Word is a funny word...

Heading over to Tumblr

2011-02-27T12:06:00.000-08:00

http://nakedinbed.tumblr.com/

Come on over! I have no idea where I'm going, but I want you there with me!

The Art of Humanness

2011-02-24T20:51:00.000-08:00

In wrestling with a complicated situation recently, I found myself complaining to a friend about how I am having a difficult time with the way people communicate with one another. (This isn’t really a new thing, I’ve had my battles, loves, hates, elation to frustration and everything in between, with all forms of modern communication over the last few years.) My friend was quick to tell me that I am one in a much smaller percentage of people for the way I think. What exactly is it that I think? Basically, for me it all boils down to this: when the mood is good, any form of communication, really, is good. A text message to say ‘I love you’. Good. A longer, more detailed email to tell someone how much you appreciate them. Good. A phone call just to say hello or hear his voice. Good. Tell her face to face that she looks incredibly beautiful today. Very good. Makes sense, right?

Conversely, when the mood is bad…pretty much any form of communication that does not allow for as much human interaction as possible is bad. Your good friend’s grandmother/friend/or even dog just died and you send them a text. Bad. Your girlfriend just lost her job and you email her. Bad. Ending a relationship via text message, Facebook status update (it happens!), email or even a phone call. Bad. Very bad. And cowardly. And not very manly (or womanly) at all.

Because it feels like I’m fighting against the current so often on this, I’ve sometimes wondered if it’s me. Maybe I’m expecting too much. Am I just not adapting to the evolution of communication? Am I holding on to some very old-fashioned ways and slowly sinking into the quagmire of frustration and disappointment in my fellow friends, lovers and even casual acquaintances?

Turns out...I’m not. Or at least I’m not the only one. I stumbled upon this blog the other day called The Art of Manliness and immediately felt a sense of ‘Thank God! Someone out there not only feels the same way I do, but they're sharing its importance with others.’ Not to mention the countless comments that come after the article(s) from BOTH men and women stating the importance of human interaction, body language, seeing someone’s face no matter how horrible the news is that has to be delivered. The idea and the desire and the need for this aspect of communication is not completely lost…although it seems some people are desperately struggling to find it…or get it back.

Excerpt: Man Apologizes to Wife in Text Message…

My wife and I got into an argument the other night about how many hours she has been working at her job. I would like her home more. I let things cool down a bit and did not speak with her again that night. The next day, I thought I would apologize to her for getting into an argument. But when I texted her, she responded with a snide remark. As hard as I tried to make things right, it just turned into another argument. It seems like no matter how hard I try, she is not willing to make up. Should we go to counseling?

Hold on, let me get my police issue bullhorn. Testing one two. Okay. “PUT DOWN THE PHONE. REPEAT, PUT DOWN THE PHONE. IF YOU VALUE YOUR RELATIONSHIP, STEP SLOWLY AWAY FROM YOUR TEXTING DEVICE.”

Call me old-fashioned (believe me, it won’t be the worst thing I’ve been called) but I just don’t believe that all of our problems can be solved with technology…or pharmaceuticals. Some things should be handled old school. In this case, we’re talking about…well, talking.

If you care about her, AND you’re dealing with a touchy topic, do not text, do not email, do not Twitter. Really, don’t you think your relationship deserves more than 140 characters?

If everything is just peachy, then sending an I love you is swell. But if you’re wanting to apologize, explain, plan, express feelings, offer support, debate or disagree, DO NOT do it electronically. If you must, pick up the phone. But this old guy’s advice is to do it face-to-face.

Relationships are complicated. Most men don’t do complicated very well. That’s why we need to keep it simple. Now - let me know if I’m going too fast for you - when we…talk…face-to-beautiful-face with our women, we can see them and they can see us. If they seem to be misunderstanding us, we can change our words, or adjust our eyebrows, to alter our message. When we talk in-person to those we care about, all of the complicated nuances of interpersonal communication happen naturally.

Face to face. I have to, as in I MUST talk to a person face to face – especially when it’s something difficult I have to say. I need them to see me, my emotions, my face, my tears, my worry, whatever it might be. I try desperately to not even do it over the phone if I can help it. There’s too much lost and I feel like it’s an injustice to the person on the other end.

