caulking

The last two days have been a lot of work down here in Nawlins! And I may be starting to pick up the Looosiana accent, ya'll. I am such a dork.

I am just starting to move past the tired (and realization that I am SO out of shape) and hit a groove.
I spent all day yesterday ruling the chop saw and cutting and installing base boards in our house. It was grueling and incredibly detailed work. And after I cut like 5 pieces wrong, I got really discouraged, but I finally hit a second wind and got it right. I have bruises on my knees (har har) and my biceps have appeared for the first time in a year, but at the end of the day, I was really proud of the work.

Which we followed up with a NOLA tradition: drive-thru daiquiris. I know this seems incomprehensible. And it's technically illegal to drink and drive (and our driver didn't imbibe) and you would never see this elsewhere, but it's real. Take my word for it. I have pictures to prove it.

Then today I finished up the boards that I couldn't do yesterday because I was waiting on someone else to do door trim. And then came the caulking. (warning: excessive caulk jokes) I caulked the hell out of that whole house. Well, maybe I had help. We caulked that whole house. We caulked the shit out of it. There was lots and lots of caulk. I caulked the door trim. I caulked the base boards. I caulked the window trim. I caulked shelves in the tiniest closet in the history of the houses. I wedged myself in that tiny space and I took that caulk and I worked it hard. Oh yeah. I ruled the caulk. And then I helped Katherine find some nuts. So my day was filled with nuts and caulk. How many times can I say caulk before it gets completely annoying. Caulk. CAULK.

All in all, a good day. And then some of us who had built in the past, drove around to find the old houses we'd worked on and meet the current residents. Which was AWESOME! The people were so nice and they had some incredible stories. Plus it was totally satisfying to see these spaces as homes. Whether you're working at the start of a home (like I did last year) or interior work (like I'm doing this year), it's so hard to imagine the space in use. You can see the rooms, but they're still raw spaces. But when you see the paint and the furniture and the pictures and the people inside, it becomes a home. And all of a sudden you see how nice it actually is and how worth it all the frustrating work you're putting yourself through actually is.

I am so glad we did that today. Moments like that are why I do this.

A few last thoughts:

I hate teenagers. Do they ever shut up? Sharing a dorm with dozens of chatty teenage girls may just be the death of me.

Food I've eaten so far this week: fried chicken and shrimp (twice), beignets, red beans and rice, dill pickle chips (trust me, SO GOOD), cornbread, and a half a million red vines. We're going to an amazing restaurant tomorrow in the Quarter and I am thining I'll have the Jambalaya. Oh baby. I am getting HUGE! Yowza.

What I still need to eat before I leave: crawfish pie, poboy, and mufaletta.

Have I mentioned the amazingly hot showers? They're heaven sent. I tell my shower I love it every evening. I expect a proposal any day now. My shower and I will live happily ever after. *sigh*

Don't know if I'll have another chance to post before I go home next week. But I'll try! Also, I'm tweeting this trip all day.

and it begins

First day of work in New Orleans is done. It was pretty damn cool. We worked at a Catholic cemetary in St. Bernard Parish (just out of NOLA), an area that was completely submerged after Katrina. So we cleaned up the tombs that had noone to care for them and painted them white again. I gotta say, they looked gorgeous after we painted them. Like magic somehow. I took lots of pictures.

And my arms are all painty and my back is aching already and my biceps have come out of hiding, but I am already having a blast.

Did I mention we're staying at Camp Hope? This is Camp Hope 3, their third location in the last 5 years and I'm really liking this new spot. We're closer to the 9th Ward (which could be scary, I admit), but that means closer to the Quarter. And this location is certainly smaller than Camp Hope 2 so they can support less volunteers, but the showers. The. Showers. THE SHOWERS! *sigh* The showers this year are 5 gazillion times better than last year.

An aside about the showers: last year's showers were nasty (to quote Coco, very Psychoish) and dirty. And the hot water lasted through the first 3 showers and then was freezing. And water was scarce so each person was alotted 60 seconds per shower. I kid you not. No exaggeration. 60 second power showers. But the water was freezing, so who wants to spend longer than that anyhow? Not I, said the fly. Not I.

So the showers this year and clean and warm and even though the water pressure is incredibly low, I don't give a hot damn. It's a WARM SHOWER YO! Nothing worse at the end of a long work day than a cold ass shower. It's enough to turn a girl to god. Not me, but maybe some other girl. Who's less of a heathen.

Tomorrow is our first day working with Habitat and I am so ready to build. I want to climb a roof. And pound some nails. Or chop something up. I feel like I did as a little girl when my boy friends didn't want to play with me because I was a girl. But I just wanted to play with the monster trucks too! Why couldn't I do the boy things? Well, down here, they don't care that I'm a girl. I can climb and pull and carry and pound as much as I want. The way life should be.

Hopefully we're going out to eat tomorrow or Wednesday (because I want to some good cajun eats!) so I'll try and post again sometime later this week.

Love Song Sunday (Saturday edition): Willow

So, I realize it's not Sunday, but Sunday morning, I'll be on a plane to New Orleans, so please forgive the early post.

I just cannot believe I have waited this long to share something from Priscilla Ahn. This woman, this musician, this song writer, this singer, she rocks my whole world. I adore her. Her voice is so incredibly melodic, I could just swim in it, floating lazily on my back and dreaming as she sings.

This song is also incredible. It's both sweet and slightly sad. The imagery is so vivid and her willowy voice just adds to the motif. You don't need a music video with actors and drama, no art direction. Just Priscilla, a guitar, her lovely voice, and the lyrics. It's perfection.

