emotion from nature. It all cascades the same way, sighs unheard, now uttered into a cacophony of H2O meets asphalt meets slashing typhoon.

The wind tapers off and the sky, with nothing more to give, closes up. And empty you feel so that relief spills within, before loneliness can find you. Before fear and anger and hurt and everything not of joy can enter. Relief gives you rest and the wind dries your cheeks, your eyes, your hair, though doused, is relaxed.

It isn't an end, only a means to a neverending cycle. And you're holding on until next time.

Efficiencies

2006-02-23T22:42:00.000-08:00

I'm starting to see a pattern in my life. I've gotten so impatient the last few years. I mean, everything has to be a shortcut or "efficient." I realized this as I was driving home tonight after work. I was cooking dinner for a friend, and had to meet at my house. I wasn't particularly in a rush though.

But strangely enough I'd roll up to the stop sign and barely pause, legally enough, but I realized that I was doing so to be more efficient. Or in my thoughts "efficient."

So I looked up the word. (Thank you dictionary.com)

Acting directly to produce an effect: an efficient cause.
1. Acting or producing effectively with a minimum of waste, expense, or unnecessary effort.
2. Exhibiting a high ratio of output to input.

Unnecessary effort huh? Who's judging what's unnecessary? For safety or even pure "pass your driver's test" reasons, I perhaps should do more than pause. I should fully stop, like the blue haired matrons who always end up in front of me.

And when someone beeps in impatience behind me, are they determining unnecessary effort? And why is effort so unnecessary? Why don't we just make the effort regardless of whether it's indeed necessary or unnecessary?

I pondered these questions today and in that unwitting and perhaps I'll change my lifestyle way. Living in Los Angeles may slow that learning curve; everyone here exhibits "efficiency." So does my corporate life. But I wonder if some of the best moments of my life are being lost in efficiency...

ISO Loving Campanion

2006-02-19T18:48:00.000-08:00

I have finally given in to my destiny. I am about to embark on the adventure I knew was coming. I am starting my new life as "cat lady." As my love life has crumbled, my trust has been shattered, I have decided the only male worth having around is an adorable kitten. And I found him. (At least I hope they let me adopt it.)

Instead of elaborating on my recent downfall into depression, I'd rather talk about a new and bright future. Of hours of love and friendship. Of a destiny which was my own years ago, of which I am finally done denying.

I've lost my faith in human males towards non plutonic relationships. I've only seen a dark netherworld, where lies are truth. And truth is an unknown concept. And I'm so tired of the excuse "I didn't want to hurt your feelings." Bullshit I say.

You didn't want to hurt your own feelings. (Truth, but yet unacknowledged.)

But that is neither here nor there and the state of the union has changed. As if W has poisoned all of y'all.

But I digress (not unusual, just noticed).

I saw a sunset caress the ocean tonight. The crisp LosAngelian winter night lay chaste against a virgin sky. At least today it was. The air was breatheable, and in some places unusually so. Smog was but a myth and death was but a fleeting thought. As I drove in the startlingly bright sunshine, the future was bigger than it was just moments before.

My disappointment lies in wait though. Pondering the moment of pounce. Careful, not to be noticed in such clean thoughts. Eying its prey, only to crush my doomed heart and crack up the pieces, mulch them, into a fine powdered dust to be carried on a cold wintry breath.

I know it's there. It knows I know. And for now, we are in harmony.

The Naked Truth - Take One

2006-02-11T00:25:00.000-08:00

The truth is always there, whether or not we choose to acknowledge it. And sometimes it feels smarter to run from it, to hide it, to close it up into the past where we think it can't hurt us anymore. The sad thing is, it isn't missing, hidden, or outrun; it's still lurking in our actions and our reactions.

I think I feel I need to premise my story because I'm afraid of the truth of it. But it's time this story is told, and so I will trudge on. I hope the readers that know me as reader to writer don't judge me too harshly; I also hope the readers who know me as family, friend, or enemy are careful of how they view the truth. For indeed, it is only my story, from my side. But it needs to be told.

As divorce becomes the family dinner table discussion in millions of homes nationwide, it is often easy to forget there are actual people on the front lines in these battles, as well as veterans nursing their mental wounds. Some of us are ghosts of who we were.

I don't know why the two sides of who I remember as my father, or as I commonly refer to as my sperm donation live-in, conflict, but they do. I was a YMCA Little Indian daughter and I remember a man who didn't really want to know me. As a straight A student, I was rarely questioned about school or friends or if I was just angry cuz I didn't get a Cabbage Patch Kid (tm) for my birthday, during the thirteen years the man stayed in my family. Our family looked ok from the outside, that is.

On the inside there was always arguing, anger, danger. Magic three foot holes in walls (or so they appeared to a nine year old), dog barking and then whining in as much fear as the human children (my younger sister and I) were in. And then I knew I had to be brave, no matter what. Because she was two years my junior and I was more afraid for her, because I knew I loved her the moment my mom brought her home to me. And even if those more recent years she started to annoy me by trying to be me, I knew I secretly loved that feeling too.

I remember one night when I heard my mom crying in the bathroom. And even though I knew there were two bathrooms, I chose to pull the "kid's gotta go pottie" routine to get my dad away from her. Or maybe he'd notice there were youngins around or maybe he'd put down the Budweiser, ignore the talking frogs for once in his damn life. It was our fault we were born in your twenties, a heinous reminder of maybe a perceived mistake on your part, you may have thought as you chugged it all down, even bent the can with your hand and tossed it's silver white glory into the recycling. Probably because you spent half your paycheck at the bar to gain friends who are only there when the drinks are on Jack.

I have long-battled my self esteem demons, and I no longer let that thought control my own. I know I am not a mistake regardless of anyone's opinion. So what if my mother was 17 and my stupid 20 year old dear old dad wasn't ready to settle down. You didn't care about your education enough to drop the blue collar; you chose to be daddy's boy and work the family construction business. None of these decisions were my fault. These were your choices.

And now I know that you sit in a city somewhere near Downer's Grove, Illinois wondering what the two offspring you begot are up to. (It also wasn't my fault you opted for a vasectomy -- but thank GOD it happened.) You want to share my victories and yet never wanted to comfort me from my failures. You were ashamed of who you were and took that out on us. You bought into a new wife to trade out the old wife plus kids. And yes that does hurt deep down. I can still love myself, but can you love yourself?

You think that after ten years you can instant message someone "I love you" and hope it sticks. That was obviously a mistake, even I am not so naive. My anger has poured out and thinned, and even the bitterness has crusted away. I feel sorry for a man who's only blood on earth may not see him til he's brittle, and cold, lying still, a painted smile etched and sewn against a backdrop of "Amazing Grace." The only pain you can know is how you never took responsibility for anything. How can you have lived your life with just excuses to show for? I admit my failures.

I can say I fell in love with the wrong boy and nearly wrecked my education doing it. I can say I've trusted too easily, trusted not enough, and still make it through. But above all this, I can say I'm sorry. No excuses, just sorry.

You may be "recovering" from your alcoholism now, but do you ever think of making some truce with the casualties you created in your war against yourself? That maybe the little girl who wanted her mother to not come out of the bathroom looking red white and blue -- who didn't want her sister to have nightmares as scary as her own -- maybe she tried so hard to love you, but it just doesn't work anymore.

My own issues lay in my inability to trust properly. And I know it came from then. I don't blame you anymore. You were stupid and 21, 22, 23, 24, 25 --who cares --. I don't have kids at 29 for a reason. I don't trust myself with starting a family, because I don't want to screw up some small person's life. I'd like to have an altruistic love. I am not perfect, and I have a lot to learn. I guess I can admit that. And say I'm sorry.

I'm sorry you grew up privilaged and have never known the shame of a homeless shelter.
I'm sorry that you medicated your pain with Bud Lite or Jose or the good ole Captain Morgan, and a drug habit to boot. And I'm sorry that you had the perfect family and never knew it. You had the perfect life and couldn't accept it. I'm sorry you can't love yourself, and live every day trying to. But most of all I'm sorry that should your grandchildren ever be born (God willing) that you won't get to grasp their little fingers and tell them stories of how their momma was when she was younger -- because you never wanted to know her or to love her.

I accept that.

The Biggest Loser and Other Sordid Tales

2006-02-08T20:43:00.000-08:00

I've been watching "The Biggest Loser" because for some masochistic reason, I like to watch other people losing weight as I'm sitting on the couch munching on something that they're gonna say has way too many calories. I have 20 pounds that keep coming back from vacation, and I'm working out a little more crazily to see if I can get rid of them for good. (Burying them alive isn't entirely out of the question.)

I also have websites to develop and next week was my deadline. Unfortunately, between the Coldplay concert and the extra responsibilities at work, I'm finding it difficult to turn my computer on and just do something about it. I'm even finding excuses to avoid blogging, which I love.

I've been thinking about Maverick and what happened and that maybe I was forcing fate by pushing so hard to get what I wanted, without even stopping to think about what he wanted. I guess it's not regret, just silent wonder. And I'm certainly tired enough that I'm not thinking clearly.

The days are melting into months already. I feel like 2006 is zooming by and there's not much time left.

Last night I got really reminiscent due to the Fiona Apple opening act. That song "Criminal" brought me down college memory lane. My SA, Amber -- well I love her last name but won't publish it in case I get in trouble -- and my ex Ty-Rin and a whole lot of drama, coming soon to a theater near you. Anyway, there were definitely some tears coating my eyes and maybe it's just that I don't even know that person I was. I feel like I let life and love and the lack of pursuit of happiness to take over. A whirlwind of loss of time, and now I'm so much more confident and different. I think I know what I want to some degree.

Back then, I hardly knew who I was and how could I know how to pursue happiness when I didn't even know what happiness looked like. I thought happiness was short and dark, and "handsome." Dear God KNOWS the definition of handsome has been kicked up several notches. And I peer at the Savon prints and wonder what the hell was I thinking?! I can do sooo much better than that. And why was I even worrying about doing better.

And to my loyal readers who check in every once in awhile. I give you grand kudos to this writer who pretends to be blocked but is more about not being caught telling the truth.

Thank you.

Ahhhh... Breathe Out

2006-01-20T16:16:00.000-08:00

Thanks to the lovely Comcast cable man, overall clad, sparkling (chin?) jewelry and joyful morning smile -- I have my Internet back. It's sort of like that feeling "I want my MTV."

Now I get to wrestle with their customer service to get credited the week my connection went on vacation. Joyful, I am sooo not looking forward to this upcoming Pay Per View tussle.

Regarding the movie "Mitchell": I loved that show Mystery Science Theater 3000 and Netflixed one of the movies. I think it's mainly because I've seen enough bad movies that I reckon I can call myself a half movie critic and sometimes enjoy bantering through the better portion of the particularly poor workmanship pieces. "Mitchell" is one of those pieces. Literally, I think I've seen many films centered on Los Angeles, but none so heinous as this one. One of the characters commented that he's seen faster funeral processions than the chase scene between the buick and the 70'sish Ford Mustang. I would concede this as a valid truth.

In any event, my nostalgia has led me to also Netflix the TV series, "Bewitched." I am thoroughly re-enjoying this classic. I can't say it's timeless because the idea that a married woman stays home all day is a rather ridiculous notion in our day. Thankyouverymuch Georgie Pooh Bush. (Read sarcasm here.)

Other than that and finding a sort of mental block in my writing. I find myself yawning like no tomorrow. Good evening, good morning, good afternoon. "Good Day."

Online Woes

2006-01-19T10:24:00.000-08:00

My cable modem is down at home (either the hardware or the wiring -- thank you so much Comcast). :-( I'll try to blog this weekend assuming picking up a new modem on Saturday solves the problem.

I look forward to talking about the movie Mitchell, Apples to Apples, and other fun stories.

Happy Birthday

2006-01-12T16:08:00.000-08:00

Today, I awoke to a familiar tune in the fathoms of my brain. One that I'm sure some part of the RIAA has copyrighted and if I wrote any of the lyrics on here, I'd get sued for every penny I don't have and the figure would look like the typical RIAA member's paycheck. Oh alright, I'll write it regardless of them: "Happy Birthday to me.. "

Facing my last year in my 20s and the madness that follows that announcement, I may have a lot to accomplish this year. I'm just not sure what that is. Fearing the best and the worst, I suppose. Sometimes I feel vulnerable about all the change; sometimes I want to be in love. Then there are other moments when I'm excited and feel so secure in everything; those times I don't want anything to do with love.

After plugging away for 29 years, I'm standing at a pivotal part of life. Just another precipice that determines who I will be for the next decade that life offers me. (Also, assuming life does offer me another decade).

The moon was cold and pale last night. And the stars were twinkling. And a part of me wanted to cry, because I felt alone. But then my best friend came and we had dinner and I was sure everything was gonna be alright after all. I think I'm worrying about those big questions that come in your thirties (when are you gonna get married; when are you gonna start a family; where's your mortgage/house) that I can no longer shrug off by saying (I'm only twenty-something; I'm still young). Especially with all these risk factors of having kids after a certain age, I guess I do have a biological clock ticking and it is starting to get louder. But for now I can still muffle the sound so I think it's just a ghost of a noise.