In a related AoM blog, How to End a Relationship Like a Man an article that I believe, while it is posted on a website geared toward being a better man, undoubtedly benefits both sexes as I think neither one is immune to the temptation of hiding behind technology or completely avoiding the responsibility altogether of being gentle and compassionate with another's feelings. The summation of the entire article is:

If you can't handle the prospect of ending a relationship in person, you shouldn't start one in the first place.

This is something I have always placed into the “common sense” file of my gray matter. I can’t change my mind about it. Quite frankly, I refuse to change my mind about it.

I will never try to deny that technology benefits communication tremendously. The swiftness and conciseness that comes from being able to cut out the wait, the superfluous ‘stuff’ that just confuses things or wastes time, money, patience…etc. But we are not machines, the difference between us and the computers, the robots, is that we have feelings and emotions and compassion and empathy. Why are some people becoming so afraid to use these tools? Because that is what they are. Tools for living and being human. All that extra ‘stuff’ that we can openly convey is what makes us...exceptional.

At the end of the day, I can't change anyone else, I guess at the very least I can lead by my own example. Therefore, I choose to always be exceptional. Even though it’s the hard thing to do sometimes. Even when it hurts. Even when I have fucked up royally (because I’m human and I’m bound to fuck up several thousand more times in my life, I’m guessing) and I owe you an apology and a hug and so much more. I promise, I will do it face to face.

Thank you Sir Ken Robinson

2010-05-26T22:59:00.000-07:00

You could not be more right on.

Celebrate the diversity of talents.

It is absolutely vital to our existence.

The Only Thing I Want Sugar Coated Are My m&m’s...

2010-05-26T08:25:00.000-07:00

(...or, why I am drawn to Bikram Yoga…the short version)

"The trouble with most of us is that we'd rather be ruined by praise than saved by criticism."

- Norman Vincent Peale, author of "The Power of Positive Thinking"

Why I am drawn to Bikram, his teaching, his yoga, his discipline, his attitude, his confidence.

Simple, it’s his honesty.

Bikram doesn’t lie to you. I wrote in a previous blog that he told several people in our training that they were overweight (did I mention that he said this out loud, into a microphone, in front of the other 300 students in training?) It was certainly not easy for them to hear, but it was not something they didn’t already know, either. Bikram is so unbelievably right when he says that people have learned (falsely) to lie and cover things up to save face and avoid the truth whether it’s about ourselves or someone else. He makes you face your demons so that you can get on with the task of GETTING RID OF THEM. And everyone, everyone, everyone has them. You cannot send them packing if you keep them hidden and/or deny that you even have them in the first place.

I have never been one for sugar coating. If you get into astrology at all, I’m a Sagittarius. If you really get into it, Sag traits are always listed as follows: Loyal, spontaneous, love to travel and BLUNT – to the point of (completely, but unintentionally) offending people. And while offending said person, we are entirely astonished they are actually angry when we answer “Yes” to the question “Do these pants make my butt look big?” And more over, we are even less hesitant to say, “Actually, I have to be honest, I think it might be your butt that makes your butt look big.”

This is not mean. It is blunt. But it is not mean. It is honest. If you don’t want an honest answer, don’t ask the question. Why would I answer like that? a. because you asked and I love you. b. because you asked ME and if you know me even a little, you know that I will tell you the truth. I respect the truth – even when it is unpleasant – way more than a pretty, candy-coated lie. The truth, a difficult truth, can be conveyed with love and compassion, even though it is not delivered with sprinkles on top. Therefore, I treat my neighbor as I would like to be treated. If I ask them a question, I expect they will also tell me the truth. The end.

"I love you, and because I love you, I would sooner have you hate me for telling you the truth, than adore me for telling you lies." ~Pietro Arentino

I had a friend tell me once that she loved the fact that I talk the talk and walk the walk (her words, not mine). She thanked me for giving her the peace of mind that I would always be honest with her, no matter what, even if it that truth was difficult to say. If ever there were times in the past that someone was none too pleased with something I’d shared in the name of honesty, it was when she spoke those words to me, that I knew I had been doing the right thing all along.

While on the subject of honesty, I honestly have a very hard time respecting people who respond with answers like “No, no you look great” (when meanwhile in their head they know they think otherwise) I have no trust for them, not to mention they are doing their friend a huge disservice. Oh yeah, and there’s the small fact that they are flat out lying. Sugar-coating, posturing, covering up how you really feel to look good or not feel bad or to not face a situation is lying. No ifs, ands or big butts.