The Sex (and more)

So, remember my post about The Sex the other day? I've gotten a lot of responses. Mostly in private messages. And all of it awesome! (oh and p.s., at the bottom of that post, there has been a recurring ad for "Cougar Life." I'm just gonna say that at 29, I have a long way to go until I'm a cougar thankyouverymuch)

Anyway, I won't divulge anyone's name. For one, not everyone wants to broadcast their lives on the All Humiliation Network like I do. Two, this is still a sensitive subject. The Sex, casual sex, unmarried sex, and masturbation still carry some taboos and it seems that the subject has really resonated. Here a couple of my fave responses:

This is from a gal in her early twenties:

"Let's just say that I have a VERY NICE relationship with my vibrator. I got mine when I was 21 and have fallen in love with it. Them. I have three (hehe). And I love it! I love not having to depend on a man for sexual pleasure. I've been doing 'it' for oohhh lets just say 100 years and I throughly enjoyed them all. Some good, most adequate. Why? Guys know squat about sex and pleasuring a woman. I mean seriously, get it together people! Stop watching main stream porn and pay attention to your lady (or men). She is just more than tits and an ass. There are other parts! ANYWAYS, oh yes, me+vibrator=eternal love. Sometimes, it can be better than a boyfriend. If I am not in the mood, it won't be mad. It can go on for as long (or short) as I want to AND it comes in different colors. It's all about diversity. Don't get me wrong, sex can be eternal bliss but your vibrator... it won't get mad or jealous or rebelious. It just loves you back."

Well, said, my friend. Well said.

This is from a guy in his late twenties:

"It is wonderful for you to put it into words. I've always been closer to females than males, but something most males will not do is be honest about their feelings. So as a person, I really do appreciate this blog. I hope it sparks some good and enlightening conversation from both men and women...The thing I will say I've learned is that yes it is a good thing to know when to "take charge" but you also have to be willing to listen to your partner. It does not matter how much your last partner may have thought you were the best. You need to make sure you make your current partner feel like he or she is special and the only one that matters to you."

I can't tell you how refreshing it is to hear a guy's honest perspective that is so respectful and astute. Not that men can't be astute, but in regards to women? That's a little more challenging to find.

Keep talking about The Sex, kiddos!

So, I leave for Los Angeles today and off to New Orleans in the morning (woot!). Posting will be light over the next week and a half as internet access will be limited, but I'll try to post as much as possible. Pictures when I return!

In the meantime, just hold in your mind this picture of me dominating the chop saw last year:

*rawr*

Photo of the Day: Sprung

Ah, spring, you are here. In full force. Spring has so totally sprung. Though fall is my favorite season, spring is my favorite in Southern California (probably because we don't get a real fall here). The nights are cool and the days are warm and breezy and everything smells good (except for the smog). In several months, it will be hotter than Johnny Depp in hell. So, spring, please don't go too soon. 

Sex and the Single Girl

This is one of those posts that I write with confidence knowing full well that my dad has yet to discover my blog. When that day comes, I'll imagine his head to toe blush at knowing his daughter is a grown woman who does The Sex and I'll sheepishly wave, "hi dad!" and smile the best I can.

See, not only is my family one of those that acknowledges that many things are natural and normal as long as you don't discuss it, but they're also...wait for it...Mormon. And I really don't want to go into my reasons for leaving church some time ago and if you've been paying attention, you'll realize that I'm a dirty liberal heathen and it all makes sense anyway. Moving on.

Clearly I don't talk about The Sex with my dad. Poor guy. I know he wants to be a grandpa and I know he wants me to get married and pop one out and I know he knows that that involves The Sex, but he also doesn't want to acknowledge that single people have The Sex too. Especially his only daughter. The other day I made a joke (over the phone with him) about making a baby with a turkey baster and the response I got from him was:.....

Yeah. So sex. The Sex. I didn't have The Sex as a teenager like most of my compatriots did, though I was well on my way at 16, when I was assaulted, which I don't talk about much and which scared me off sex for a few years. My First Time was the summer before I turned 20 and I was totally ready, but, let's face it, the first time is always crap. And the guy was a little insane to boot. So for years, I didn't count that as My First. But it was.

Aside: teenage boys, most people will tell you that screwing a virgin is easy because she has nothing to compare it to. I'm here to tell you that she'll know if you're crap in bed no matter how experienced she is.


But I more than made up for that in my early twenties. I had The Sex. I had great sex. I had bad sex. I had sex out of my league. I had pity sex. And, because I was living in Hollywood at the time, I had a fair share of not unattractive guys to choose from. I'm not going to say I was a slut, mostly because I have major issues with that word (but that's a diatribe for another time). But, I was safe and discerning. I was also young and having fun and experimenting with life and learning all the way. And there ain't nothing wrong with that, ladies. Ain't nothing wrong with that.

But even so, life was just not like Sex and the City. I was always amazed watching that show (which I became addicted to back then, watching it with my friend Cassidy in her downtown apartment, drinking cosmos, and imagining we were such savvy city girls) at the sheer volume of sex on that show. I think it is literally impossible to have that much sex. That many men just don't exist in the world. I just don't think so. But shows like that, while they break down the taboos about sex, they also perpetuate this idea that the life of a single woman is a revolving door of men and mind-blowing sex. I mean, C'mon!

Life is just not like that, yo. And it certainly isn't now. My late twenties (barring the time I lived in Europe. because, you know, when in Rome...literally.) were much more mellow sexually. Probably because I moved to a small town and the pool of available attractive men of legal age shrank dramatically, but also I was in some longer-term relationships. And I became much less interested in casual sex. But during the last 5 years or so, the most important part of the sex learning curve has been me. Me. What do I like? What don't I like? What am I willing to be adventurous about and what won't I?

And...oh boy...I'm really going to go there....what about vibrators? Every single girl needs a vibrator. It's how you experiment. How you figure out what you like on your terms, on your own time. Vibrators are like really fun homework for an even more fun practical exam. They make The Sex so much better. I bought my first vibrator at the Hustler store in Hollywood when I was 23. It was pink. And sparkly (because sparkles make such a difference in your pleasure zones, right? *ahem*). And I've been through a couple others since then. They've been good, reliable friends. There for me as long as I have batteries. And, I won't lie, there were times when I thought, if I could magically make this a real penis, life would be perfection. A girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do. Am I right, chiquitas? Am I right?