So all of y'all who aren't at my precipice, don't worry so much; and live life to it's boldest. To the ones who've gone past me -- any advice? To the rest of us on the precipice -- let's hold hands and J U M P!

2006?

2006-01-02T20:43:00.000-08:00

As I sit here, the day after the newest day of the year, I'm sniffling worse than Mr. Snufflupagas with a bad cocaine habit. I've personally contributed to several trees/cotton plants annihilation and should just go ahead and buy Kleenex (TM) stocks. And then my illness led to an addiction stint with Final Fantasy X.

So now I can write again.

Ahem. I find myself revelling in the thought of choosing New Year's Resolutions. I know most people cast aside these myths within a couple of weeks, but I've had a rather productive 2005. With last year being the dawn of my 10 years into adulthood benchmark, I had all these high school dreams I wanted to get done, and looking back, I only missed one -- going to New Orleans for Mardis Gras (granted last year was my last chance probably for a long time too). Interestingly enough, I achieved all of my resolutions for 2005, and a month before deadline, I might add.

Let's see, there was:

Getting a new job
Getting my own apartment
Kissing Maverick
Going to London

With so many achievements, I'm stumbling around for a new goal. I want to put "gym visits" on the list for this year, but I'm wondering how steady my resolve will be in three weeks. My excuse for the first day is "but I'm sick..." which is true. However, how many "but's" will I dig up to avoid losing the 15 pounds that keep finding me?

I've pondered some interesting scenarios this past year, grown up a lot. Lost a few friends, gained a few more; signed on the dotted line, all by myself, studied to be a millionaire, and got myself writing again. I think that was the best thing though. Getting my ink back. The page was so blank without me.

I think I want to start volunteering for something this year. Yet I'm not sure what. Any votes?

Home From The Holidays

2005-12-27T09:54:00.000-08:00

The stark sky, laden with gifts, opened its fluffy arms and released light little drops of RAIN?!! Yes, it was already white, but on Christmas Eve, raindrops plopped down on the pavement. Now I really should be thanking my lucky stars that the weather turned "warm" for my visit to Chicago, but I'm a spoiled Southern California brat. :P And I just wanted a little snow.

Upon a happy landing via SouthWorst Airlines (TM), after being delayed both to Chicago and from, I arrive to a symphonic cacophony of impatient drivers at the Worst Airport Ever (TM) - LAX. I had a friend come pick me up and home I arrived, where my very first tree smelled deliciously of Pine Sol, minus the sol. The poinsettia was also still alive and vibrantly red, so no worries about killing the plants while out.

After opening my bags and pulling out my new pajamas -- mmm, cotton -- I opened my late Christmas cards. Those are the ones you sent to your friends and family and then they felt guilty for not sending you one -- yeah those ones. They were nice all the same and there is one card I need to send (late obviously, it's after Christmas), but since New Year's counts, it's ok. Or at least I have myself convinced it is.

So I went to bed, snuggling deep in my bedcovers, playing my GameBoy Advance, Final Fantasy Tactics Advance. As addiction curls its desperate fist around me, I struggle a bit and turn it and the light off. Goodnight, Venice, goodnight. (Merry Christmas to all and to all a good nite!)

It's Beginning To Look Alot Like Christmas

2005-12-08T13:29:00.000-08:00

You can always tell when I'm procrastinating. I'm supposed to be finishing my project for class tomorrow, and yet, instead, I'm surfing the net and blogging. I suppose I can't be entirely blamed.

In response to why Los Angelians do not pub crawl:

Pubs and bars are spread out further apart, in most cases five blocks or more. (Except in Hollywood where a beer will cost you $9-$10 a bottle.
Blocks here are much longer than London (I assume other European cities are similar).
People in Los Angeles do not walk. No, I'm not kidding. I've known people to drive three blocks away.
Drive-thru windows. That's how Americans get their fast food; there is no walking -- only obesity in SUVs.
The average vehicle here is a large SUV, not a Ford Explorer, but a Jeep Commander or a Suburban.
Since people do not walk sober here, they also do not walk drunk (unless you're homeless).
You can get arrested for walking around drunk. They call it public drunkeness.
You can get a DUI and major consequences for driving drunk. Some people do it; I do not advocate doing it.
I do love walking around drunk, but my friends do not. This can cause a ruckus.
So there's the reasons. Oh, and yeah, bars here aren't as cool as over there.

I'm still procrastinating. I kinda miss the keyboards in the UK. The extra punctuation is different on the keyboards there. And, frankly, I'm feeling nostalgic. Hearing about that blast over there and now they've cancelled the special double-decker bus service, and I never got a chance to ride it. Kinda like how I wanted to go to New Orleans all this time and never did.

Well let's get to the point of the title. I love this season. And I don't care if it offends you religiously, but MERRY CHRISTMAS everyone! I really enjoy the sparkling lights, red blue green yellow white... everywhere. Candy canes and silver lanes, I love them all. And even though the weather is hanging around 68 degrees Farenheit here, I'm dreaming of a white Christmas because I'm going to Chicago for the holiday.

That's where I'm from. And I miss my family. Sometimes I think about all the memories I'm missing, and all the ones they're missing out on as I live so far away. I know it's inevitable, the growing up, but a part of me wants to anticipate all the presents in front of the tree, its outfit neatly accessorized with glass and plastic and foil (that is what garland is made of?). The light from the angel on top glistening in my mocha eyes. I stood in awe just watching it all. And even now, I can feel my heart pitter-pattering in the sweet joy when I see someone opening a something special from me. I love that look of surprise as the person opens it, and they smile so wide, the kind where their teeth show.

Anyway, I suppose I should get back to work... the website beckons.

After London: The Debriefing

2005-12-02T09:49:00.000-08:00

The Tube

One of the greatest manmade inventions. Transportation that is easy-to-use, fun, and in general a great idea. How come Los Angelians are idiotic -- too idiotic for a tube? I don't know but it sure would save on cabs after pub crawling.

Pub Crawling

Yet another great idea. And can I just say, "hooked on Cider"? Who would've known the blessed blonde highlights would catch my eye. That I would savor its breathy flavor. Mmmm. And yes I do miss it. Notice how happy Obi Wan is at the pub. See, everyone's happy there.

The Weather

It was not raining when we went. It barely drizzled. However, we were absolutely freezing. Brrr.. no wonder the state stays drunk. I would too, if it guaranteed me the "toasty" feeling.

The Tea

It was very yummy. I love tea.

American Food

ACK! Nasty. Believe me folks, American fast food may be bad FOR you but it tastes much much much better than the fare you guys are stuck eating there. Subway sandwiches actually taste good over here. And Burger King burgers are not dry and tasteless.

Ewan McGregor Singing Live

Isn't he hot? Yes he is. And he was clean-shaven, singing "Luck be a Lady Tonight." He even looked me straight in the eye as he bowed at the end of the evening. No, seriously, he really did. Ask my witness! I swooned. I almost fell off the balcony. Ewan McGregor is Positively the hottest thing this Christmas. Can I have him please? You can leave the gift wrap off!

Anyway, to say the least, I loved London. Sorry Jen and Jimmy that I couldn't get to Ireland, but alas, I WILL be going to Dublin one day. Like I said, I think I really enjoy countries that speak English. And I love Cider from England (our stuff is disgusting). And if yours is even better, of course, I'll be visiting! I loved my trip, even though it was short and took a week to just get some kind of words out. Nothing pretty, because I could never say just how awesome it was. And the folks there were really nice. Brilliant even!

Before London

2005-11-20T21:59:00.000-08:00

I'm an American without the fortune of world travel. And in just 2.5 days, I will be flying towards that destiny. I'm nervous, and excited, and don't really know what to expect. And perhaps that's the beauty of it -- not knowing what to expect.

Even now, as I watch "The Butterfly Man," I don't know what to write. But I do not want to fall in love with London. No more than I did of Victoria. I only realize that the more I travel, the more I want to travel. I think I understand why God has not given me a husband to start a family with. God knows I need to travel. Sometimes that fact hurts for the lonliness when I hear the cackle of a toddler, or see the smile of a baby, but today, I see it in a different light. And I feel comfort and serenity.

Arghh.. no good descriptive phrases are coming from me tonight. And I don't know why except that there is a distinct feeling of loss somewhere within. Back from the risque side of me, status quo from here on out. I'm gazing at an island I once visited, and reminiscing about the time spent there.

And now I'm thinking about a memory that hasn't even begun yet. I'm formulating expecation and precious thoughts under blustery winds where Sherlock Holmes is ever-searching with Dr. Watson to save the world from the likes of Jack the Ripper. And an eerie wind blows the names of the millions of slaughtered townspeople, headless and sorrowful. Killed for religion, as many have sacrificed for centuries, but somehow the history of my home language resounds with a tinkling sound.

Well, cheers. And I'll raise a glass of Guiness for you too.

Tier Two

2005-11-17T19:09:00.000-08:00

Dedicated to Maverick

Tier One

These are the people you are really interested in. You will drop all plans to spend time with them. And most of the time they are your boyfriend/girlfriend.

Tier Two

These are people you are willing to make plans with. These individuals are very high up on the priority list, although not necessarily consuming your mind.

Tier Three

These are "last-minute" folks. If you are being called at 6 pm to hang out at 8 pm, hold no doubt - you are NOT a priority in her/his mind.

Tier Four

You are a booty call. Make no mistake about it. This means that your "friend" scanned the club scene, couldn't find anything decent and now it's 1am and you're suddenly on the radar. Gimme a break folks, don't hang on to these jerks.

I write this because there was nearly a miscommunication with a "friend." Falling in love is not much of a factor for me -- not towards him. Realization of facts and no longer fantasies changed all that.

I've gone the route of broken heart many a year ago and arrived here. Although I no longer deny the existence of love, I do not see myself standing there in this next breath.

Faded are the memories of joy and agony, like the yellowed edges of a document from the late 1800s. I've stared down the barrel of reality for far too long, and until recently, I had not realized my full potential. My heart could be captured and capsized, but not so easily as once upon a time.

Perhaps, I underestimate the power of it, but that does not disturb me. Should it overpower without my notice, I would gladly embrace it, if only for the moment of the first star blinking in the nighttime sky, the moment before the sun lands on the ocean, the moment a seedling rises through the warm soil.

And now I'm watching Dr. Phil -- and he's talking about cheating spouses. And it wrenches my gut. How can you pledge true love forever to someone and just trash it? I cannot understand why you don't just leave someone instead of pushing them through a hurricane and a half. I cannot comprehend that idea.

So I will be using this phrase going forward:

My heart: You break it, You buy it.

Vacation, Please?

2005-11-08T21:47:00.000-08:00

Santa Monica is Manhattan's wannabe younger sister. It used to be filled with this old-tyme charm, but now it's just another Banana Republic after another Guess? after another Sephora. And yet, the mindless wander its wiped streets and the pitiful beg from the sidewalks. Signs held high, "Homeless, need food; drugs; blah" as if we're moronic and not just uncaring, as we stride by you and your cardboard announcement.

And seriously, the lady growled at herself, and then with her hand, not unlike the Trump-viper, formed a claw at some invisible foe, invisible to us anyway, as we strode many feet away. Her growl was fierce, like that of a Pomeranian, in fact her hair also reminded me of that small pooch.

So I tread my mighty steps, the first time in forever without music attached to my ears. I could hear the tinny off-key sound of the Star Wars theme blaring from another performer looking for his/her next big break. Hollywood -- the city of creativity where nothing really gets created.

It just dredges up the old and pushes it's marketing goals as if it is new. And we're cornfed it, chomp, chomp, chomp. 'Yeah, that there shore is a good'un' we mutter under the dynamic lights of the projection screen.

To tell you the truth, after the retreat this weekend, I found myself nearly exuberant inside. Just happy to be. Even a postponed date and a patronization session with one called friend, didn't put a damper on my chipper spirit. I do hope this holds up under the baking arid sun in Laughlin, Nevada; which I should mention is just a mere Wednesday and Thursday away from here.

And amidst my reverie, I am beginning to practice my "brit slang," as London looms just 2 weeks, ahh 14 days, that's it folks, fourteen sets of 24 hours, away. Do be polite. Do not bugger anyone over. Do cash in a lot of quid. Do not have a row with anyone. And that said, I feel so much closer to December. --

"525, 600 minutes...525,000 moments how do you measure a year?" -RENT!

The Google Name Game

2005-11-02T21:50:00.000-08:00

I found this posting about putting Your_Name + Needs in quotes and then writing down the interesting things that show up in search results. Here's mine (i've omitted my real name), but it's the gist:

JadedTLC needs sex.
JadedTLC needs a home.
JadedTLC needs all dues ($15) as soon as possible.
JadedTLC needs to be held and loved openly.
JadedTLC needs to show that the city is going to take a proactive role in resolving the school problems.
JadedTLC needs more friends.
JadedTLC needs to blackmail a friend to get information about her blind date.
JadedTLC needs to be given proper credit.
JadedTLC needs to get to work.
JadedTLC needs the help of river pirates to free her brother.