Smiling and pretending only goes so far. Not to say positive thinking isn’t helpful, influential and certainly necessary to live a great and powerful life, but positive thinking in no way equals the denial of plain and simple Truths.

I’ve always thought that if you can depend on that one thing from your friends, family, lovers, in a world too full of surprises and let downs, then there’s one less thing - and a huge thing at that - that you have to worry about.

I will tell you there is something in your teeth – even if I don’t know you – so that you don’t walk around all day like that, come home discover it yourself and wonder why the f*ck everyone you smiled at today didn’t tell you...damn it!

And here’s another truth: I do not like being called a “goddess”. Nor do I ever call anyone that. I have never been inspired or drawn to that word in any way, shape or form. Nothing against anyone who is or does. As a matter of fact, I have lovely, lovely, incredible people in my life who use it all the time, (and coincidentally they don’t use with me). It’s almost as though they know that it’s just ‘not me’. And I like that. Totally cool. And PS, stating this out loud does not make me a bad person or some kind of anti-new age scrooge, it also does not make me less of a woman or an inconsiderate friend. It makes me honest. It's no different than me saying I don't like hot pink, or broccoli…or…Gwyneth Paltrow’s acting. I don’t. Sorry. Actually, I’m not sorry. I’m simply and truthfully not a fan.

Just as there are those who totally, one hundred percent do not connect at all with Bikram Yoga, and they’ve stated so. They gave it a fair shake, and it just doesn’t resonate on the same frequency for them…that’s totally cool. Why, because they are being honest. No harm in that, at all.

One of my favorite people that I've never met is the late Carnegie Mellon University Professor Randy Pausch. In his incredibly poignant and awesome speech, the Last Lecture (which I’ve read and watched countless times over the years), he states:

"If I only had three words of advice, they would be, 'Tell the Truth.' If I got three more words, I'd add, 'All the time.'"

He also says:

"You may not want to hear it, but your critics are often the ones telling you they still love you and care about you, and want to make you better. When you're screwing up and nobody says anything to you anymore, that means they've given up on you."

The truth does hurt sometimes. But the truth really does set you free.

Bikram Yoga tells me the truth. All the time.

“F**k Bikram Yoga, that’s not real Yoga.”

2010-05-06T01:40:00.000-07:00

An actual statement uttered by someone, to me, a few years ago. Sadly, I’ve continued to hear similar statements over the years. My response is always the same, I offer to pay, out of my own pocket, for the person behind the bold statement to do an uninterrupted month of this apparently ‘fake’ yoga they seem to be so knowledgeable about. No one has ever taken me up on the offer.

Not even once.

I can’t seem to figure out why.

Article after article always blather on about Bikram’s cars – his Bentleys, Rolls Royces…sometimes highlighting that subject more than what the article is supposed to be about…the Yoga. Just as the media likes to do, spin a great story, make it interesting or controversial to get tongues wagging. (not unlike my blog title…that got you going a little bit, didn’t it? Especially perhaps if you are a teacher reading this.) Well, here’s a little tidbit to complete the report. If you were to read even just a few pages of Bikram’s book, you would learn that Bikram’s obsession with cars started when he was very young. Do you have anything that you’ve been obsessed with for as long as you can remember? Maybe it’s films, rock-climbing, dancing, acting, you name it. Or how about music? Perhaps you sat alone, locked in your room for days on end, strumming a guitar, writing and playing tirelessly and endlessly. Maybe every penny you made went to buying that guitar you’d been coveting in the window of the music shop you purposely passed every day on your way home from school. Music was and is the one thing that made you feel truly happy.

Even if music isn’t your obsession, you could read the previous few sentences and say “Ok, I get it.” Right? Well, Bikram’s obsession was and is cars (and yoga, of course). Bikram learned how to repair cars in India when he ran a garage, while running his first yoga schools. And here’s another fact, the cars he owns now were bought as (quote from his book), “near hopeless wrecks and restored with [his] own two hands.” That might put a little perspective on the whole flashy car thing, huh.

So, back to the real subject: Yoga. Yoga has been at work for 5,000 years. FIVE THOUSAND YEARS. What other form of discipline carries with it such a distinguished reputation? Martial arts perhaps? Let’s talk about martial arts for a moment. I’ve never taken ANY sort of martial arts class in my life, but I know that the minute I were to walk into any Dojo or even be in the presence of any Sensei, Master, Teacher, I would show complete and utter respect to them as a teacher for their knowledge and the discipline that they were about to instill in me. Why do I know this? The idea of that respect, focus and discipline has long been told in tales and stories and movies. Hello, it started for me as far back as Karate Kid! Miyagi didn’t mess around. Paint the fence. Wax on, wax off. When Danielsan started getting pissed that he felt like Miyagi’s slave, The Big M knew better than him that all that work, pain, crying, soreness, piss and vinegar would BE the discipline Daniel needed.