But now? I am vibratorless. It's tragic. Seriously, what's a girl to do? Do I take a risk and buy on the internet? Or make a drive farther than I care to in order to make sure I get something quality and exactly what I want? It's not like I'm shy about these things, but I want good quality for my money and time. Advice and presents are always welcomed.

As I near the end of my twenties, I feel ready for my next sex adventures. I will go where probably lots of other women have gone before. I will have The Sex, and have it better. And I will do things that would give my poor father a heart attack if he knew.

Photo of the Day: Cake Face

Another shot from Ethan's birthday party last Saturday. See, forks are unruly and for losers. And eating with a fork just takes too damn long. So this little man took the whole piece and shoved it in his mouth. This is just after he managed to get it all in. But he hadn't yet figured out how to chew. The resulting look is half "what did I get myself into?" and half "whatcha you gonna do about it huh? huh??" Classic.

Insomnia

Where are the insomniacs in the audience? Let's give it up for insomnia, y'all!

Insomnia is way too common, yo. I see ads for sleep aids constantly and, usually, I don't even pay attention because they rarely live up to the hype. Except for those ones with the alien ghost butterflies. I like those. They're coolio.

I don't know what he's so scared of. 

The alien ghost butterfly just wants to put him to sleep, that's all.

I have battled with insomnia since I was a teenager. I go through long periods where I can sleep just fine, 8+ hours a night, but then I'll hit bouts of insomnia where I cannot sleep no matter what I do.

For me, it's never a problem of staying asleep. It's getting there in the first place. And I can never predict the conditions. Sometimes stress will keep me up worrying, but sometimes, depending on the stress, I'll knock out like I just walked from Los Angeles to Johannesburg, which is hard to do because of the Atlantic Ocean. Sometimes the lack of stress can keep me up. I won't have anything else to think of so my brain will dwell on stupid ass shit.

Because the number one problem standing between me and Sleepyland is my damn brain. My brain is overactive. I cannot turn it off. I've learned habits over the years that work just for me and can usually trick my brain into relaxing. Reading before bed helps, so do short and funny TV shows (but anything over 45 minutes or too complicated of a plot and I start thinking too hard about it). Music and sound machines don't help (I pay attention to them and sometimes start choreographing in my head) and the same goes for leaving the TV on (even with no sound).

Medicating sometimes helps. Out of the several prescriptions that I've tried, only one has helped me sleep without a hangover, but it's no longer manufactured. Tylenol PM is sometimes okay, but if I get less than 8 hours, I wake up with a raging headache. And really, unless I want to medicate every night (which I don't. read: drug addict momma). I've used herbal supplements, which also sometimes work, but then they usually stop working after a while. I've tried warm milk, sleepytime tea, ev.er.y.thing!

And then there are the times when no matter what I take, I just cannot sleep. Two weeks ago, I went through a whole week of pretty much no sleep. So that friday night, I took two Tylenol PMs AND a melatonin and knocked myself out. And it was fucking wonderful. But damn if that's what it takes for a full night of Zs, dude.

But insomnia is great for the creativity. Often (and this is what I did this last Monday), I'll just give in to the insomnia. I just get up and let my brain work out all its energy. Sunday (which is a common theme for Sundays as I worry about the week ahead), I pulled out my computer, edited a bunch of my photos, added a new page to the blog (p.s. now you can see all my old mastheads), designed a masthead for April and wrote a new poem (which was kind of crap, but whatev). Now, that means I maybe slept 3 hours Sunday night and I was a complete waste of space on Monday, but it was better than tossing and turning in misery, fighting my brain and losing.

Besides, some of the most brilliant writers have been insomniacs, staying up half the night, churning out masterpieces. So I'll take my insomnia as a symptom of my genius. Jane Austen was an insomniac. So was Sylvia Plath, especially after she had children. Then again, Sylvia stuck her head in the oven. Probably because she couldn't fucking sleep. She probably just wanted a damn nap and noxious fumes were her last option. Her LAST OPTION. Get it? Okay, I'm going to hell for that one, I realize. Jeez, get a sense of humor.

The only thing that ever seems to truly work for me is hard, manual labor and physical exertion. If my body is so exhausted that my brain can't compete, I will sleep like narcoleptic on prozac. So I fully expect to get plenty of sleep next week when I'm in New Orleans, building houses until my arms and legs just fall right off. I'll be limbless, but I'll be well rested.

Photo of the Day: Attack of the Flying Children

Saturday was the epic party of parties. My little Ethan, my sortof nephew, my bestie Krissy's son's 2nd birthday party. And this was how I got to see him most of the day. Because who can compete with a bounce house? That's Ethan flying through the air a la Superman. His dad, Chris was bouncing and falling so all the kids would fly. And of course they would chant in between flies, "doitagain! doitagain!" 

I can't believe how big this kid is getting. And I'm the crazy book lady. The aunt who doesn't buy tons of toys, but books, books about Matisse and "A Wrinkle in Time" and, okay, one Cars book too. Gotta have some fun too. If Krissy and I have our way, this kid will be the most literate in his kindergarten class. 

Love Song Sunday: The Limit To Your Love

Today I'm sharing a song by Feist. And I think I can safely say that I adore this woman and the magnetism that is her music with the fire of my soul. Her voice is completely intoxicating. And I pretty much love every song I've ever heard of hers. Love her love her love her.

There were several songs of hers that I contemplated sharing. They're all certainly excellent. And I could've chosen one with a produced music video. But this song simply insinuated itself upon me, haunting me. It practically forced itself on me. Rapist song.

I'm also sharing two videos of the same song. The first is a homemade video (not by me), but the sound quality is good and you get the full song. The second is the best I could find of her live as far as image and sound quality, but you don't get the full song. But it's worth it just to watch her perform. She's magical.