Teeheeheee! I'd love to be held and loved openly, maybe that's why I'm looking for friends -- and not just friends, but friends who will get me information on a blind date. By the way, where are you blind date?

Halloween at WeHo's Carnaval

2005-10-31T22:52:00.000-08:00

Happy Halloween!

My coworker invited me along to the West Hollywood Carnaval 2005. And I am so glad I went. Stunning outfits: Darth Vader, Nemesis, Austin Powers, Edward Scissorhands -- and damn. Hot gay men with no shirts, and sometimes close to no pants. Hot asses hot chests mmmmm... hot everything. Please turn straight for me -- just give me five minutes. I promise I'll be good!

The Three Tinas was one of the hits, along with the Asian Bird Flu, Hurricanes Katrina Rita and Wilma, as well as the Katrina victims on the roof. Poor taste, perhaps, but no poorer than some of the other festivities. I was sooo jealous when I sniffed the scent of sweet vodka in a sippy cup. Where was mine dammit?! Although the putrid air caused my walking to swagger, just a tad -- rife with Mary Jane it was. But my tongue thirsted for the vodka. Sweet vodka, that taketh the past away and filleth the present with the smoldering excitement of the here-and-now, where I am what I wish to be, forever and always.

And yet I was sober. And happy but bitter, consistently bitter, as hands were held and lips were brushed against others. My natural inclination was to grab "kissing booth" by the face and plant one right then and there, but without my sweet friend vodka, should be pointless and disturbing. And so I just watched him slip by and into the crowd, as hot as he was.

The tit fairies were hot too (huge breasts, nipples covered by small flowers -- in tight jeans -- perhaps unorginal, but tonight they're not selling anything), and I'm not even into girls, but maybe I felt lonliness stifling my breath and I fell into another dimension, if only for a moment. Or it was the putrid air again - damn did I get hungry.

If I see another chick cop in a way too short vinyl outfit, it better not be halloween when I see one; that is all I will report on there.

Be orginal folks; be original.

And so I sign off in resolving to do the right thing. Wishing everyone a happy halloween and pleasant dreams. Mine will be haunted by the "what the hell just happeneds" and the "how'd I get this fucked overs" but c'est ma vie.

And Then I Woke Up

2005-10-31T18:54:00.000-08:00

Beep beep beep beep. Ok, already, , I'm awake. My eyes blink in the sunlight. What was I dreaming? Oh, yeah, that. Again.

Sliding my legs together, imagining myself actually getting up, I look at the closet door, deciding what I'm going to wear. It's the same routine every morning. Sometimes two snoozes, sometimes three, but never more than five.

"Ehhhh." I whine to myself as I realize I'm lying at an angle across my full-size bed.

Why has morning come so soon?

It's Monday. The most-hated day of the seven brothers. I'm grumbly as I get up and stumble to the bathroom to feel the hot steam smoothing away the sheet creases from a desperate night. After a comforting shower, I feel ready to join the ranks of commuters, even as a yawn escapes my lips.

I carefully lock the door behind me, oops, forgot my cell phone (again) -- I start realizing my memory capacity has been shrinking just as my my alcohol tolerance has escalated -- I unlock, run, grab, re-lock.

Press CALL on the elevator (i know no up or down); and wait like a century for the elevator to arrive. I heard it like 2 seconds ago, open doors open dammit. Maybe it would've been more efficient to walk around outside to the 2nd story belowground parking area. I close my eyes and let myself "nap," if you will. Ahh, open elevator doors; open eyes.

Start car. Drive. Fast. Get out of my way now! Loud music! Drive more. Fast.

Work. Lunch. Work. Home.

AND FIVE WHOLE HOURS TO WASTE ON SOMEONE/SOMETHING. Are you interested?

Better Left Unrequited. Um. Yes,

2005-10-30T20:25:00.000-08:00

Ok, the last post had more symbolism than I think I've ever mixed into a post. Of course the room was swirling (literally, yet not) and that could be a direct result of the alcoholic beverages I consumed.

Unrequited Love

Is easier to write about
Is somehow more real
Is destiny
Doesn't ask for very much
Requires rejection
Jades the participant
Slices deep
Reaps a stillness
Sows bitterness
Bytes

"I'm sorry every day. I won't always love, these selfish things." -jimmy eat world

The battlefield lay quiet after a week of intense fighting. Both camps had set up to hold out. The heart's reinforcements, hormones, had since started to complain that they weren't being paid enough and so they retreated. The heart knew it couldn't stay holed up under siege much longer. They needed supplies -- hope, joy, pleasant surprise, anything at all. With troups disenhartened, it was only a matter of time before their final decimation. And like the Samurai, they were willing to die in honor. For that, I was grateful.

In the stillness, I could hear the echoes of soldiers dying for what they believed in. The head troups believed in serenity, peace, and pleasure in the solitudity of life. The heart full-on wanted the passion and the heat of obsession, and possibly love, if they could get a steady supply. (I liken the supply of love to the supply of OIL. Limited quantity, costly, and controlled by terrorists. Please let me know if you know where a cheaper supply can be found.)

I studied the strategy. All the players waited. Everything was immobile as if time had frozen, and yet it had not. Depression hadn't eased in anywhere either. There was some comfort in the cold landscape, strangely enough. As I wrapped my arms around me, I listened; I waited; I stopped fighting destiny, for the moment. And I just was. Unrequited, yet serene.

Chlorinated Kisses

2005-10-30T00:43:00.000-07:00

They don't dream. That's for sure. They actually never had a chance, sterile the moment they were released into the real world. And then in one moment, pure joy, and in the next -- agony. That which I, myself, had sworn off of. Joyagaony. The worst drug on the market. So high one moment, so depressed the next. Get me out of this mess is all your drunken mind can mutter.

And yet still craving more. Even knowing the highs may get higher but the lows just get lower. Crocodile tears falling, falling falling. And the abyss opens up and swallows me just as Absolut Apeach falls down my throat in one swift swallow.

One margarita later, I'm standing at the gate of non-memory, and it feels so good that I can sigh in blessed relief, until the next hour as Joyagony hits again. I guess you can't always be up, not always. Only sometimes.

And with that in mind, you push aside the thoughts and bury the memories. Bury them where they are barely on the radar. Because if it wasn't real, it's easier to move past. And if you can move past it, then it wasn't real.

Kisses don't dream. And that's why.

CHICAGO WHITE SOX RULE

2005-10-26T21:50:00.000-07:00

Yes they won! 2005 is their champion year. ( Can I hear a Halleluiah?!) My sister's dragged me to games that cost five bux. I've waved at Maglio (her favorite player a few years ago). And in the end, I think I'll wear my CHICAGO shirt tomorrow. This is one of those moments when I get homesick. I wouldn't miss the beach or the warm weather. To be surrounded by hot drunk men screaming "na na na na.. na na na naaa. HEY HEY HEY ...GooodBYE." We are the champions! I feel the Chicago spirit arising. I will never take my Chicago Bulls earring out again!

I've paid my dues -
Time after time -
I've done my sentence
But committed no crime -
And bad mistakes
I've made a few
I've had my share of sand kicked in my face -
But I've come through

We are the champions - my friends
And we'll keep on fighting - till the end -
We are the champions -
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions - of the world -

I've taken my bows
And my curtain calls -
You brought me fame and fortune and everything that goes with it
-
I thank you all -

But it's been no bed of roses
No pleasure cruise -
I consider it a challenge before the whole human race -
And I ain't gonna lose -

We are the champions - my friends
And we'll keep on fighting - till the end -
We are the champions -
We are the champions
No time for losers
'Cause we are the champions - of the world -

Puzzle Pieces

2005-10-25T18:58:00.000-07:00

Sometime ago I was involved in alot of activities/relationships that seemed to work but didn't make me very happy. I mean, I was content; just not particularly overjoyed or whatever. I think I found the very image I was looking for to describe the experience.

Working with puzzles is a great way to relax my mind and work it out at the same time. And those puzzles with really complicated colors -- the kind where it seems that most of the colors are the exact same -- I really love those. Hours of completing one hundred pieces that are supposed to be 12 long-stemmed red roses.

Now picture this: a piece that looks like the one above and the one to the left. They look like they fit together right? But if you were to match them up (metaphorically tech geeks), they don't quite fit. But they look like they should. So you keep jamming the left one in the upper right one. Over and over and over again. Flipping the piece in a million ways.

Yes, I have spent hours trying to make those two pieces fit together. Only to realize that -- voila! This is the real piece that fits! The one in the center of this blog. That's the one. Now my hand is still twirling the one on the
upper left.

I now know it doesn't fit. But my mind insists that that logic doesn't make sense. Yet my eyes see this centered piece is fit completely in; no pushing, no shoving. Just gently applied pressure and swiftly the piece is in. I feel like something just happened. Something just clicked, and the right puzzle piece fell into place.

Double Down in Palm Springs

2005-10-23T23:04:00.000-07:00

There's always a defining moment for you, where all those still-scenes powerpoint through your brain (they used to be flashes of your life, but now they're slides with some soundtrack of eighties and nineties songs that makes you all gushy inside).

And in that defining moment, you can take a risk or you can fold, but in the folding choice your moment passes and regret smirks at you.

In the risk, you are disappointed if you lose. You'll cry for years and always carry that hurt with you. Half the reason you're so scared.

In the risk, if you win; you'll shriek in joy, you're high-fiving strangers you barely know. Kissing the cheek of a stranger without a name, greyed hair sparkling under garish lights. Tasting victory in her lovely flavored essence. Lady luck has smiled upon you today.

So you're eyeing that 7 of hearts and 4 of diamonds very carefully. You think you're calculating the rest of the table's hits and holds, but really there's no way of knowing what's under the dealer's hand, and no way of knowing what's next in the deck for you. So you can gulp down the half-full kamikaze, or the half-empty one. It's always your choice how you look at it. You'll be hammered before four pm either way.

Sun glinting off the cholorinated tinny hole, you raise yet another plastic red cup (another one? already?) to the blessed blazing sun; the night is young: Hell, it hasn't even been born yet!

JUMP! Close your eyes and JUMP! And then you did -- double down, that is.

By the way, I was up up and away. I never knew gambling could be so rewarding, Maverick. ;-)

Icing

2005-10-10T19:02:00.000-07:00

I stood at a crossroad some time ago now, and I had a decision to make. I didn't want to decide. I felt I needed more information, or whatever. One side said "same" one side said "new." I didn't like either. Same, because I was tired, bored, saturated with that path; new was foggy, dim, unpredictable. Yet time doesn't let you stand there while you make up your mind.

I was pushed forward off the paths; and ended up in a thatch of unKnown. I can't know whether it's better or worse than "new" because I've never been down that path. I can only hope I don't end up over at "same" again, because at least now I know it's trite.

Love is colored unpredictable. And sometimes it doesn't work out on my terms. And I can never control it even when I try. Yoda says "there is no try; do or do not." Well, that's love and sometimes there isn't even a do not option.

And there time is, racing me always, daring me. And regret is whispering in my ear, two steps behind mind you,-- if I turn my head, just so, he'll overtake me. Keep my eyes ahead, and ignore him -- i must remind myself.

Live up to your character and remember change was always in your hands. Boy do I love hard. Fall harder. And persist all the same. Kissing recklessly causes clarity, and it's a good thing, especially if it helps me outrun regret...

Astonishing who I've become in just a year. Change is in your hands my friends.

Friends have become foes.
Foes have become friends.
Risks have been taken.
I let go without holding on.
New Year's Resolutions ACCOMPLISHED (only cuz the gym was not one of them)
Suprises were had -- and a complete reversal
Death and Life to a Gunslinger
Expectation was exceeded

Jolted or Jilted?

2005-10-09T17:06:00.000-07:00

...continued "It must be hard knowing you married a stalker" and "unsurprising angst" part3

The day had fizzled hours ago and the 10 stretched out endlessly in the sleek desert. My 3 Series rumbled quietly in the desert, followed only by a few tour busses filled with blue haired ancients, but they were miles behind as I cruised to 110 mph easily, shift, cruise control, tap. The dufflebag of $20,000, not-so-easily earned, but earned all the same, glinted in the naked moonlight.

A serene lonliness enveloped me as I pushed a new CD into the stereo and cranked it loud. A new Go phone lay on the soft cool leather seat. No one had the phone number yet, but I left it out anyway. A photo with his picture was also lying there. How did I kill him? I could barely recollect those last moments of his life.

Think golden lights and new opportunities. I can retire.

The words were hollow, no one really retired from the business. Except when you were lying face down, jaw crushed, fingertips missing, crushed in a chemical barrel.

I shruddered and pasted a smile on.

The night welcomed me with open arms and I felt more secure in the dark anyway. The trip was hella long, but if I could get identified on a camera or two, I might be safe from the inevitable questions. At least his widow would get the insurance money. I shook my head; I didn't have to excuse my actions. I never had before . . . him.

