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.