Enjoy:

Cocomo

I have this friend/coworker Coco. Coco is a genius. I know, because she just finished her MBA. See? Genius.

I've known Coco a little over 2 years now and I think I've come to know her somewhat well in that time, especially through the stressful times or the big events. But even so, as I type, I can't decide that, if by doing a post all about her, Coco will be annoyed, embarrassed, or totally amused. I'm hoping for the latter.

Most days, Coco is my comic hero. I say most days because I generally only see her Monday through Friday (unless we work weekends) and I do have a few other comic heroes. Most of them are handsomely paid and I see them on TV. So you can see how lucky my office is to have our very own comic actress to entertain us and make us laugh.

Coco coins many funny phrases, which I am constantly stealing and working into my vocabulary. It's not always intentional. I just pick it up. The other day she coined the term "thunder douche," which I am absolutely itching to use in context. Someday soon, Internet, I will be able to describe to you a real live Thunder Douche (copyright Coco) and all will be well in the world.

Speaking of copyrights, I'm contemplating designing a copyright symbol for Coco so I can use her phrases freely and ethically. Maybe something resembling the Chanel symbol but with two "o"s as well. After all, before I met her, the only other Coco I knew of was Coco Chanel. So it seems only fitting.

I'd also like to take this moment to set the Inernetverse straight one on point. Sad Panda. I have heard this used now by all sorts of unlikely people, first on Twitter, then by bloggers from all over. I have no idea how this term is spreading like wildfire, but it is. Soon, we'll hear it on Modern Family and Coco won't have collected a dime.

Because, dear Internet, Coco started Sad Panda. It comes from a story. That happened to her. And I can't tell the story. For one, only she can tell it and I would never do it justice. And two, well, I would mess it up. But it involves a pretty droopy panda costume with squeakers in the hands and the full range of emotions the panda conveys with said squeakers (read: happy and sad). Thus: Sad Panda. I'm not saying you have to stop using it, Internet, just use the Coco copyright (patent pending).

And I cannot forget to mention the videos. If it weren't for Coco, I would never see so many genius, ridiculous, hilarious, disturbing, and deliciously wrong videos that she sends my way.

She shared this video with me not that long after I'd met her and it has provided much vocal fodder to annoy our other coworkers with. In fact, we're constantly bugging our coworkers with our tendency to quote movies at whim and giggle at said quoting in the middle of meetings. We're very grownup.

I dare you to watch this only once. I dare you to watch this and not have the urge to quote it like crazy.



In fact, I may just dress as Irma next Halloween. "Ah ah Ah ah Irma's gonna go nuts! Dundun Dundun!" "LOOK AT YOU, IRMA! LOOKATYOU!"

And for good measure (and just to bug Coco): squishy bulldogs and flying killer whales!

Photo of the Day: Tickled Pink

I took this last weekend whilst wandering the trails in a local park. It was a gorgeous day. Not too hot. And the light was amazing. I just want to crawl into this flower and make a little home. My insect friends will visit me and we'll have potlucks and passion parties. 

keep on survivin'

I'm afraid I'm not feeling very funny today, Internet. Though I'll try to inject some of my more acerbic side. March has turned out to be quite the tumultuous month and I'm definitely feeling the effects both physically and emotionally. I'm completely drained.

But that's not what I wanted to talk about. What I wanted to talk about is survival. Survival is something that I'm extremely intimate with. Now, I've never had to pull my family out of rubble or beg on the streets for food, but I've been through, in my opinion, some pretty tough shit for the 1st world. And I've survived it all, mostly on my own, and without completely losing my mind, though I think I do carry the requisite amount of baggage that comes with experiences like mine. But to bastardize Rent, it's all about finding others with matching baggage.

Anyway, so I mentioned that some upheaval is going on at my work. And as I sat in a large meeting today, listening to an important man who I've respected for just over 5 years, and gotten to see his fantastic sense of humor in the last 2, I felt inspired for the first time since I was an undergrad. And it's because of survival. We will all survive. And we will survive not only with heart and perseverance, but with a huge heaping of humor (how's that for alliteration? I didn't even try!).

But of course I am exhausted and emotional and so that made me just about cry. Seriously, sitting amongst many many colleagues and the crazy woman in the middle is holding back tears. So professional.

But survival I can do. That I have down. There's this theory (a theory, but one I tend to buy) that biological mothers emotionally detach from their fetuses when they decide to give them up for adoption for their own emotional survival. Because of this, it's theorized, the fetus feels this disconnection and learns, even in utero, and enters the world with already developed survival tactics. It's said that my foster mother called me the most independent infant she's encountered. And it's true that I've been fiercely independent my entire life. Everything I've got, I earned on my own. And most of what I endure, I do my best to endure in private.

Even when I was ducking for cover and hiding from my mom, while also incessantly hoping and trying for her approval, I was learning how to survive it on my own. Nobody knew what I was enduring so I insulated myself while plastering a smile on for mom and weathered the beatings on my own. That's not to say there weren't people in my life who didn't love me, but it was understood that they couldn't know. Or my mom would send me back.

So what I'm saying is that I've developed these skills. And they've worked thus far for basic coping. They've gotten me through heartbreak and grief and times when I abused my body or times when I couldn't afford to eat. They've helped me pull myself out of abusive relationships and given me the bravery to excise the most toxic people (person) from my life.

But after tons of therapy, I've realized that survival only goes so far. I can cope. I can insulate. I can do what it takes to make it to the next day. After 29 years of that, I'm still lacking. I have a hard time letting myself un-insulate, opening myself up to hurt. I'm tough, but I believe that the best things in life require risk.

And I don't even know if I even possess the skills to risk myself emotionally.  I'd like to open that door someday, but how? How do I remain myself and the survivor I am while letting go and allowing in so much uncertainty?

Seriously, how?