This is what many people fail to see that Hatha Yoga…Bikram Yoga…is. It is a discipline, it is fucking hard. Yes, I said fucking. It’s fucking hard. And unlike what most people believe, you don’t get your ass kicked…you kick your own ass, which is why you appreciate and love and respect yourself a million times more when you walk out of that room. Because YOU did the work, no one did it for you. Even with all the riches in the world, it is impossible to buy, from someone else, what this yoga rewards you with. You must---must---must do the work yourself.

“It’s bullshit, you do the same postures over and over again, and how can you meditate without chanting first?”

This simply is not the Peace, Love and Light Yoga class you went to last week where you chanted Ohm Shanti, Shanti before you even did one posture. Nor should you expect it to be. Make no mistake, peace, love and light…all great things…we just arrive at the destination driving a little bit different of a vehicle. Did someone tell you that there would be music? Sorry to disappoint you. Really, I mean that. I love music. It just has no place in a Bikram class. Did someone promise you you’d get a Hatha Yoga class? Good, because that’s what it is. Period. End of sentence.

“I’m not going to tell you what you want to hear. I’m going to tell you what you NEED to hear. I’m going to tell you the truth. I’ve got balls and I’ve got guts, so I say and do things I think my students need, whether or not it hurts their feelings. But along with all my yelling and rough talk, my students can see the love and compassion I have for them as well. They can feel that they’re healing.”

~ Bikram Choudhury

**********************

EXCERPT from Bikram Yoga by Bikram Choudhury

Because I was a noisy and energetic little boy and used to disturb my mom all the time, she had Ashim and Jayanti take me with them to the club so that I’d be out of her hair and she could cook in peace. While the others were getting their lessons, which lasted for about three hours, I would sit on the old guru’s lap. Afterward the guru would say, “Your friends, your brother and your sister all study Hindi and do the chanting, so they all get candy.” We had a sugar candy then that we called prashat. “You didn’t do anything , so you are not going to get prashat.”

I said, “Are you kidding? For three hours, I sat on your lap quietly---that’s the hardest thing I ever did in my life. So I deserve candy.”

Even then, I had a big mouth.

The guru said, “Well, rules are rules. You’ve got to do something in order to earn a reward.”

“What do you want me to do?” I asked him.

He just smiled, grabbed my feet and hung me upside-down with my head touching the floor, which is called Sirsasana, or Headstand. He also used to hold my hands and feet, and lift me up in Bow posture; at the time, I didn’t realize that he was teaching me yoga asanas. So, every day, seven days a week, he used to hang me upside-down and make me practice various postures. It all seemed very strange to me---and, it turned out, I still had to learn the chanting. But I didn't really mind: I did it all for the candy.

Right after I turned six we moved back to Calcutta, to a house next door to a playground and gymnasium where all the neighborhood children played. In a club upstairs from the gym, I saw all these bodybuilders exercising. I was interested; you know how boys are naturally fascinated by muscular men. One day I went there with my friends, walked upstairs and saw them all practicing the same things that old guru had taught me in Bihar! I bragged to one of my friends, “Hey, I can do much better than that---they’re not even doing a good job.” I was never a bashful person, even as a kid.

“Oh yeah?” said my friends, “show me.” So I took off my shirt, and started doing the exercises with the friend. There was a man sitting on a bed at the front of the room, and he said, “Hey, come here. What’s your name?”

“Bikram”, I replied. As I got closer I could see that he was a very short man; I also noticed that he had the most penetrating dark eyes I’d ever seen. They were black, and his gaze immediately struck you when it fell upon you.

“Where did you learn those things?” He asked.

“From Punditji”, I told him (Punditji means Master.) “In Deoghar.

“Show me more”, he commanded.

So I showed him all the postures I knew. “A little boy doing all eighty-four postures?” he said, very surprised. “Come every day; I will teach you more.”

This man was Bishnu Charan Ghosh, the youngest brother of Paramahansa Yogananda. Widely considered the greatest physical culturist to emerge in the last 500 years, he became my guru and the greatest influence in my life. I remained at his side, studied with him, and learned everything I know about yoga from him for the next 20 years. If you ask me today what it is that I do, I will tell you, “I practice my guru’s wisdom.”