The night wore on.

---------------------------------------------
His eyes fluttered in the bright lights, and then the burning pain in the center of his chest made him wince.

"Jason, can you hear us?"

Who the hell was that? Where the hell was he?

Extreme pain flushed through him as he tried to move.

"Aghh! Dammit I hear you fine. Where the hell am I?"

"Sir, you've been shot. Don't move, we didn't want to start you on morphine just yet. Did you see who did this to you? Do you have anyone who wants to see you dead?" said the man in the black jacket, pen and notepad held out.

Of course he knew.

"She's hotter than hell. Short and fiery. . . "

TO BE CONTINUED

GreenDay

2005-10-09T10:15:00.000-07:00

Ok, Jen's right from her comment below. I didn't know I was a diehard fan of GreenDay, but I am now. My concert-going inexperience has shined through; and even with all the makeup the lead of GreenDay is much hotter.

Because this band knows what PERFORMANCE means. Anxiety, or not, there was entertainment. And they had a wizard hand puppet. And puppets are cool. Ok where was I? I really ought to start at the beginnning.

During the week of the Killers concert, I realized (from the same aforementioned crew) that GreenDay was performing. Now this was the SAME week my new favorite song went on repeat, "Wake Me When September Ends." So yeah I thought'd it be cool to go to a sold out performance of GreenDay.

This is where connections come into play. My friend works at an Advertising Firm. And his rep at a very musically inclined, oh alright, Rolling Stone, handed him FLOOR tickets. Wow. Yeah.
To a sold out show.

Then came surprise number 2. As if the excitement building inside wasn't enough, I find out one of my ABSOLUT favorite bands- jimmy eat world- is opening for GreenDay. This makes the night I kissed Maverick (and perhaps even more appealing, when Maverick kissed back) appear boring (which it was in no way shape or form - see entry marked "wow" in June 2005.)

So we have tickets, and I'm going. And I only had to sell my soul once or twice. Bahh. The crew plus his ex girlfriend myself and my ex all join at Bob's Big Boy. I'm driving so I can't participate in the pre-festivities :-( BUT it's ok, I'm ok with it. No really. I am.

Then I get into the show just as Jimmy Eat World is banging out a jam that's jazzin me. I was so hyped. We got the second section away from the stage but against the barrier so I had a GREAT view (usually impossible for people who are 5'4"). And the added help of being able to push back with my ass on a crowd tryin to blur the lines of PERSONAL SPACE.

So I'm dying as they begin with "Don't Wanna Be an American Idiot." And even with black eyeshadow/liner, (please don't be gay), the lead singer was definitely better looking. Now this was because he's funny. (See entry marked "I'm In It For His Sense of Humor") And of course his points cruised upwards.

Near death at Wake me When September ends... ahh... sweet joy. Ok, so if that's what good sex, er ahem, a good live performance is supposed to look like; I'm officially spoiled rotten. (shut up friends who know me in real life -- I am not.)

Anyway, the evening ended well, and of course Maverick was looking hot. Damn keep your shirt on if I'm not supposed to fantasize about you. ....

and a word to you from jimmy eat world (and they say that love goes anywhere, in your darkest hour, it's just enough to know it's there)

Yes I got in at 2 am played Sonic the Hedgehog and got up way early. So what? I'm jazzed and you're not!

The Killers

2005-10-07T01:58:00.000-07:00

So it happened.

Four months ago tickets were purchased and the concert was but a blip on the Outlook calendar. Waiting, oh so patiently, almost forgetting when the exact date was (was that October or November?) summer steered by.

As golden and reddish-brown leaves gathered in cities where winter is a reality, fall announced its arrival and it was only a matter of time. The excitement grew as t minus 7 days was slowly ticking by. I played the CD, mostly on repeat, skipping track five (the only distasteful one, however, much cooler live). Jenny was a friend of mine, It was only a kiss, I've got soul but I'm not a soldier you can hear the lyrics now, only mine were imprinted on my eardrum, lyrics and all.

At t minus 2 days, it was hardly believable, but Long Beach was gonna go off the hook!

So the day arrives, I'm cruising, ok stop-n-goin' on the four oh five, down down down, to Long Beach where the poker,videogaming,dudeyallrock crew would be starting a small 'gathering' pre show. A coupla shots, ok, seven or eight shots later, we're crammed into a Passat, the seven of us. The sober designated driver told us to do it! I swear.

Of course, I had to take a ladies' room break when I got there, but after twenty minutes of waiting and the band's about to go on and i'm still fifteen people away from the bathroom door, I abandonned the side mission. I could wait. Now on a side note: HOW THE HELL DO THE GUYS GET TWO BATHROOMS AND THE CHIX ONLY GET ONE. Damn, we don't just have to pull out, and I have reason to believe there were secret orgies going on in there as NO ONE was coming out, but that's an entirely different blog.

Lights, cameras action. The show began with Track One from Hot Fuss and I was so stoked. Lost my voice, gained some tinnitus, and the night shed clothing as it wore on. Naked sound, drunken love, and a sexy lead singer -- that's how every concert should go.

As a reviewer, I vote thumbs up. Sounded JUST like the CD. And without studio FX that's usually difficult. This band is more than my teen-drama soundtrack, they're musical talent at best.

Now, I await Green Day on Saturday . . .

The Terminitor

2005-09-29T21:16:00.000-07:00

I had dinner with my ex roommate the other day, and it felt like visiting my ex husband. Which isn't unlike what it started to feel like, after four or so years. It was really good seeing him, but had that hint of awkward memory hanging by a thread, where bitterness was fading, but still somehow attached. Things always move forward though, and by holding on to the past we just lose touch with reality as it is.

Desire, unrequited, remains within. I realize the theme here -- I keep coming back to it. Somehow I'm always the asker-outer, never the asked. Perhaps, that's in my best interests, but still; it'd be nice to have a guy try to kiss me. For once. (whiny moment: why do i have to do all the work.) That said, ok. All better.

Summer ended and somehow it opened with so much promise and settled into stagnating serenity. Like a pond that's beautiful, slight ripples of a breeze, not an ocean of opportunity bringing waves of disappointment and joy in every wave.

Stealing time for a moment, that's all I want to do. I did it once, and got away with it, but there's still a part of me that thinks I may have squandered a part of it. Fool that I am, I believe it can be done again. I'm highly competitive and not one to give up so easily, not unlike the Roadrunner and Tom of Tom and Jerry. So, how does one dust herself up after falling off the cliff over and over again. One does, I say, one does.

Ok, out of the stupid relationship babble...
I have termites in my apartment and I hate them. I drowned several of the little buggers with 409 and felt great joy as they struggled and finally drowned. Ew. If anyone knows how to kill a minor amount of termites. Do tell do tell.

Better Left Unrequited?

2005-09-25T11:54:00.000-07:00

Joyfully, every weekend has "good time" written all over it. And thankfully, it lives up to that promise. Sometimes you wonder just how your life got so awesome so suddenly. And if you let cynicism rear it's ugly head, well then you're waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Perhaps, it's not even full of meaning after all. Perhaps, what is, just simply is.

When life gets this way, it's interesting to observe myself. See just what moves I make, what things I do, and what choices I make. I simply cannot live in the future. And all that planning just puts a spin on your head. We both know it wasn't going to end well anyway, the plans, that is.

Definitely have a good time as often as possible.
Good friends are more valuable than you will ever know.
What makes people tick and why do I care?
Laughter is contagious; so is drunken foul behavior.
Peer pressure isn't always a bad thing.
Love hard, because it's worth it.
Pain is temporary.
It's all in your mind, no really it is.
Paranoia is justifiable. That doesn't mean everyone really is out to get you.
Million dollar ideas arrive everyday, when are you going to cash in?
Your sister might be your best friend.
The past is finished; the future hasn't arrived yet -- what are you staring at me for?
How far is too far?
Dare to be; dare to dream; double dog dare.

And because I'm not sure if unrequited is all it's cracked up to be, I will end here. Hella kisser, that one was.

Risk - More Than Just A Game

2005-09-21T19:58:00.000-07:00

To start:
Notes from September 19, 2005

It was as if summer and fall were ice-blended on the breeze. Sufers riding out dusk's dust. I wanted to be on that sailboat out there softly churning the high tide as the sun landed on the ocean. And more than that; I caught myself by surprise -- I wanted to be in love again.

The sun began to slip into the shadows. As night eclipsed day, romance gasped its last breath. And I was normal again.

As I left the beach:

an old woman in lavender and sequins holds her poodle tightly as she views the dying day. perhaps she misses her husband -- dead and gone -- and is reminiscing about him. in this moment, i think i know how she feels, just a little bit.

In a matter of 20 minutes, I fell into and out of love (again). And the feeling was climatical. I felt a serenity that held me close, made me comfortable; I knew security and guiltless freedom. I was responsible for nothing and no one, in just that singular section of time.

I'm still reflecting.

In other news, I'm taking Dreamweaver so my websites can look better. (randomnity the colony, and whatthefreak.net) And that kills one night a week. I'm going to London for Thanksgiving.. and that's awesome news! May our prayers go out to Hurricane Katrina survivors and Hurricane Rita (i hope it's not as bad).

Sea Son of Whale

2005-09-13T22:12:00.000-07:00

I feel like my cynicism fell out of remission. I'm not sure when it happened, but it started with the thought that I may have succeeded in everything that doesn't matter. I'm missing what does matter and I'd almost trade everything I have for it. But there are no guarantees in love.

You can't even get up from the table when you're done gambling. You simply lose some control at the table, like you're locked in at a set amount of time. And only when the dealer lets you go, can you. And at that point you don't really want to.

This kind of lonliness is different. It's the kind where you're just tired of watching Netflix by yourself on monday tuesday wednesday thursday friday, not necessarily that you're alone either. It's realizing that getting fucked is payable by Visa or MasterCard, but finding what few people learn to capture for a lifetime and many capture for a moment, when souls touch, tangle, and translate, ahh, isn't that what I'm missing? Isn't that what eHarmony is banking on?

The problem with that photo, is that reality isn't a Kodak. Reality is a fully four dimensional existence, and love takes work. More work than 60% of Americans are willing to put into it. It's not an afterthought "hey let's logon and see who's left me an icebreaker." It never was that.

It's the process by which walls disintegrate and then trust begins building. For some, this is a rather seamless process, for the rest of us though, the demolition isn't as painless as a few well-placed explosives. We're hurting from the ground up and it's like taking a pickaxe to demolish a fifteen-story building.

Gimme love or gimme death. Wait, not yet, ack! cough! (breathless goodbye).

Of Poker Chips and Walgreens

2005-08-31T22:27:00.000-07:00

I got a really cool phone call tonight. My long-lost cousin's getting married in June. Congrats to him and my prayers go out to his fiance. The reason being is that my cousin had to ask me what I thought about which family members should he invite to the wedding. You see, I come from an extended family of the Mafia meets Jerry Springer meets the KGB vs CIA. War games not in the funny cute ways that "normal" familes have, but the kind you cringe on Jerry Springer thinking "Thank God We're Not Like That." Drugs, automatic weaponry, violence (both physical and mental), mixed with betrayal, anger, hurt, and general psychopathy. I mean actual guns waved in people's faces with not-empty-at-all threats included. My extended family is a dirty bomb that went off and makes the disaster of Hurricane Katrina look benign.

So when this very dysfunctional, very messed up family meets at funerals (that's all they can put up with these days), their offspring (that's us) slowly started becoming poker chips in a very serious poker game. "My son learned to read at 1 year old." "My daughter invented the wheel at that age.." Until slowly the poker chips reached adulthood. Only then the stakes were higher. Obviously, me being the oldest gave me the edge. "My daughter went to Pepperdine." That is until the other ones fell into line of good colleges and masters degrees etc etc.. whatever our successes could be bargained as, got thrown on the table of their pride/downfall.

As a poker piece, I hate it. Even as a secret part of me just dreads being the white piece (the $2 chip). It's kinda like eating one of those cakes from Ralph's with sour frosting which you eat because it's the nice thing to do (not necessarily the right thing to do as you search for a bathroom later that evening.)

So how does that relate to Walgreens? Well Walgreens is a portal to Chicago, I'm convinced. You walk in those doors and no matter where you are, you're transported to the Chicago stores I grew up around. The makeup aisle is exactly where it always is; the pharmacy in the back with its friendly workers there for 24 hours. The security guard at the front who smiles at you and is rarely white, and when white -- very fat. And when I logged in for my prescription, they had my Chicago address still in there and strangely enough, the same insurance (this time mine). Aside: My current company in California was purchased by a Chicago company who buys the insurance. Small World or God working mysteriously again. In any event, I walk through that portal and I think about my family hardcore. And yes I did shed a tear or two, but I love them. Even the messed-up ones. Even the ones addicted to drugs and violence. In some eerie way, I understand exactly what my cousin said. "Sometimes I wanna keep in touch with them; not obligated to, but kinda want to. Then I think about all the bullSh!t they create and I don't want to be a part of it, not really. But sometimes I wanna keep in touch with them."