I swear I had a point about how developing the ability to laugh at yourself is part of the key to survival. But I forget the context right now. Usually, that's exactly how I deflect. I'll just make fun of myself. But clearly I've forgotten how to do that right now. oh wells. We all have our off days.

I was invited to a party tonight with some old friends, but I'm probably not going. Because what do I do when the going gets tough? I insulate. So I think I'll take myself on a date instead. Because that's not crazy at all. And who will appreciate me more than me? And it's been a long time since I've been on a date. And I fucking want to, mmmk? I promise I won't get fresh. Not at first anyway.

getting my her did

Happy St. Patrick's Day, Internet! I'm an Irish girl, so there will always be a special place in my heart for this holiday. If you're not Irish, you can be Irish for the day. And if you have opinions on how we celebrate it wrongly or whatever, get your own blog. I like this holiday (which, if you've been reading, you'll know is huge for me. I don't like most holidays.). So slainte!

And it's a weeknight and I have a lot going on at work, so I won't be going OUT tonight. But, I am drinking my requisite Guinness (my namesake on my biological momma's side) opened with my genuine Irish bottle opener (the bottle opener I accidentally stole in Dublin like 3 years ago from my Irish hookup that looked like Cillian Murphy and was entirely too young for me.).

There is a lot going on at work. And most of it I really can't publicly have an opinion on and all of it I refuse to discuss on here. So I'll just say this: HOOBOY am I tired! Tense is an understatement.

And so it came at incredibly good timing that I had a hair appointment today. There are a few things in life that truly relax me. And getting my hair done is one of them. I love it. I love getting my hair washed and my scalp massaged (and my stylist Kat massages my neck too. heaven.) and the yummy-smelling professional products that make my hair feel like cornsilk. I love getting pampered, the whole process. And I'm not one to close my eyes either. I watch intently, because it's incredibly interesting. Every part.

And getting your hair done is a huge exercise in trust. I hate going to a new stylist for the first time, because I have no relationship with this person. They don't know my hair. They don't know what I like. There is no trust built yet. And Kat and I are just getting to the point where I completely trust her. I know she understands what I'm communicating and I can just enjoy the process without worrying what might happen.

Of course the worst part is when it's all over. I actually have to get out of the chair and leave. Leave? You mean I have to go back to the real world where I'm not the center of attention and there is no one dedicated to pampering me? That's just wrong.

But naturally I love what Kat did to mes cheveaux this time. It's softer and lighter and swingyer (ok, not a word) and I can't stop touching it. After my cut, I had to go by the bank and stop off at a local (and delicious!) pizza joint for a fundraiser and I found myself feeling like I'm in a shampoo commercial as I walked downtown, swinging my hair, walking with a little more confidence than usual (which isn't saying much. I'm a confident walker.).

And I realized that this is why rich people's lives are so awesome. It's not the cash or the houses or the cars or the Gucci (okay, maybe it's the Gucci). It's the freedom to be pampered on a regular basis.

Because everyone deserves to be pampered. And to leave feeling fresh and shiny. It's just what I needed to relax today. Victims of disasters and trauma should be sent to spas and stylists. Give these people massages and pedicures and hair cuts.

It works wonders on the soul.

Internet Dating & Me

This is a bit of a belated story, but what the hell, I'll tell it anyway. Shut up, you know you like it. I said, shut up and listen.

Great. Let's begin.

So, this last February the 14th, whilst I was in bed with a handsome man (sleeping! we were sleeping. where does your mind go? yeesh.), I was awakened at an ungodly hour by a random text message. I didn't recognize the number and all it said was this (I have recreated the horrible texting vocab and grammar for authenticity): Ive been with ethan for over a year n just found through his text msgs hes been seeing other woman. Vday gone bad indeed.

Well, hello, delicious mystery! Come on in with your intriguing self, why dontcha. Yeeeeahs, so I didn't know who this chick was. Didn't recognize the number or even the area code. Only Ethan I know is my friend's 2 year old. Doubt it was him. But it was absolutely delicious, so I saved it.

Because I could only think of a few options. One, I know this girl but not well enough to program her into my phone. Which begs the question: who texts something so personal to someone they barely know? Two, it was a wrong number. But who actually manually types in numbers anymore? You just text folks in your address book.

It was a mystery. Lynnette and I figured out a little later that day that it was a Washington number. Really? Who did I know from Washington? My friend's husband is from there, but I doubt he'd been seeing someone named Ethan for a year. No I was pretty sure it wasn't him.

A few weeks later, I was at Morgan's birthday party. And I tell this story to my friend Yarissa. Now, I love this little lady, because she goes, "I'm gonna call it." Love her. So she does. From her phone. And it goes to voicemail. Apparently it's Ethan's phone. The Ethan in the text message. The one who apparently cheated. Yaya didn't leave a message.

But that's when it all comes rushing back. Ethan. From Washington. Who would have my number. I met this dude like 2 years ago or so on effing Match dot com and we went on a couple of very painful dates. So he must not have erased my number from his phone (bee tee doubleyou, who DOES that?) and when he cheated on this chick (who was apparently snooping in his phone, because they must have a VERY healthy relationship), she must have mast texted his entire address book.

What now? Well, hello, delicious, delicious ghetto ass people. Come on in for my personal enjoyment. This is better than Court TV. And you know what I say to that? Dodged a bullet on that one. Dodged. A. Motherfuckingbullet.

And thus why my stint in internet dating only lasted a few months. Thank you, Match dot com for the wealth of experience.

And scene.

Love Song Sunday: Calling You

This Sunday, I am delighted to serenade you with bewitching sounds of Blue October. It's always hit or miss with me for Blue October. I either love a song or I despise it to the depths of my soul. And lucky for you, I love today's song, Calling You. I also love Into the Ocean, a thoroughly captivating song and a fantastic video. Or maybe I just like the ballerinas. Anyway, it's the first song I'd heard of theirs which sparked my tumultuous song love affair with Blue October.