**********************

How fortunate I feel to have stumbled upon this yoga and have it resonate with me so strongly that I decided to become a teacher myself. And then, to be taught by Bikram himself for nine grueling, tiring, killer, extraordinary, life changing weeks. And then someone is going to tell me that what I've gone through in my training, what I teach and what I witness changing the lives of students (all over the world, no less) every single day isn’t real?

You know what, they're right, this isn't real. This is a dream!

My continuing love affair...

2010-05-05T11:18:00.000-07:00

...with the iPhone. I mean, seriously...how cool is this?

If Everyone Leads, Then Who's Going to Follow?

2010-04-14T04:40:00.000-07:00

I've seen the subject of this talk ages ago. The home video is so good I watched it a few times in a row. Puts a smile on your face instantly to watch the progress of a purely spontaneous movement, both literally and figuratively. However, I LOVE what Derek Sivers has to say regarding this very same video in a TedTalk.

A movement may take only one person to initiate it, but someone HAS to follow. Otherwise the leader, as Derek so eloquently puts it, is just "One lone nut."

So, if you're feeling like you're just not "doing something" or "doing enough" and you're not busy standing up on your twitterbox dedicated to inspiring everyone and committing to change the world, take pride in and be happy to simply follow someone who is. If everyone were to lead, then who's going to follow? Supporting a movement is equally important as starting one. And PS. in this age of internet and celebrity and reality television proving that countless people are aching with desire for some part, no matter how small, of fame, recognition and/or validation...being "unknown", being anonymous is actually okay too. Not everyone has to be a star. If everyone were, then there would be no audience.

Paramahansa Yoganada...is rad.

2010-03-02T22:04:00.000-08:00

How our magnetism works from the immortal Paramahansa Yogananda (and his Facebook Fan page!)

We exchange magnetism with our associates

We must be careful with whom we associate because we are continually exchanging magnetism with people through our thoughts, shaking hands, and our eyes.
We become like the people we mingle with, not through their conversation, but through the silent magnetic vibration that goes out of their bodies. The stronger person gives his vibration to the weaker.
For example, if a reformer of weak character endeavors to influence a confirmed evildoer, it is quite likely that the reformer will draw evil qualities. Only in a very limited way will the evildoer draw good qualities.(See Developing the Right Kind of Magnetism, below)

The right kind of magnetism

"The right kind of magnetic power has expanding, uplifting, spiritual qualities. Some people are so magnetic that they vibrate kindness and you love them immediately. This is the sort of magnetic power we should try to develop."
"Try always to be dressed in the magnetic qualities of calmness, fair-mindedness, firmness, wisdom, and understanding. Wherever you go, scatter kindness; let your eyes and heart be charged with God. That is what Jesus meant when He said: "Be ye fishers of men."

One can develop spiritual magnetism through will power, regular meditation, and thinking of God and saintly people. By visualizing and meditating on saintly people, one attracts their spiritual magnetism.

Use your time to develop spiritual magnetism to attract the Imperishable. When you have developed the power to attract the highest, you can easily attract all lesser things.

Developing the Right Kind of Magnetism

* One strongly good individual plus one weak evil individual--the good magnetism will be predominant.

* A strong spiritual power plus a strong business success results in both a strong spiritual magnetism and a strong business magnetism.

* A strong failure plus a strong success can result in either a strong failure magnetism or a strong success magnetism.

* A person of great calmness plus a person with a slightly angry disposition--the magnetism of calmness will be predominant.

* A strong intellectual power plus a weak intellect--the strong intellectual power will be predominant.

A Step in the Wet Direction

2010-02-22T22:31:00.001-08:00

http://lifeinc.powweb.com//faq1.html

Yoga studios go through a lot of water...there's no denying it. Doing something good for your body comes with a necessity to keep it hydrated as well. Besides offering filtered water here at the Wellington studio for students to fill their own vessels, Life water is sold here (the bottle is made from plants and will compost somewhere between 4 days and 8 weeks, depending on the composting temperature! Pretty cool, huh?)

This is available outside of Moore Wilsons Market. Pure local artesian water for you to fill your own container. What you may not be able to read in the photo is the smaller type which states that a voluntary donation of one dollar is suggested and the proceeds go directly to the Wellington Free Ambulance.