I understand. I really do.

The Reason Why Kisses Don't Dream

2005-08-24T22:24:00.000-07:00

And under soft, it danced. Some painted lust.
Unsung hero, forgetful foolish friend,
so many mirrors hung fulfilled in dust-
like silk impressed on parted edges. There, end-

ed startled shadows bleeding petal prid-
ed class of strangled stranger's sparse predict-
ion: Never pretend love, as glass unbri-d
led, sparkling frozen diamond champagne picked

from hearth to glacier falls. Undone by word,
just one blended cappuccino bliss.
The girl, her lips -- pressed together purred
in draped despair, unfurled story. His kiss

that destiny in wicked crimson joy
unsnaps the lady's tickled jaded toy.

And so I wrote a sonnet in fifteen minutes way back when. Every time I had previously tried to write one they sounded awful. Subject matter sucked. Not until I literally pulled all the description out of me, all the emotion of being suckered, being rejected, wanting revenge, once that was done -- I wrote this genius piece in fifteen minutes. It is rare that I connect with my true soul; it is rarer still that I have allowed my audience a peek at it. Enjoy.

Also feel free to comment if you have any interpretations.

Risky Business

2005-08-23T19:25:00.000-07:00

Denying my skills nothing, I pressed the chalk against the tip. I eyed the table for the ones that were mine. Blurred thinking, on account of the vodka, I carefully (probably more carefully than when sober) eyed my choices. And some obvious choices piqued my interest.

Swift aim and the right spin, the cue ball methodically spun towards its prize. Connection was swift and crackled, pain wretching but no time to think about that as the red 3 zoomed along the velvet planet drawing near the dark black hole, where none come out, and all save one go in.

The ball drops and a 'whoop' escapes my lips beneath the dimly lit ceiling. I hadn't really won anything; the battle still goes on. But somehow, in my heart of hearts, I feel the pulse of love beating on the gate.

Dare I drink that much fun? I do.

Things to cross off the Life List of Things To Do Before Death:

1. Party crash

I'm In It For His Sense of Humor

2005-08-22T15:42:00.000-07:00

"He's worried that his fiance is marrying him for his money. Only knowing what I know, I can't say I disagree. She's not marrying him for his legal skills, I know that for sure. Or if she is, she's in for a terrible disappointment the first time she gives him an assignment."

Now that is classic. When most guys ask me for what I look for in a guy, I have to be honest: sense of humor, intelligence, looks -- in that order, specifically.

Hot idiots do not appeal to me. They tend to be insecure numbskulls who cover with arrogance, and arrogance is such a turn off. It's my job to tell you your body's hot.

Funny Bone-err

Sense of humor kinda entangles itself with intelligence. The kind of humor I'm interested in is either pure randomnity for the sake of randomness, or sarcastic gems that arrive as neatly-packaged insults doled out to those who deserve them. (Or as my friends like to do, aimed directly at me. I love y'all anyways.)

The CIA

Intelligence is a standalone. If you are asking yourself the question: I went to college, does that count?, I dare challenge you, not necessarily. I'm an edu-snob. And of coures Ivy Leagues are intriguing, but I have found the diamonds in the rough at other institutions (devry falls into this category). Basically, I need to know that I'm going to be able to say the word "Bush is an idiot" and even if you disagree you'll know what I'm talking about. Current events won't be limited to who in Hollywood broke up with whom and who's the biggest pop star this week.

The Hotness Factor

I'm not really into arrogance and that just means guys who know they're hot. Gym rats are usually in this category and well I don't mind a guy who's working out, but how's he working out, that's the question. Many times someone who does not have this quality "out the gate" can accrue points through a variety of sarcastic jokes and especially ripping on George "bubbles" Bush. I definitely go for tech geeks who have lived outside the box. I'm into that avid reader of Dragonlance, who doesn't know he was being checked out at 4th and Santa Monica Blvd. He's Abercrombie and 1pm snack-after-lunch. He's adorable because he's loveable. He's loveable because he's unique. And since he's unique, it's difficult for the common stalker to scam me on this one.

~Now to get to the good stuff~

MONEY

I am not shallow. I have been poor, middle-class, and upper-middle-class. However, I know that there is no somewhat-stable man that can survive more than a month or so with a woman who makes more money than him. Now, if he does not know how much money she makes, and does not research to find out, and just accepts things, then perhaps money does not matter. In the event that those exceptions do not apply, the guy should probably make the same or more than me.

This is not supposed to disturb the Y-chromosomes out there. This is simply a fact of the machoism that you guys carry. For whatever reason, you guys like to one-up everyone. It's a fact of life. I challenge you to play a game that you know I'm simply better at than you, and just lose. Accept the loss and not even try to get better at it for a rematch. Will let me repeatedly beat the crap outta you for the entire afternoon and just take it. (HA! I snicker at the image.) Won't happen; doesn't matter what it is -- Tennis, Pac Man, Running, Fastest Eating Record, Longest Nose, whatever.

COMMITMENT ISSUES

Let's get this straight. Not every girl is trying to trap you, alot might be. You have to look at it from our point of view. Society frowns upon the quirkyalone chick. We're supposed to be procreators, soccer moms, full-time working moms, etc. That's alot of pressure to find the "perfect" (aka Mom wishes she had procreated this one) man, and he's supposed to be romantic, always loving, and give us our way because he wants what we want. This is more of a FANTASY than the "2 girls on 1 boy" one; we know that. But it doesn't mean that being force-fed Disney romances for 20+ years is gonna suddenly snap us into reality. No one wants to find our shoe, kiss us awake, or ride up on a noble steed and wisk us up into a happy ending -- that reality is a little hard to swallow for the first 10 years of dating adulthood, so give us a break, will ya?

UnSurprising Angst

2005-08-17T22:09:00.000-07:00

...continued "It must be hard knowing you married a stalker" part2

Fractured intent to commit the ultimate betrayal, I steadied my hand on the gun as I unholstered it. The time was ripe, the cliche echoed in my skull. Heartlessness crept within, blocking the soul from emotion. Unfeeling and numb my eyes now focused on the window. His chest spread at perfect angle in the dying sunlight. He lifted the window and pushed hard.

My hand aimed true. And a muffled recoil didn't need to echo as a spiderweb of crimson velvet shattered the man's muscular frame as he slumped forward, over the windowsill. I reholstered the gun, adjusted my sunglasses, and pulled my jacket closer, as streams of red spilled down the white siding.

My heart leapt back into my chest as I walked away, finished with yet another chapter in a harried life. A single tear dripped down my face and finally fell off of my chin. In the dying embers of day, I closed the door on my sleek black 3 series and reeled away slowly, rattling the groceries in the front seat.

I would await the remaining 15k and head into the lights and love of the city of sin as soon as possible. Sensual memories would drown in the endless glasses of jack and coke, as I'd let it ride over and over again. Drop 5k in an hour, play it safe. And hire some good entertainment. I'd order seven inches of delight and take my odds.

TO BE CONTINUED

I Want A Raccoon Tail

2005-08-14T23:50:00.000-07:00

I don't know if many of you know anything about gaming, but I, myself, am an avid one. I have a mint condition Nintendo 8 bit and several games, as well as a PS2. Both I love dearly and for different reasons.

I hadn't played the Nintendo in like a year or so. So I fired it up on my Sony Wega flat-screen TV. (I do realize that there are emulators for Nintendo on the 'Net, but I didn't want to keyboard jump; it's just not the same as the non-ergonomic controller.)

After unsuccessfully remembering the final warp on Mario 1, I moved on to Tetris. And that song just starts annoying the hell out of me. So even if I'm actually doing well at it, this go 'round, that song just irritates the hell outta me. And I can't play with no music at all! So I switch over to Mario 3 and I was just remembering that games like that one are long. But this was before memory cards or saving power. (Ok, afficianados, I know you're gonna say "Final Fantasy 1" is saveable. Well, folks, that may be true, in theory. But if you got a Nintendo that blinks pink or scribbly the first, second, fifth, tenth time you push the cartridge in, then you know, that any saved game is forever lost on that stupid FF1. And how many times have you been about to go into the hole(with all the poisonous crap and a hella long forest walk to the Elven village left) sleep in a tent, then come out and save. You go to bed; it's about 4am, so you wanna get some rest before work; then you come home to play and you go through the drill of stuffing the cartridge in a million and one times and blowing, and the whole setup to get it to go -- and then you load 'er up. And your game is gone. You're back at the stupid castle hearing about the quest for crystals. Anyway, I obviously say this story with some authority and I do have a point.

So I pull out the Mario 3 cartridge. I wanna fly, and without owning a SuperNintendo, I can't be superman mario, so I'll take raccoon/bear tail flying Mario. Not quite as fun as floating around as the Princess and throwing carrots and goombas in Mario 2, but satisfactory to say the least.

I'm flyin' around. I've got my tail, I'm taking hits left and right. And remember this is the one that gives you so many extra guys it's crazy. Then you get to play slots every once in a while. I should be in Vegas betting on the Flower top, flower middle, flower bottom. Hell maybe even the star. I'd get an extra five lives anyway.

Anyway, I get fed up with the last few levels on world 2. So of course I use the flute to warp (the only way to play an unsaveable game) to world 5, where I do okay. Until I get to World 5-8 and get the crap beat out of my small mario who no longer has any powerups other than music box which can only be used on those damn hammer/boomerang brothers. No good here. So I run outta lives and let sleeping dogs lie. Besides it's midnight and I gotta work tomorrow.

And it's not Circa 1986 where school's the only thing going on tomorrow. I gotta actually function tomorrow. :) So to all the gamers I say goodnite. And to the rest o' yall too!

09/11/ 2001 - Is My Generation's Pearl Harbor

2005-08-13T02:43:00.000-07:00

I've read all the conspiracy theories, and I've heard the mainstream media's take on the events. I've even watched Farenheit 911. And I have to think that there are a lot of questions out there that haven't been answered. I pray that maybe the History Channel will investigate using forensics on the information the government finally releases in fifty years and George W. Bush is finally dead, thankee. I won't be (or so I predict). And in my retirement facility, living off of the small 401k and a destroyed Social Security check (if W gets his way), hell maybe I won't even be able to afford a retirement home, anyway, I'll be watching that special. I'll Tivo the hell out of it and think "I told ya so," in a melancholic way that holds not one lick of satisfaction.

For me, I remember where I was that evil morning. My best friend's birthday, and my mother's ringing my cell off the hook at an especially early hour. Damn, I don't wake up that early for work; Mom, it's the west coast over here. That didn't stop terrorists from crashing into the towers. Like everyone says, it was a well orchestrated movie. It's almost like W and his crew put together a focus group, and said 'now here's $10. what did you think and how can we make this scarier, sadder even?' But this wasn't a live-action film. This was our very own reality show; entertainment with real live people, not actors -- both heroes and villains.

I do believe there were some stupid kids high on rhetoric on those planes. (However, I'm not so sure it was a plane that killed the Pentagon.) They didn't even realize the scale of political agenda they were on. This was way over their heads, and as pawns, they acted faithfully, calling out to a false god who demands sacrifice of self and "infidels." They were as high on rhetoric as the Hitler Youth were in the '40s -- a generation way before my time, but I can read history and check my notes. It's easier to tell a 24-year-old who believes in immortality that he's gonna die and get a bunch of angelic sex when he dies; notice none of these guys were forty-fivers raising hands in salute.

But the studies are in. There's no way jet fuel or anything short of the controlled demolition we saw could cause those reinforced towers to slip into dust, not even massive piles of debris, DUST I tell you.

And our idiot president (no capital "P" if you barely speak English and God help you when you're defending your Christian hypocrisy before Him) sat reading "My Pet Goat" to a classroom of children while the country he stole power over was going to shit, excuse my language. (Sarcastic aside, maybe My Pet Goat is his favorite all-time novel. I'm an English major, that's how I think.)

They all knew it was coming. I don't think they planned it, until they caught wind of that "static" and of course translated everything. (Of course they want us to believe the CIA and the FBI were a bunch of bumbling fools, but I think not.) Then they planned alright. Planned on how to get Daddy's bully and demolish him, while acquring money for W's best contractor friends, and oh, by the way, "Oil Is On Sale, now for a limited time" or so W thought. Daddy obviously proved to be more competent in war, but come on -- you barely speak English, you make up words, use phrases that sounded pretty before you knew what the words meant, and act like a total incompetent ass. And did I mention the extreme resemblance to Bubbles, MJ's fondling pet?

I write this not because I'm unpatriotic. I write this because I am Patriotic. And it's time our brothers, sisters, mothers, daughters, fathers, sons, and my friends get to come home. They hate their boss more than any one of us civilians do; the rest are Hitler Youth - "hail Hitler" they chant, ignorantly. Of course, they're the kids that barely passed history class, if they even took it. History repeats itself darlings.