Oh and Happy Pi Day. :) What I would give for a nice slice of cherry pie right about now. Oh, it's not that kind of pie? Whatevers.

Enjoy the song, yo:

I don't want to talk

Oh, Internet. I know I've been MIA. But there is just so much I don't want to say. So much I just don't want to talk about.

I don't want to talk about how stressful and hectic my week was. How I just pretty much decided by Thursday evening that everyone in my life wanted to make my life utter hell. Until, that is, an outpouring of Facebook love reminded me that there are plenty of people in my life who want good things for me. I was just so overwhelmed with the immediate stress that  forgot that.

I don't want to talk about how I pretty much didn't sleep all week. How, no matter how exhausted I was and how heavy my eyelids, once I close them, saboteur thoughts snuck in inexplicably and threatened to ruin anything good I had been holding onto. Thoughts with no basis or rationale whatsoever, but that doesn't matter in the wee hours of the morning when all you want is sleep, but negativity is just too damn tempting to indulge. And which made my week harder to process and handle. Yet, last night, I took 2 Tylenol PM and a melatonin and had the best night of sleep in a hell of a long time.

I don't want to talk about a misunderstanding with an old friend, which, in my mind, had been festering for a while. But for her was new and raw. And I don't want to lose this friend and this pain of that thought has stung for a while. So I'm trying to take some time and think things through and handle it well.

I do want to talk about Jeopardy. How I got two half questions (don't ask. half questions count when you play at home, over the phone with your dad) about sports correct last night and if you add that up, I got one sports question. Hells yeah! I never get those. Suck on that!

I do want to talk about how I ordered some large prints of my own photos and they turned out kickass and I'm going to buy frames for them today. They will make my space so much happier.

I do want to talk about Aaron (aka Love Interest), who called me yesterday and made me laugh for this first time in a week. And that meant the world to me. It may seem small. But it's true nonetheless. And important. And valuable.

I do want to talk about what a gloriously gorgeous day it is today and how I'm excited to have tea and commiseration with Morgan and maybe hike tomorrow. Hello, weekend!

I do want to talk about how next weekend is my nephew (the son of one of my two besties) Ethan's 2nd birthday next week. 2ND! Ohemgee how did that happen? Just a minute ago, I was holding him in the hospital, newborn, and wrapped up like a little elf. And now he's 2? What the? I'm excited to see the kid next weekend at his party. And I'm the book lady, so of course I have new books for him to devour. Which makes me so proud!

I do want to talk about how I leave for New Orleans in 2 weeks. I am so fucking excited for this trip! Which reminds me that I need to buy some supplies. Better get on that.

And just to give you a taste of the first good mood I've had since last week, here's a song that makes me giggle:

Building Hope

Whew am I tired. I'm getting ready for my next trip to New Orleans at the end of March to help rebuild. And I have been fielding phone calls, filling out forms, and making arrangements for the 15+ people who will be in our group. My throat is raw from talking all day, but it is absolutely worth it.

I know I've mentioned this trip before and I'll continue to go on mentioning it. I know there are immediate disasters on Chile and Haiti, but we cannot forget about New Orleans. NOLA is still in shambles. They were forgotten after Katrina. And the only saviors that city has had are volunteers. Friends of mine who have gone for 4 years say that it will take 10 years to rebuild New Orleans and they're absolutely right! It will take years.

This was the house behind the house we were building last year

And it's not the houses that are still falling down, that no one has gutted or bulldozed or refurbished that bother me the most. There are many of those left and it breaks my heart to see them, yes. It broke my heart when I saw a family whose stoop had been completely washed away, so they had a step ladder to get into their home. How awful is that? 

This house has been gutted, but I doubt will be rebuilt. 

Most houses like these will hopefully be torn down.

What bothers me the most is the emptiness. The vacant lots where the pylons are the only remnants of houses that once where. New Orleans is like a ghost town. 

In the lower 9th Ward, near where the levees broke

And it's so important to volunteer. Give a week of your life. Stay for dirt cheap at Camp Hope. And build some houses. Restore public places. Meet the locals. See NOLA outside of the Quarter. And really, really do something important.

This trip puts life in perspective for me. A friend and I were talking today about how easy it is to moan about how hard our lives are. How easy to whine and complain about the dumbest of things that can make life seem so crappy. But really, REALLY, our lives are great. We have jobs. We have homes. We have cushy little lives and it's hard to appreciate that most of the time.

This is me last year, hammerin' in the rat runs like a pro

So once again, I'm off to New Orleans to get dirty, work until my arms and legs fall off, take cold showers and sleep on bunk beds. And it's the best time I could possibly have. I'll bond with my fellow workers, meet amazing volunteers from all over the country and even the world, and hear stories from some of the most resilient local people you could ever know. 

With the best volunteers ever

And let's not forget the AMAZING FOOD! Muffalettas, Beignets, Po Boys, Crawfish pies, Gumbo...OHMYGOODGOD the food is wonderful. I cannot wait! It's a good thing we work so hard, because otherwise I'd come home 10 pounds heavier, yo. 

women's day my ass

It's International Women's Day. And I could be all poignant like some professional journalists who write for legitimate publications, but I just don't feel like it, mmmk?

What I'd really like to do is, in the words of my friend Aaron G (who I hope doesn't mind that I'm quoting him here):

"In honor of Womans Day, I will crush on a guy that obviously doesn't like me, then cry about it to my fat friend who obviusly does."

or

"In honor of Womans Day, I'm going to ask you if you've noticed anything different, but it's a trap: you will answer wrong."

or 

"In honor of Women's Day, I will eat an entire tub of cookie dough and tears ice cream. You don't think that exists?! I add the tears myself!"

and

"In honor of International Women's Day, I'm going to make a big deal about how having an international women's day is patronizing."