Did you know that not that long ago gas stations would charge people if they needed air or water for their vehicle? Someone (in a few states anyway) came along and decided that these two things were vital for the safety of drivers in an emergency, thereby making it illegal to charge for either of these two necessities.

It's important enough to be free for our vehicles.

My hunch is it should be important enough to be free for every person on the planet as well.

Twenty Fingers and Twenty Toes!

2010-02-20T15:51:00.000-08:00

If ANYONE were to ever dare say to me that Ray and Johnny couldn't be incredible parents (not to mention a super amazing and exemplary married couple), they would promptly get a knuckle sandwich from yours truly.

I hope that one day I am fortunate enough to be in a relationship that is even half as outstanding as theirs. And not one, but TWO little girls will bless their life in March (they don't yet know that they are already the two luckiest girls in the world).

Don't Stop...

2010-02-20T15:35:00.000-08:00

...Believin'.

I didn't take this photo, I found it online. But it made me smile and now I've got Journey stuck in my head.

It really is THIS simple...

2010-02-17T00:10:00.000-08:00

Follow instructions carefully. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat....

Exactly the way you are...

2010-02-13T16:31:00.000-08:00

Willis Street, Wellington, NZ. 2010

Script, fonts...letters...

2010-01-20T03:07:00.000-08:00

Which one do I like best...so hard to choose.

Number 5 coming soon. (I can already hear the buzzing of the gun...)

SHANTARAM

2010-01-16T20:47:00.000-08:00

Run. Run right now to the store and buy this book. It is a nine hundred and thirty three page work of extraordinary proportions.

Mandi. Being her usual self. Overflowing with love.

2010-01-14T19:13:00.000-08:00

A letter my friend and registered nurse, Mandi has sent out recently regarding volunteering in Haiti. Any donation, large or small, would be appreciated. Thank you so much.

Hello beautiful friends and family,

I know you all know about the earthquake in Haiti and the devastation it has left. Being an RN, and really just a human that loves, I feel so strongly that I can help there and that I have something meaningful to contribute. I volunteered with National Nurses United to be sent to Haiti with other teams of nurses from around the country. This morning they held an emergency briefing to discuss the plan with the nurses that have volunteered and the press. Right now they are mobilizing the first group of nurses to try and head out via Miami by Saturday. They anticipate the need for nurses lasting for months. I don't know how soon I will be asked to go over but I am preparing now.
So I am asking you to contribute in whatever way you can to help cover travel and vaccination expenses. Also, if you have a private jet you would like to fill up with nurses that would be great too! Once those expenses are covered I will donate any left over money to National Nurses United, as it will go directly to getting more nurses into Haiti.
I am already inspired by your generosity!!
Being Love,
Mandi

p.s. Below is a link for donations that is connected to my paypal account and feel free to forward this :)

https://www.paypal.com/cgi-bin/webscr?cmd=_s-xclick&hosted_button_id=11183220
--
Can you surrender to how beautiful you are?

Sand. It's not just for castles.

2010-01-13T15:21:00.000-08:00

Unobtainium

2010-01-13T05:53:00.000-08:00

Unobtainium. n. any substance needed to build some device critical to the plot, but which does not exist in the universe as we know it.

While we always find ourselves drawn to the story of good vs. evil and we love to cheer on the good guys and/or the underdogs, the reality is the only solution we ever seem to come up with to “win” is fighting. Fire with fire. Force with force.

Avatar is the talk of the universe lately. What’s the story? Probably one you might be somewhat familiar with…evil, greedy somebody taking something that doesn’t belong to them from somebody else. In this case, evil greedy humans have pillaged Earth to no end, so jet off to rape the planet Pandora to get what they need, unobtainium. When met with resistance, they would take to any level of force necessary. Meanwhile, us good guys in the audience are appalled. This can’t be! Leave the lovely blue people alone…they’re not hurting anyone!

And what could the Na’vi do? Well, based on any worth-talking-about story, fight back of course. Though they didn’t have remote controlled robot fighters, they had their connection to the animal kingdom to help them achieve the very same goal that the humans were also accomplishing. Kill. We cheer them on because we label the humans as evil and callous, lacking compassion and deserving to ‘lose’ the battle. But why is the answer and the solution always warfare? Does it make it any better that as we watch our feel good movie, we’re happy for the Na’vi who ultimately win and effectively destroy the earthling forces, yet, all things considered they do the same thing that we would condemn the humans for doing – taking life in order to protect their ‘right’, killing to try and prove that someone else is ‘wrong’.