I love America so much I needed to write this. So that any legislative, judicial or executive body could possibly read this. Please, stop the political bullshit and start the recovery of your country. We voted you in for a reason. We thought you would help us, not hurt us. All you guys seem to be doing is sitting on your asses, making huge sums of our money, and not feeling guilty. How can you sleep at night without your integrity? Knowing how harshly you will be judged. I pray every night for forgiveness; I hope you do. You guys have all this power to make a difference; why don't you start making a positive one?

I would if I had even 1/10 of your funds and 1% of your power. I'm trying to even without that. I implore you again; help us, don't hurt us. We love our country; I love America.

And for my audience that has less prestige than I do. Pray for our country, and our leaders -- that they wake up and smell the sunshine. And start reading all the interesting questions that have come up. Don't be duped -- know all the sides before you decide.

. . . Melliferous

2005-08-11T22:05:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I think I'm wandering around inside history, and I'm either hopelessly lost, or appallingly trapped. And then I feel melancholy. Just a few rock songs later, and the eerie emotion's cemented and all I can think about is the people I've moved on from. Ex close friends and ex boyfriends alike, these people are cloistered in the storage container marked "memories to forget." Yet somehow, those memories don't remain forgotten since I keep dredging them up, like WinAmp movies on loop repeat.

So I'm walking around in Santa Monica, which always has the faint scent of excrement on a breeze that should reek of salt and sand. Mingled in unreality, I walk to lunch where I sit at a table much too close to a neighboring table, so close that the occupants' conversation might as well be mine, as I try not to look either of them in the eye.

Apparently, Mindy and New York Girl are in therapy and the siblings of the two feel at ease discussing Mindy and New York Girl's personal issues right there at noon, sun burning the retinas of tourists and locals alike. Mindy has both anorexia and depression issues, New York Girl just depression. Their family members are complaining about how hard it is to deal with these precious people, instead of loving and living. But the siblings' self-absorption seems to have skimmed the point here. Their beloved sisters are in trouble, and although bitter and difficult to live with, these ladies are hurting inside. Forgive them, for they know not what they do.

So I leave the restaurant in a weird mind space and zone out. I enter some other reality where I'm trying to disperse and process the stories I'd just overheard, and my rather strong feelings about it. As the 7-11 zooms into view, I smell roses and geraniums, and wonder if I'm in some other parallel universe. The inside of the store is cool, clean and neat, and they're playing classical music. It's relaxing.

Nestled between the bottled water and the magazine rack are cans of tennis balls, and that makes me confused. (A 24 hour need for tennis balls?) In the midst of these conflicts, I start to realize that Santa Monica, is indeed, not Kansas.

In other news: Insecurity beats at the heart of every individual. Am I safe, we ask, and we're never really assured, no matter what anyone says, or does.

We need affection to feel loved; we need encouragement to feel motivated. And sometimes that's not even enough.

But why is it that we can't ever find contentment? Or perhaps that's just my plight. I find myself cynical in search of the mythical soulmate. I hear the paradox in the statement, don't get me wrong, but I haven't much else to do. I can either fuck anything that moves, and feel no respect nor joy, just the satisfaction of the desires my hormones have inflicted upon me. Only to wake up to a morning after (plus pill), (I'm not looking forward to creating a new crop of humanity without the mythical soulmate.)

The Mythical Soulmate
-(s)he looks into your eyes and knows
-(s)he isn't perfect, but isn't afraid to admit it either
-(s)he takes your breath away, when his/her head is turned 'just right'
-(s)he smiles. often.
-(s)he would love to share his/her life with you
-(s)he wonders about you when you're apart
-(s)he sees you for who you are and who you're to become, sometimes before you know
-(s)he makes your heart race with passion, in discussions and sex
-(s)he wants the best for you, no matter how painful that is
-(s)he isn't afraid
-(s)he challenges you, loves you, and will work to keep that
-(s)he is able to finish your thoughts but knows it's rude to do so
-(s)he would defend you (to the pain) to his/her mother
-(s)he writes poetry about you in his/her journal
--feel free to add to the list --

So if you know of this person, don't tell me about it, let me accidentally find it, so I can actually believe it's real.

In Memory Of Joe Maldonado

2005-08-09T21:43:00.000-07:00

I woke up this past Monday morning and it wasn't unlike any other Southern Californian morning. Perfect marine layer to be burned off by afternoon, traffic the same as always. And I arrived at work, and just another day at the office.

But life is short, and this average morning turned dark. A great man -- kind, handsome, with a beautiful smile, died over the weekend in a car accident, all the more tragic because he was so young and had so much going for him. All the details are 'instant messaged' rumors flying around by those of us who care.

I can't say I knew you Joe Maldonado as well as I now wish I had. However, you always brightened my day with that beautiful smile. And I can say in tremendous consolation, I am glad you touched my life at Intermix Media. And you did, whether you knew it or not.

I will remember you as a part of my personal resume, of the parties, the after work drinks, and the everyday muddle through papers for work. I know Accounting always had issues with accuracy, and I had to harass you for your paperwork, but I'll never forget the respect you treated me with.

And yes I shed a tear for you and pray that you found Heaven. And if you did, I am happier for it. May God bless your family and be with them in this hard time of letting go. And may comfort embrace them.

I say a prayer tonight.

Amen.

Time Flies Coach & WithHold The Affection

2005-07-26T22:12:00.000-07:00

Ever wonder why people you like alot (and visibly show it) don't quite like you back equally, and yet, those scummy bastards you really dislike, somehow manage to fall in love with you?

Not you either? Oh well. :)

Anyway, I took the bus to the beach last Sunday and discovered the distinct difference between real city public transportation and Los Angeles public transportation. I'm not saying either one was bad, just different, that's all.

For starters, Los Angeles bus stops are not clearly marked. Or at least some of the ones that are -- well if it's lying on the ground, apparently the bus drivers have forgotten that it's a bus stop. Walk on my friends to the next nearest bus stop. Only in Chicago will a bus driver slow to the side when you wave at it (New York taxis behave similarly) -- but folks do not try this at hometown Los Angeles. You will not be noticed no matter how freakin weird you look.

Also, people don't touch you. It's weird; no jostling or whatever, that random stuff that happens when you're on a moving vehicle without seatbelts. In Chicago, people will tackle you trying to get off, if you happen to get on when they are attempting to exit the bus. Not so folks in Los Angeles; you may even scoot over, but they'll stare at you as if you are a 450 lb. sumo wrestler when the space is as big as a condominium lot. Also, there will be empty seats on the bus with people standing. Weird. You're on PUBLIC transportation. Everyone is the public. Get used to it.

Other than that, nothing more eventful than that ever-so-Indian-not-so-hygenic scent. I'm not racist; I have friends of all cultures, but mine take showers or at the very least use myrrh.

Anyway, that was my colorful adventure to the beach. Other than total unchaotic relaxation.

Sidestep into the future, I end up writing a title from two lines forged from "Dead Like Me." The most hillarious TV show in existence, mainly because I love sarcastic dark humor. Every line in that script is uncannily truth, even when a reaper is speaking about life. You want to laugh your effing head off. You really do.

Anyway, I ta ta for now and think happy thoughts. Perhaps, each day should be lived not on what I forgot to do yesterday, nor what I must remember to do tomorrow, but on that pleasant in-the-moment place where dreams do come true and nightmares die.

Good nite.

It Must Be Tough, Realizing You Married Your Stalker

2005-07-20T20:02:00.000-07:00

Kissing time a long goodbye, I knew I had to get it done. I held the cold angled metal in my right hand, twising my wrist, feeling gravity pull its dead weight toward the heat-soaked ground. The Killers lyrics: "It was only a kiss; it was only a kiss" echoing inside my head, I tapped my Sketchered toe on the ground. The dust clouded up around my ankle as I looked up at his window.

Being a pro doesn't guarantee you a job, and I hadn't had one in awhile. I remember talking to my contact (I shifted my sunglasses tighter against my face) about that fact. I needed an easy 5 grand up front, 15 later, for this kind of gig. Since I knew the vic, I was a little nervous this time. It's easier to pop someone you don't know.

The light was on in his window and I flashbacked to . . .

A dimly lit room, soft-leather couch, sitting close, closer still. Smile pasted on my face like a Raggedy-Ann doll. My hand caressing his leg, higher, higher still, and a hard-core moan erupting from him as I found my prey. I eased his pants down; leaning over him, I tasted sweet ecstasy long enough for him to feel sweet ecstasy and then kissed him long and hard.

I shook my head; get it together, damn. Thinking about that event, the fucker's gonna screw this up. 20 G's goes a long way in Vegas.

I saw him pass in and out of the light, well, his shadow anyway. I remembered his body, imperfect in every delectable way. Not hard-bodied like those gym rats, not that. I shivered in the cold breeze blowing in off the coast. I was biding my time, convincing myself that I was waiting for the right moment, unsure if I was just stalling.

I was hidden well in the darkness. It had closed in and almost smothered the nighttime noises of the small suburban neighborhood. The scent of something grilling up nearby, made my mouth salivate. Still feeling torn, I holstered the .45 and shifted the weight from one foot to the other.

The night was weary.

TO BE CONTINUED

7 A.M.

2005-07-18T19:17:00.000-07:00

Ack!

How is it that even after a mere four hours of sleep I'm awake at: 7 A.M.? Or when I know I don't have to get up for another hour, my job's moved to Santa Monica, and the commute that was a bear has turned into a deer, why oh why am I awake at: 7 A.M.? Not my body, perchance, just my brain, working overtime, making up for vacation? Who the hell knows? But 7 A.M.?

Now, seriously, I really have been thinking about this. I know there's no morning sex in it for me (however, well-prepared I may be for it). And there's no way I'm awake thinking, hmm, how about a little morning jaunt over to the grocery store. It surely isn't because I'm dedicated to someone else's novel, or my own for that matter. I don't have any meetings, appointments, interviews, dates; I don't even have a planner! There can't be an earthquake every day at 7 A.M., can there be?

So I've come to the conclusion that every Detective in Los Angeles fears - DNA analysis, inconclusive.

I wonder if something special is happening at 7 A.M. that the sun seems to know. And my brain senses these electrodes zapping energy between synapses I thought for sure were dead to the conscious and alive only to sleepy dreamy land, where boys always love me, do what I say, and I never need money, sometimes I'm being chased, but I get away or turn around and win the battle. Needless to say, I awaken each morning at 7 A.M. wishing for just one more hour of sanity.

Perhaps something is plaguing me and I have yet to find it. That's the therapist's standard answer. Or perhaps there's something magical about 7 A.M. I have yet to discover.

The Process By Which Fear Disintegrates

2005-07-17T15:12:00.000-07:00

Bruised egos feel real. And I think we are all fighting this city, this world, to be real.

Pain soothes us into reality, and then we break with reality with our various drugs-of-choice: sex alcohol narcotics -- these things just release us from our silent prisons for a moment or two. But the hell of those prisons is our own creation. We coaxed ourselves behind the steel bars and we, ourselves, locked the door and took the keys and put them in our back pockets, forever forgetting where the keys were. Afraid to attempt escape, for fear we'll be caught.

I'm not afraid of being hurt anymore. And it's foolish to allow that fear guardianship of my prison. It's foolish that I choose to stay in prison, for that matter.

For many years, I was married to fear. As much as I hated it, I held on so tightly to it. Fear would curse me and keep me from my desires, my destiny. Opportunity would knock and I wasn't allowed the privilege to open the door, not even a crack to tell Opportunity to go away.

Fear was so irritated with me in those last few moments when I was divorcing it, standing but millimeters (which felt like chasms) from forever ending its tyranny.

Real adventure isn't found at DisneyLand. It isn't prepackaged cautious fun. It's spontaneous; it's wild; but most importantly, it's risky. Sure, you may find a crumpled empty soda can lying at the end of the rainbow, but that doesn't make the journey to the end any less. What makes us crave stories where the hero goes through trial and triumph for his/her noble goals? The pilgrimage is what makes us keep on reading -- how Frodo got through Mordor, how the Gunslinger traversed the planet as the world had moved on, how Skywalker got to the final battle with his father, how Harry met Voldomort -- those are the events that keep us holding on to the pages. It wasn't really the party in The Shire, or the Gunslinger meeting his destiny at the Dark Tower, or even the celebration at Endor (however, fond I am of Ewoks), and the jubilee of yet another victory for good in the battle versus evil.

These are the pages that influenced me, but yet there is more to life than comfort and contentment. There are those of us who may not crave the nature of a knight, but given a justifiable purpose, we too will forge ahead into a dark forest of unknown, sometimes it takes a little push.

So what makes these characters real? Did you smell the roasting of an alien animal as you recollected your experience with the above sequences? I know I did. And now I'm on the road to creating those memorable experiences in life. Those ones our grandparents tell us: how they first met, what the Great Depression was really like, their first scent of Europe. I want to be able to one day pass those same images, scents, tickles, sounds, and savory tastes on to my great grandchildren as they wonder why grandma's blasting dance music. But that future is just a fantasy of mine, until then I enjoy being young because old folks tell me it doesn't last . . .