Because, let's face it ladies, that shit is funny. It's funny cuz it's true. So in honor of Women's Day, let's  dial down the crazy and objectify men instead:

Oh and this is my 100th blog post! Let's all raise a glass and toast that shit, yo.

Love Song Sunday: Day Too Soon

Oh boy. I was going to share a different song this Sunday, by a completely different artist. I had it all planned. But life always defies planning, does it not? A couple of days ago, I downloaded a Sia album that I'd been wanting for a while. And this song immediately spoke to me and wormed its charmant way into my little heart.

Pee to the ess, if you've never heard of Sia, check her out this instant! She's known for her more famous song Breathe Me (which is also lovely), but all of her music is quite fantastic.

Anyway, back to the song: Day Too Soon. Watch the veedeo. Listen to all the words. Do it. And then you'll have shared a corner of my heart, de mon coeur, for approx. 3.55 minutes. I really mean that. ♥

Photo of the Day: Sunset Stop

This is another Holga shot that I took right here in my little place of residence: Smalltown, California. Even though this shot came out a little differently than I'd anticipated, I'm actually quite enamored of it. I love how dark and grainy it is, how the stop sign is in complete silhouette with the dusky sunset in the background daring to be the focus. Have I mentioned yet that dusk is my favorite time of day?

National Grammar Day

Well, Internet, I made it through a whole 6 hours of work today! And even though that's like, well, it's way under a normal full day's work, considering that I barely left my bed yesterday, I'm gonna call that a victory. I think you should all stand up and applaud my brave efforts. Stop it, thank you, stop it, don't stop, no stop.

Annnnnnd I'm going to even attempt...wait for it...an 8 hour day tomorrow! I know, I know, it's ridiculous how wild I can be. I'm just gonna go crazy. Work a full day. Who knew?

Seriously though, I am a smidge better. But I'm still having trouble breathing well and my energy has been stolen. Stolen by evil elves. Evil elves with elephantine ears. Evil elves with elephantine ears who live in the eggshells of egrets (sorry, can't resist alliteration). Gets me every time. How can I possibly resist the dulcet tones of vowel or consonant repetition (I'm looking at you, Mr. Leeman.)?

And thaaaaat brings me to my brilliant segue. Today is National Grammar Day. Good golly that makes me happy in my heart. Read ALL about NGD at one of my fave-oh-right blogs in the world: The Society for the Promotion of Good Grammar. And since I enjoy grammar, I'd like to share some grammar fun avec toi in my own little insane way.

Have I mentioned that I'm a bit of a nerd when it comes to this kind of thing? I was that annoying kid in school who, when my friends passed me notes, corrected their spelling and grammar before I responded and passed it back. You can imagine how wildly popular I was.

(I'm sorry for some old friends who may have received these lessons before from an annoying gal such as myself. And some of you may need to hear it again. Just sayin'. I'm looking at you, Keller.)

Shall we begin? Awesome. Now sit your whiney ass down and pay attention.

Lesson1: Misuse of apostrophes and the letter "s"

At the end of a word, if you add an apostrophe and then an "s," that makes the word possessive.
For example:
Incorrect -- That pelicans feet look like dead lizards with fungus.
Correct -- Tanya’s hair is like rainbows and butterfly kisses on crack.

If you want to make a word plural (as in, more than one of something), don't use an apostrophe. Just add an "s."
For example:
Incorrect -- Your eye's have blue pus in them.
Correct -- Your hands smell like corpses and candy.

Now you know. So stop misusing it, mmk? 

Lesson 2: Misuse of you're / your

Your is the possessive form of you.
For example:
Incorrect: Your an old bat who eats too much cheese.
Correct: Your purse smells like a dead baby.

You're is a contraction of you and are.
For example:
Incorrect: You're eyes are like fish eggs on a cold morning.
Correct: You're a smelly monkey pirate on death row.

So now you know. Stop misusing it, mmmmk?

Lesson 3: Misuse of there/their/they're

There refers to location.
For example:
Incorrect: There having a great time scooping unicorn crap.
Correct: There is this fab Thai place that makes soy death tea.

Their is the possessive form of they.
For example:
Incorrect: Their going to steal liquor stores and rob cars.
Correct: Their babies look like monkeys.

They're is a contraction of they and are.
For example:
Incorrect: They're hair balls make lovely centerpieces.
Correct: They're like baby hookers in five inch heels.

So now you know. So stop misusing it, mmmmmmmk?

even the baby knows you're using it wrong

codeine induced

Internet, old buddy, old pal. How the hell are ya, you old bastard? Me? I'm still sick. But I did see a doctor today. Uh huh. I did. And so now I might be just a tad under the influence of codeine. Cough syrup. Yup. Great stuff, cough syrup.

But nevertheless, I am still able to recount two completely awesome events of the day.

My dad, awesome dad that he is, he is, drove me around today, to the doctor and to drop off my prescriptions. It's worth noting that my dad was a crazy driver until I started driving. And now he drives like an old man. So as he was driving 15 under the speed limit, making the driver behind us hate life, and then he made a left turn only halfway in the turn lane, I laughed at his old man driving skills. To which he replied, "when you ride with me, you ride with danger."

And that sent me into an endless laughing fit, which was not good because of the sick I mentioned earlier. You know, the coughing and wheezing. I mean, that's just the most ridiculous thing I've ever heard!

Then we went to pick up my prescriptions from the pharamacia only to be greeted by a line of no less than 57 people. Okay, so maybe it was more like 10 people. But that's still a long ass line. And at the end there isn't even a ride with fast cars or even animatronic characters. And why was this line so long, you ask? Oh I will tell you why. I will tell you why.

There was a very angry lady at one of the only two windows open holding up the line and berating every poor employee within a fifty mile radius. And even though there was a sign clearly asking other customers to respect patient privacy, I think she waived that right when she broadcast her extremely profane message from here to Cleveland. I'm pretty sure they could hear her in Japan. Therefore I have no hesitation in sharing this tale.