“Force always creates counterforce; its effect is to polarize rather than unify. Polarization always implies conflict; its cost, therefore, is always high…it inevitably produces a win/lose dichotomy; and because somebody always loses, enemies are created” From Power vs. Force by David R. Hawkins

So, at the end of the movie the war is over, the good guys win (sorry to spoil it for you). Everyone leaves the theatre 3D glasses in tow, high-fiving strangers all the way out of the cinema. Believe me, I wasn’t immune, I was doing it too. But in real life, all of that force doesn’t just stop when James Cameron’s name rolls up on the screen.

Going back to Pandora and the Na’vi for a moment, how could they have possibly continued to stand up for what they believed in, not to mention their own homeland, without resorting to violence and force? Is this the only way…fighting bullies with bigger bullies, or outsmarting the big bullies, but still with what boils down to brutality and aggression? My question is, when is that NOT the answer. Is it EVER not the answer? Is there ever another solution? It seems to me the actual unobtainium here is true peace.

Why can we discover and create and accomplish so many extraordinary things, but yet the story remains the same:

Good vs. Evil. A fight to the death (of many). Good prevails. For now.

(until Avatar 2 perhaps?)

“The way to finesse a high-energy attractor field solution is to seek the answer that will make all sides happy and still be practical.”

Now, I know that doesn’t sound like it makes for a Hollywood blockbuster, exciting action, edge of your seat – and in this case 3D --movie. But what if it could? Would we want to hear that story? Would we be running to the theatre in droves to see that tale on the big screen? Would that bring some originality to the story that the critics are tearing apart for being “Dances with Wolves or Pocahontas with blue people”?

Not trying to be all Debbie Downer about the whole thing, by the way. I really did enjoy the movie immensely. I’m just wondering if there’s ever another way. Is there a way to practice creating win-win situations with something more Powerful rather than Forceful?

I don't claim to have the answer, I wish I did. Suggestions welcome.

After the frustration...came even more...

2009-08-02T15:52:00.000-07:00

But then, I stumbled upon something today that fit just perfectly into the space I was attempting to create.

Love extends naturally from you when you tap into It, no matter how slightly. It overflows from the center of your Being to color your perception without you even trying.

Simply make the choice to see God’s Love here despite what is appearing to the body’s eyes and you will find yourself flooded with Love and Peace and Joy. If you are unable to touch the Love within you and let It extend in your perception you can bring Love to your awareness by visualizing Light – or some other symbol of Love that works for you - around what the body’s eyes are seeing, no matter what it is. This is how you demonstrate your willingness to experience Love and because Love is the Truth it rises up to meet you and overflows your little willingness. The physical world will recede in value to you and the Love that you are experiencing will expand within you. You can do this any time you think that you are unhappy because of what is appearing in the world and you will teach yourself that what you experience is your own choice.

~ Excerpt from Liz Cronkhite's blog – ACIMmentor.com

Love is Stronger than Death

2009-07-30T04:12:00.000-07:00

A few years ago I set out on an adventure to the middle of the jungle Peru. No electricity, no hot water, no comforts of home (except my pillow). The jungle is the pitchest of black when there’s no electricity, add to this, tripping your nads off from drinking the sacred concoction of ancient Shaman…life and the meaning of it gets interesting, real quick.

I was drawn to the particular area because of an article I had read in a National Geographic magazine and the specific (and mostly horrifying) details of the Ayahuasca ceremonies that were described in the article only fueled, much more intensely, my need to go. I was certain that I had to go. And more importantly, I knew I had to go by myself. No friends, no family. I wanted the whole experience and all five ceremonies that I was going to partake in to be completely me and my shit, with no distractions. I’ve detailed the experience of the ceremonies in past entries, so if you’re interested you can read about it there. Tonight’s carrying on comes from viewing that experience three years later.

I had come down to South America to do some serious work, spiritually, emotionally, mentally – turns out, even physically. I was seeking solace, forgiveness, relief from the torment of depression and unspeakable guilt that had a relentless stranglehold on me for the previous 8 years. The agony and grief revolved around my father’s suicide. The regret I was experiencing came from my failure to return his call before he did it.