Have You Ever Danced With the Devil In The Pale Moonlight?

2005-07-12T00:15:00.000-07:00

Yawn. One great big yawn. As I have had six hours of sleep and been awake for more than 18 hours (there went the eighteen hour bra limit), I should probably trot over to bed. The soft new bed that beckons to me. Come let me wrap my comfort around you. You will die in my arms. You will. ... sleeeep

Anyway, I am officially (cue music, duh duh-duh duhhhh) a Certified Google Advertising Professional. What does that mean? We spent fitty dollars as a company to make sure I can pass an exam (not unlike the SAT), written in a rudimentary form of English, scattered with awful grammar and some spelling errors. Apparently, it makes me more useful, as well as sellable. Ahh, dust that resume off.

And so, I'm barely keeping my eyes open, but I had to write. I heard the blank whiteness calling my name.. it was like the giant stay-puff marshmallow man smiling down and saying, color me, within the lines please.

As I sit in my apartment, I giggle in glee. I truly madly deeply love it, and living on the outer skirts of Venice (away from the Bohemians). Not that Bohemians are bad. (I certainly LOVE Moulin Rouge.) Anyway, I fold. I can't hold up any longer.

I pray for you all tonight. May you have blessed dreams and wake up refreshed.

By the way, HULLO -- just turned my half birthday today.. ACK! Am I really a year and a half away from 30. ACK! So much to do, so little time. People too!

Real Adventure Cannot Be Found At DisneyLand

2005-07-09T13:26:00.000-07:00

So I went to Victoria, British Columbia, Canada. And, if after reading the last post you cannot figure out whether I enjoyed it or not, um, well, er, ok. My company was just purchased by cars.com this past week. That's a major thing in the world of automotive. Also, a major thing in the world of JadedTLC.

I am trying to study for my Google exam, and not doing a very good job at it (obviously). This entails listening to one of the most annoying female voice lecturers on the web. (Noticeably, I have not been web lectured much or often, but interestingly enough, I still know this.)

Harry Potter is coming out soon. The new book, that is. And so I have that and the new Charlie and the Chocolate Factory to look forward to in July. I just recently bought (in Canada) and read (in Canada and Washington state) the book Generation X: Tales For An Accelerated Culture and absolutely loved the writing. I have been searching for the future Faulkners and until this year, had not found any. Now I read a regular blog filled with Faulknerisms, even from someone who was not familiar with his writing. I also started writing that way. A way I had worshipped for years (as an English Writing and Rhetoric major we do have to study literature too). I had been so intimidated by writing, by the blank page, that I became blocked. That and some major burnage (see: being hurt repeatedly to the point of shutting down emotionally) had finally been my undoing. As a self-proclaimed writer, I was not living my life.

Anyway, enough random backstory. This must bore you. Of course, there may not be many "you's" to worry about, but -- whatever.

So I was reading that book, Generation X, and several things struck me. One was this though and kinda related to my friend's blog:

Squires: The most common X generation subgroup and the only subgroup given to breeding. Squires exist almost exclusively in couples and are recognizeable by their frantic attempts to recreate a semblance of Eisenhower-era plenitude in their daily lives ni the face of exorbitant housing prices and two-job life-styles. Squires tend to be continually exhuasted from their voraciously acquisitve pursuit of furniture and knickknacks. (135)

And then I was thinking about it. That's why I'm not married. Finding love isn't any more difficult this year as it was ten years ago. But finding what our grandparents had: a generation where divorce was rare and detrimental to your status; a generation of haves and havenots, but havenots had a chance to become hads; education was superior to dropping out of high school at age sixteen and setting up shop in your garage; sex was the process by which we procreate; destiny was a three-bedroom ranch-style house with one and a half baths, complete with full garage and a yard (imagine that Los Angelians -- A YARD!); wife makes pies and babies, husband works nine to five, sometimes six, but dinner is always on the table and steaming; Christmas was more about the food less about the presents; love (dare i say the word) wasn't just a four-letter-word tossed around on TVs and used synonymously with anal/oral/vaginal sex; gay men wore pink shirts -- but no one talked out loud about it; you were who you were, and that was easy to figure out (or apparently so). Ahh, to reminisce about a time I didn't even live in. That's true historical time travelling. They had just as many wars and problems, don't get me wrong, but their fears for nuclear rain were unillustrated, while ours for terrorist bombings are as real as watching in HDTV on projection televisions a reality show we weren't going to win a prize from. As that day opened, and as London's day crashed, there was real ash raining down from the sky and real casualties -- the threat was less threat more guaranteed.

From the sadness aching within, I ponder the process by which values disintegrated. That a well-vaccinated global village became more dangerous than a small hut on the side of a river, even as typhoid fever was raging through its citizens. Disaster is in the eye of the beholder, that's for sure, and even as I type these lines, I defy fear. Let your hatred be known; it's easier to deal with in the open. Hatred only begets more hatred. You're bitterness will never be satisfied, and so I defy you and your actions of anger, and I even go so far as loving you and praying to GOD, not Allah or some jackedupGodwhoDemandsUltimateSacrifice. I am praying to the Creator of all things, and they are all good, that you may see within you, that fear is never as satisfactory as knowledge, that hatred is never as serene as joy, and that Love does make the world go 'round. Try it for once.

Victoria, British Columbia, Canada

2005-07-04T18:55:00.000-07:00

Victoria's eyes glistened in the midday sun as the ferry docked on Canada side. She was optimistic and opportunistic as she casually walked up and kissed me on the cheek, welcoming and friendly. Stunned, I offered to buy her a Mango Margarita at the Keg; she accepted. Her words were kind, and she listened as I laid out all of my problems. Work, relationships, family, friends -- there they were, all of my problems, hanging inconclusively. She smiled and took my hands, unseating me from the bar stool. Her legs were long and tender, her back a soft curvature of lust. And the little black number she was wearing accentuated it all.

She pushed herself into my arms and I could feel her heartbeat through those tender breasts pushed against my chest. Then the tequila kicked in. Heady with the fresh scent of sea salt and roses falling off the sweet tendrils of fawn-coloured hair, I danced all night with her. I couldn't have stopped if I had wanted to, and I didn't want to. I wanted to breathe her in for every second I could stay awake. So she invited herself over to my motel.

The motel was quaint, not seedy. The kind of place grandmothers and grandfathers take their grandkids when they go on grandmotherly and grandfatherly vacations. Hidden away in some nestled corner of the world. Where only the 65-and-olders know where to find it.

The beds were crisp and made, soft and strong at the same time. She laid me down; I was no longer in any sort of control. My parts were pushing to escape the manmade clothes entrapping them as her hands trailed down my chest, pushing open the buttons, one-by-one. Slowly, she savored every moment, every caress, every kiss. Yes, she kissed me. Wildly at first and then softly; I knew I'd remember every second of it for years to come.

The night wore on; the kisses continued. And the torture endured for hours.

Day broke, and we breakfasted beneath a smiling sunrise. We walked the gardens and she whispered sweetly, she told me everything I wanted to hear, and breathlessly I held on to her tightly. "I love you, Vicki," I declared. She giggled coyly.

Time was racing against me and the ferry was going to ease it's beastly body off the coast in just a few hours. She read to me from Munroe's Books and plied me with rootbeers and mochas from the cafes neatly stuffed into the most unusual corners. We talked nil of the future and nothing more of the past.

When time slipped under the horizon, I boarded the ferry, satiated and happy, yet yearning to feel her arms around me for one moment longer. She stood on the coastline waving a warm nestled goodbye, but I looked away from her, my eyes painfully unable to meet hers, as we eased our way back to Washington, back to the United States. She couldn't see just how much I had loved her, that I had loved her, that I knew her when I hardly knew her; and I felt things were better left hanging unknown in the black waters of the Pacific. Even so, I held no regrets. Not for one unspoken kiss, not for one single second. --Oh Victoria, I miss you so.

Digital Love (via Daft Punk)

2005-06-30T14:23:00.000-07:00

"Last Night I Had A Dream About You; In This Dream I Was Dancing Beside You"

And a catchy beat. . . (one, two, one, two).

Last night I pictured myself driving down the 405 at 85 mph. Zipping the night away, beneath the starlit heavens, I heard the jingle of the Star Wars theme from my cell. After a most delicious phone call with you, I headed over to your two-story victorian, with white picket fence. The cat sat on the stoop cleaning her paws, making diabolical plans for the next door neighbor's parakeet.

As I slid into first gear, coasting through a well-lit driveway, I smiled privately, eyeing the bottle of Pinot in the passenger seat. In only a matter of time, your script would be consummated. The last day of filming always gave me the jitters.

Not that I'm an in-demand actress, but I must say I have flair for an Unknown. (That's what they call us Hollywood types that are expectated to make this movie their breakthrough role.) Maybe that's why I had the jitters; I'd only worked on two other films, and a TV drama that won't ever see the light of day as the pilot never got picked up by any networks.

However, I'd never worked with This Director, (you) before. You're calm, cool, dashing, yet detached. While filming, I never knew if you were quite satisfied with the scene. Was that enough emotion? Tone it down? Look less Porn Star, more Wayward Runaway?

The day I auditioned for the role, I was fucked-up. I'd dropped a couple shooters, whose names are lost forever, and probably a Kamikaze or two. I think I offered to sleep with you (though I can't remember clearly); and scarily enough, I probably would have. After all, not every actor gets to work with you, as you only make a few elite movies that you feel drawn to.

With that in mind, I think I did Okay. After all, I did get a callback. So scene after heroic scene, I played my part. And tonight, we wrap up.

97 Miles Away

2005-06-29T17:51:00.000-07:00

So I was watching Average Joe. (Sorry, not a lot of good TV left out there; closed for summer and all). And I really hadn't intended to watch. I actually flipped on my machine, watched the lights flicker into existence, and David Daskall's saying something.

For those of you that don't know it already, I used to work for a major entertainment Internet company (aka E-Universe or InterMix Media). David Daskall also worked there. As a "character" (?) "performer" (?) on the show last year, I had watched. And had gotten a little hooked.

So this summer, that wasn't really on my list of top ten shows to wach on a Tuesday night. However, I stayed on the channel. Some sort of ex-company loyalty, perhaps. And I noticed that one of the "joes" was anything, BUT average. I knew hot-ass flighty Anna wasn't his type come ON! He's smart and witty. She's a "romantic" -- how does sarcastic survive in a romantic room? It doesn't, I tell you. It suffocates. (oh yes i would know)

His name is Matt *hands off sisters; i found him first*. He's a web developer (what I aspire to be). He's in a band?! Yeah. Apparently, everyone can be found on myspace. And of course I know myspace (it's a subsidiary of eUniverse/Intermix). So I hooked up an email via their service. We'll see if he responds. If nothing else, he can give me the latest dish on what's hot in Chicago, my hometown. Having been absent from Chi-town for the past 10 years (not including the 1 or 2 times I visit a year), I know I've missed out. Chicago is the BEST city in the world. It does not, however, have the BEST weather in the world. So I stay glued to Los Angeles.

Anyway, his music's pretty impressive. And that will be all the endorsement needed for Matt. YAY MATT!

Moving on, my last day commuting to Topanga. My job finally moved to Santa Monica. Tuesday morning will be my first day with a five minute commute again. I do look forward to it. Of course, the gods of PCH made it so I was early this morning (amazingly no traffic) and that I got home in 42 minutes. UNHEARD of clocked times. Thanks to the ever so kind gods of PCH. The view was wonderful. I loved it while it lasted.

Anyway, no real deep instrospective thoughts that have started to blossom forth. Just a progress report, if you will. And Soul Writer I thank you again. Keep writing; I miss reading.

Day Six: I Feel Alive

2005-06-28T16:16:00.000-07:00

I know that you want me I can
See it in your eyes
You might as well be honest ’cause the
Body never lies

RED LIGHT SPECIAL : TLC, CrazySexyCool

Why not? Why not feel the crush of two hearts beating alike, and yet differently? Why not cry yourself to sleep, and enjoy every moment for what it is? Reality.

And only terror keeps you running. Be a gunslinger. Take your decisions in stride, realizing there are consequences, and also a greater good. Aim true.

Never lie, because you'll start believing them. Become what you were destined to be. And if that's not good enough, then change.

Deny nothing. Accept everything. Your heart can hold it all; I promise.

=====================================================
SAME DAY 8:04 PM

Whew! Walking/Jogging is good for your head and your heart.

Must. Keep. That. In mind.

Dance Dance Revolution

2005-06-27T19:02:00.000-07:00

Have you ever gotten to the point where you just desire to exercise. Exercise the demons away. Exercise the desires away. Exercise, dare i say, the fat away?

Well dance dance revolution is one way to accomplish that. (Use with caution under the influence of alcohol, drugs, etc.) Daresay, I'm avoiding the gym. At least for a few more hours. I feel like really working things out. My mind, body, and spirit.