I really wanted to pull out my camera and record the whole thing, but I was afraid she was a biter. And I'd like to keep my hands thankyouverymuch. But seriously, this woman was utterly horrid. And I'm pretty sure she's either an addict or a drug dealer. In between shouts of, "DO YOUR FUCKING JOB" and "YOU'RE GONNA GET ME 4 PACKS OF MY PRESCRIPTION AND I'M GONNA PAY FOR 2," she also claimed that she was a pharmacist and that at her pharmacy they would never fuck up this much, that this happens to her ALL THE TIME.

Um, what now? Am I really the only person for whom alarm bells were sounding? If she's a pharmacist, why doesn't she go to her own pharmacy? And I doubt she is even a pharm tech, but if she is, I'd assume she's stealing from them or has multiple prescriptions there too. And what's worse is that after all that, the pharmacy gave in. Proves you can just yell loud enough and even potentially illegal behavior is juuuust fine.

Now I was raised by a first class prescription drug addict. So I've watched this behavior first hand. I've watched the begging, the threatening, the ultimatums. I've seen it and I'm telling y'all now, it sho ain't pretty. But this should be one of the most regulated industries and, in my opinion, it isn't. It's easy to con doctors out of scripts, or even steal script pads. It's easy to have multiple prescriptions at different pharmacies. And you can always con the pharmacist into thinking your bottle was a few pills short. Every month. I watched it happen.

In my opinion, you only get the benefit of the doubt once. Once. Then you don't get any more chances. And when I got to the window (finally!) at the pharmacy today (and the  femme horrible was still there), the pharm tech said she's ALWAYS like this. They know her by name. Doesn't that seem problematic to anyone? Look, I don't want to get all Big Brother (from 1984, not the lame ass reality show), but there has to be more regulation here. It's too easy to get all the drugs you want.

Anyway, it was amusing. And disturbing. Two of my favorite things.

Aaaaaand I'm still a sicky lass. Send soup. But not codeine. I have enough of that.

wheezy and coughy and gross oh my

Well welcome, March. First March day and I'm dying. No, not dying. But I am going to hack up my right lung like a hairball. It will be very attractive. This is why I'm so popular with the boys, you see.

So yeah, sicky sick sick. Blech. And I think I mentioned a lung issue a couple weeks ago and I think that was an early symptom. I'm wheezy and coughy and gross. And so I've spent most of my day curled up like a dying fetus.

I did manage to drag my sick ass down to the CVS this morning to buy sicky supplies. And I found everything I needed and then stood behind a manicured, vapid woman for a good 15 minutes in line as she went on about green m&ms. Seriously, lady? I don't care if you can't find the damn green m&ms. Can you not see the dying woman behind you? She was probably contracting my germs with all the inhaling she needed to do to talk so damn much. Really, if she'd just looked behind her, she'd have seen death incarnate, my face looking like the Jabberwocky's ass, my hair shoved under a hat, in my pajamas and flip flops, wheezing like an 80 year old man with emphysema.

The rest of the day I spent sleeping and watching Heroes season 4. Ohemgee is season 4 good! And then I watched NeverEnding Story. Because that's what you do when you're sick. You watch the crap you loved as a kid and feel nostalgic and therefore better about your sorry ass that isn't being productive in any way at all.

But, dudes, did I LOVE this movie as a kid! I loved it. Except I'd fast forward (for you younguns, that's what you do to videotapes. what are videotapes? I don't have time for this shit.) through the parts with the evil wolf guy. He was fucking scary, man. Still kind of is. He has blood stains all on his mouth. Kids today do not get the same violence I watched as a kid. Anyway, I loved it.

Also I wanted to be like the empress. My favorite part was always when Atreyu finally meets the empress, partly because I had a huge crush on Atreyu and partly because I was in love with the empress. I used to wear this peach nightgown and put a necklace on my head and pretend to be her. Never could figure out why I didn't look just like her. Maybe it's because I didn't have a pound of makeup on and lighting designers.

And there are a few things I always wondered about this movie. One, so the idea is that Bastian identifies with Atreyu and follows him through the story. So what if a girl reads it? Is it a tough ass chick on a quest to save Fantasia? And what about the old man in the beginning? The one who was reading it when Bastian steals it? Does he follow an old man warrior? That's just...well it's lame.

And where was the damn luck dragon when Artax was dying in the swamp? Or do you only get one pet at a time in Fantasia? And if the pretty necklace Atreyu wears can actually guide him (which you don't discover until the end) why doesn't he use it AT ALL throughout his whole damn quest? And why does Bastian's school have a creepy attic with a stuffed wolf head? Did your school have a creepy attic? Mine certainly did not. No it did not.

Plus, why the hell couldn't the empress just tell everyone she needed a human to give her a new name from the start? Wouldn't that have saved some time? And what if he gave her a lame ass name? Like Talulah. Or Wadine. (I apologize if that's your name). And back to the old man. When he reads the book, does he meet the empress in the end just like Bastian? And then can you picture (I AM SO SORRY FOR THIS IMAGE) the old man squatting down with the preteen empress, giving her a new name, she tells him he can have as many wishes as he wants...

OKAY, I can't do that anymore. This game just got uber weird, yo. And insanely disturbing. I apologize.

Moving on.

Yeah so I'm sick. But I did jazz up this site a little this evening. There are a few new pages, things in different places. Check it out. Tell your friends. Leave me comments.

Photo of the Day: Holga Dusk

This little baby here is from one the first Holga rolls of film I developed on 400 ISO. And I have to say, most of my shots turned out pretty kickass. Even the ones you wouldn't deem traditionally "good," I really liked because of the grain or the darkness of the shot. And this one is my fave. I took this in Portland last January at dusk in the Hawthorn district. This is just 12 kinds of wonderful to me. Dusk is my favorite time of day and it also reminds me a little of Europe.

More Holga shots to come!