Times have changed. Go with the ~flow~ . . . I wish I had a copy of L.A. Story. I kinda love that movie.. maybe I'll get it from Hollywood Video tonight. Ahh, there's an idea.

When you can't think of anything colorful to say, find something colorful to read, or view.

Here's a quote from L.A. Story -- one of the stereotypes that's true. Actually, I'm a Chicagoan living here, and even I have succumbed.

The party ordering:

Guy with neck-support: "I'll have a decaf coffee"

Trudi: "I'll have a decaf espresso"

Movie critic: "I'll have a double decaf cappuccino"

Policeman: "Give me decaffeinated coffee ice cream"

Harris: "I'll have a half double decaffeinated half-caf, with a twist of lemon"

Trudi: "I'll have a twist of lemon"

Guy with neck-support: "I'll have a twist of lemon"

Movie critic: "I'll have a twist of lemon"

Cynthia: "I'll have a twist of lemon"

That just makes me laugh. *sigh* I can't really think of anything too important to say at the moment (i almost typed atm). Other than, sleep well, eat well, but enjoy life while you do.

==============================================================
SAME DAY, 11:45 pm

Ok, now that I've exercised all demons, walked about four miles round-trip, and watched L.A. Story, I believe I can be more thought-provoking. "Let your mind go, and your body will follow."

Do not doubt that.

Los Angeles is uniquely happy, so happy in fact, that more people in L.A. are in therapy than in most other states, metropolitan included. What does that say about our culture? That we're all so insanely happy being unhappy? That the only way to meet anyone new is to crash into them? This is the second movie in the past two months with that "theme" -- that Los Angelians don't touch. That's why the crash into each other.

I think I understand though. It's like we're all just struggling to find happiness, as if someone whispered in our ears, smile on stage, wave your hand, and happiness will follow. And like stupid sheep, we all listen. However, has anyone noticed that doing so hasn't made them any happier?

We hate traffic, and yet most of us drive in it. It's unheard of to even look for a job near our homes. We use the excuse that there aren't any jobs nearby. But I don't know if that's always true... We also like to drive our own cars; yet we hate traffic. Everyone driving in their own cars, abandonning public transportation, equals traffic. Think about it. If even 1/6 of the population took a bus or a train to work. On the dark side, more SUVs would just get on the road, with their extra 8-20" lengths taking up what little space was gained. Ahh, it's a lost cause. Enjoy your traffic jam with some whole-grain toast tomorrow morning.

But yeah, happiness and traffic. Just walking four miles blasting my mp3 player made me think about things; maybe that's what we're all running away from. Our naked thoughts haunting us, forcing us to be real, for just once in our lives. Dare I think so boldly!

We're all in therapy hoping to be real, when all we really needed to do was get out of our Ford Explorers and walk around a bit. Notice the sun setting behind the mountains from Lincoln Blvd. Watch the traffic lights, blink from red to green to yellow, cyclically, all day and all night. Peer into a window of a closed shop, its items neatly put away and organized, looking forward to a new day when a customer might purchase something.

ahhh.... Take a deep breath, and let your mind go; your body will follow. Trust me.

Day Two: Lost & Exhausted

2005-06-24T18:32:00.000-07:00

I made it through the week. Not an accomplishment, but a benchmark.

In an all-consuming embrace yourself action, the world moved. (again) I fear this won't be the last time it moves. However, it's safe to say, I moved with it this time and I don't feel left behind. Or somehow distanced from the "who i was" to the "who i am." In any event, time will tell. Time will tell all. So caws the raven.

Dashing down the road, without stoplights, is definitely one of my favorite pasttimes. I'm not sure if it's the power, the control, or the liberation, but I have to say it is so "choice." (Ferris Bueheller)
A part of it resounds from the passionate relationship I have with my vehicular machine. You see, simply said, I love my car. My little baby boy (he's a stick folks). I was looking to adopt a new machine in May 2004. So I started looking for the car I wanted, a new Scion xA, Indigo Ink Pearl. For all you non-Toyota/Scion afficianados that means Blue. So I was getting ripped by the dealer in the South Bay who was holding my 1k deposit. On the way to pickup my friend's computer, we decided to stop at the Longo dealership. Now we were under the impression they only had those awful maroon ones and white ones. Neither color was acceptable to me. But I thought I might go to test drive the manual transmission since I was going to buy one and I had only test driven the automatic.

So we walked onto the lot. And I spied from the very corner of my eye to the left a whole lotta xAs...! Not just that, but BLUE ONES!! I approached suspiciously, because they wouldn't be manual, or base model ( i only wanted an alarm system and the blue interior lights). But it was exactly what I wanted and I firmly grasped my arms around the car. I knew I wanted to adopt him, but how? My deposit was sitting in the SouthBay and my trade-in was a forty minute drive away.

Obviously, I was exactly what any good dealer salesman was looking for. And he saw me. He said, "You take home!" and I shook my head sadly, but truthfully. "No, I don't have any money here. It's at the dealership in SouthBay." He shook his head. "You drive home today."

And I did. I later gave them my downpayment and loan money and trade-in. All was good. And I brought home a 2005 Scion xA, Indigo Ink Pearl. He's one year old this month -- he was manufactured in Japan on June 04, 2004. And he's the most adorable vehicle you've ever seen. (Except, perhaps, the Pontiac Solstice or the Ford Thunderbird Convertibles.) Shhh.. don't tell Scion about that.. strictly on the DL.

Anyway, my sister flies in tonight.. No silly on a plane. So any or all readers, please have a great weekend. See ya next week!

----------------------------------------------------------------------
1:01 AM Saturday, June 25, 2005

And yet the world moves once again. I must keep up with it. Secrets held in dark places have seen sunlight and started to die. Their power melting, melting, melting. And somehow I stand there, a fool, as always. Nodding in shock and awe. Maybe THAT's what this week should be called. shock and awe week 2005.

Why do guys lie? If I could just get to the bottom of it, I would like to know. Why? Maybe I could understand and appreciate the reasoning behind it; perhaps I'll disapprove, but what can it hurt. Let a lady understand! Please!

Day One: Blurred

2005-06-23T23:03:00.000-07:00

"The Reason Why Kisses Don't Dream" is the name of a sonnet I wrote several years ago for a creative writing class. I think I fell in love again, with myself, rereading it recently and then naming my blog here after it. That may sound odd, but it's not to me. No regrets and que sera que sera. Always live for the present. That's all you're guaranteed anyway. "Someone once said, 'don't take life too seriously, you'll never get out alive.' Write that down." --Van Wilder

I have some work to do since I had to leave work before I could finish. And thus I'm here, procrastinating. The perfect way to do so, thanks to the Soul Writer for inspiring me. He is one incredible guy in so many ways.

I believe he was born to inspire others; of course, that's all gut feeling and I barely know him. But somehow I get a sense. He's somewhat a paradox, but I think he knew that already. Guarded truth spilling from his raised glass of lite beer -- there's always a reason bro. A hopeless romantic who plays love like an old beatup cassette, re-strung, so the crisp sound intermittently crackles. Not that I'm anyone to talk. On the edge of being a love junkie myself, I find my pleasures in the twinkling beacons in the sky, guiding UFO's to their homeplanet. Or the delighted moon, smiling down on young lovers entwined in holy ecstasy. Or desire blanketed near a warm hearth, smoke curling towards those beacons and the endless tides washing in, washing out, as they always have for billions of years before and always will billions of years after.

I used to imagine what my life would be like "if." Now, my life is driving down a highway, the windows down, and the radio blasting Switchfoot or U2, singing as I go to no particular place at no particular time. Just going. Moving. Forward.

Being lost is more the focus than the fear; and for that I am thankful to God. Because the more lost I get, the happier I become. Why did it take so much effort to let go?

Lines from the Script of Episode
#414 "A Winter's Tale" Dawson's Creek:
DAWSON: At a certain point, the whole thing just becomes too much to process, and your brain gets taken out of the loop, and all you have to rely on is your heart, your natural human instincts. It's liberating... not at first of course, at first it's terrifying, like falling... but that's the point, isn't it?
JOEY: What's that?
DAWSON: If we weren't so afraid to let go, we wouldn't feel so free when we finally did.

That line has always been special to me. And I hocked it on streetcorners, held signs up to the passerby, but I don't think I ever lived it.

And then the world moved on. And as a gunslinger, I knew I couldn't forget the face of my father. So I aimed true. (Stephen King, Dark Tower Series-inspired)

Wow.

2005-06-23T11:54:00.000-07:00

I'm going to have to think about things. But Wow.
Wow cubed.
Wow, infinity to the infinite power.

Wow. Wowsaz. Wowwy. Just wow.

Speechless, I am. Other than wow.

wow me wow you wow it wow please wow yes wow ooh la la.

How I Met Cynicism

2005-06-21T19:37:00.000-07:00

I started thinking about my ex from a long time ago. Probably because I've really started to work on un-numbing my emotions.

I met him in 1996 via a neon green piece of paper. That was a time when I not only didn't know myself, I disliked myself on that basis. It was August, new student orientation. I was working in the HAWC (rec center of my alma mater). My friend "Rico" walked in with this guy. (sidenote: i was born a hardcore flirter. it's just my nature, for good or bad.)

Even with that being my nature -- due to my inner struggle to really dislike myself, I couldn't believe that this guy, TC, was flirting with me. That was the beginning of the newest ride at Six Flags.

Before he left, he handed me that neon piece of paper, which I believe I have saved somewhere, hopeless closet romantic I am. I fell. Hard. But in that co-dependent what did he like kinda way. Not the way everyday people struggle into and out of relationships. He was an 18-year-old struggling to keep his dick in his pants (or out), something I was naive about and didn't understand. (Ahh the joys of the female peak.)

I really loved him; something I've struggled to understand and to conquer for years. Even though he lied (lots) and cheated (lots) and helped me cheat and met most of my sensual "firsts," I truly madly deeply -- loved him. The details are lurid and pointless to re- re- re- re-hash. That was done in the 90s. I'm five years into the new milennium and I thought I had really put everything behind me. Not that I'm not "over" him. And I finally worked through getting "over" me. That was the hard part.

Most people think they miss the guy when they break up. I know I missed the "me" I had been. The relationship changed me; made me change who I was; and I had to reconcile all the things I had promised myself I would never become, that I had become.

And all that added up to six years of cursing love, denying its existence, and finding every "safe" person to befriend. "Safe" are the people you peg at a distance as nevers. The "I'd never ever date that guy, he's just my friend."

Yup those guys.

And then the year of change came; 2004/2005. I let people start coming in. Slowly at first, and then moreso. And I moonlighted some ideas of what it would be like to fly again. And some kind of romantic was reborn, or dusted off, or taken off the shelf. I've missed it -- even the desire to feel again angst or joy. Joyagony.

Ok, you're wondering what happened to make the past year or so "the year of change."

It was a dark and stormy night... (ok, not stormy, definitely dark). I had started to really like this guy from work. We'll call him "Maverick" as he's an avid poker player. Maverick, one of my good friends *now ex friend*, my sister, and I were hanging out. Dousing our inhibitions with Skyy Vanilla, my ex friend, the photographer was taking random pictures (her favorite pasttime). And so I'm tryin to get this guy to just cozy up a little. You could tell he liked me in some way shape or form. His eyes lit up around me, and he totally cruised my physique in every conversation we had.

So I get to thinking. A dangerous thing to do anytime, but especially under the influence. We're at my friend's house, my house has a sundeck. Of course the sun isn't out, but the moon is.. hmmm... (I sense a teen primetime drama brewing). I ask him to take me there so I could take my contacts out. (I actually did need to do that.)

In his beautiful convertible, black mustang, we cruise along. And I get this crucial question. Now it's not crucial as in an emergency, but in every and all near-future planning, alcohol reasoning aside, it was crucial. "How many partners have you had?"

Why would he ask that question? The only reason, anyone could figure, is that he was Interested. And very. Needless to say, my script was being read, the director was pleased and the producers saw big money in the works.

I introduce him to the small Los Angeles domicile, two-bedroom, roommate missing. And thereafter encourage him up the stairs to the moonlight, cozy deck. I lean in close, just as the director waves his hand, closer closer still. And Maverick has his arm around my shoulder, but we're still standing sideways, necks craned at the hollow moon. The marine layer is blowing in, its gentle breeze brushing our cheeks, cherry red and flushed, and I look up into his eyes, and he

(Now, this really does sound like Hollywood. If I really had this in a script, I'd be absolutely rich. But I don't and this is real life.)

and he looks away saying "it really is pretty, do you think we should get going?" And I feel awkward icky spikes of terror creeping up my legs, through my spinal cord, and I am nauseous. I wish this were an alcohol-inspired nauseous, but no such luck. It was the omigosh-i'm-not-wearing-pants-and-i'm-giving-a-speech-to-my-ceo awkward. It was how's-your-wife-oh-she's-dead awful, i've-farted-really-loudly-at-an-interview-and-it-smells-rancid bad.

So we left. He drove home. And a pretty fun and interesting evening gave way to false hopes and bitter dreams.

TO BE CONTINUED...