(I’ve never written about my father’s death until right this very moment. I’ve spoken about it to friends and family sure, but to ever consider posting it publicly, simply was not an option. I’m not even so sure about posting it right now as my heart races while I type these words. But since I no longer feel the need to hide something, whatever that something was, it just seems it’s time to write. Not too many details for now, baby steps.)

As far as I could see, I was serving a life sentence for my crime, and my punishment was…being alive. I found myself incessantly wishing to find a way to leave this god forsaken existence. But how can you do that to your family when your father took his own life?

Since I was still alive and even slightly dumbfounded that I was actually in the middle of a jungle holding onto the tiniest fragment of hope, with the help of a translator I asked one of the shaman what exactly I needed to do to find the reprieve I was so desperately searching for in my life.

The shaman spoke in his native Quechua, and the interpreter translated sparingly. “Always love”.

I took this to mean quite plainly, always love (as a verb). That seemed pretty straightforward…difficult as it may seem, don’t stop loving just because you feel broken or unworthy. Our limited conversation continued for a few more minutes and I deduced enough to comprehend that you’re not only punishing yourself but punishing everyone around you when you halt your life at a crossroads or obstacle. And what does that accomplish? Successfully robbing people of the gift of your love. And what else is there really? Everything else is fleeting. Money, fame, beauty – while coveted by some, doesn’t really mean much in the grander scheme. Plus, the simple fact remains, not everyone has access to it in their lifetime. Unquestionably though, every person on the planet can love – without money, without fame and without beauty. This power is generously bestowed upon each and every one of us, without question, without limit, without prejudice, without expiration. Without exception.

By the sixth day and the third ceremony I began to feel the inspiration for my next tattoo, I had quietly pondered the short phrase that had now fixed itself in my head. Now, it’s no secret that I’m so not cool enough to pull off the full sleeve, dripping with colors and dragons and busty babes kind of tattoos, so when I decide to get stamped, I need to be sure of what indeed I really want to “say”.

Since this trip proved to be such a significant point in my life, it seemed apparent to me that I would seek out the proper spelling of those two words in Quechua and have myself inked sometime when I got back to the U.S. For some reason, this didn’t happen. As more time went on, I actually lost the translation, went about trying to figure it out again, doing research and discovering how many different dialects exist in the Quechua language, thus becoming increasingly worried that I was going to inadvertently end up with something like Hairy Llama scrawled on my body for the rest of my life.

It wasn’t until recently that I found myself again contemplating those two words. I suddenly distinguished the phrase in a whole new way (thanks to another experience which I will write about in a separate entry). Love: described as a noun, could be acknowledged in a zillion different ways. I flipped the words around on my tongue, backward and forward, playing with the different undercurrents of this simple, simple statement. One could always recognize love, one could always practice love, one could always be love, one could always see, share, live, cultivate, participate, send, embrace, embody, declare, receive, reward, dedicate, offer...love. The list is endless.

No matter what the question or uncertainty, “always love” seems like it is the unmistakable, viable answer.

This also means that despite my history and my story with my father, I could continue from this point forward to create love around it by doing just that. Loving in every way possible. All ways.

You don’t stop loving because of an obstacle in your path. If you give up on love, what chance do you stand then? Hell and a snowball come to mind. What you do is love even more...and more intensely than before. Don’t let anyone go even one day without the benefit of your love. What better way to help deal with your past than to change your future about it.

And what better way to remind yourself than inscribing it on your bicep:

P.S. Blog title comes from a The The song by the same name. (always loving lyrics, I am)

Love love love
Love love love

Me & my friend were walking
In the cold light of mourning.
Tears may blind the eyes but the soul is not deceived
In this world even winter aint what it seems.

Here come the blue skies here comes springtime.
When the rivers run high & the tears run dry.
When everything that dies.
Shall rise.

Love love love is stronger than death.
Love love love is stronger than death.

In our lives we hunger for those we cannot touch.
All the thoughts unuttered & all the feelings unexpressed
Play upon our hearts like the mist upon our breath.
But, awoken by grief, our spirits speak
How could you believe that the life within the seed
That grew arms that reached
And a heart that beats.
And lips that smiled
And eyes that cried.
Could ever die?

Here come the blue skies here comes springtime.
When the rivers run high & the tears run dry.
When everything that dies.
Shall rise.

Have you ever had to make a split second decision?

2009-03-27T12:47:00.000-07:00

Like when the light turns yellow and you’re driving maybe a little faster than you should be and your mind goes, “Slam on the brakes? Step on the gas? Hurry….chooooose!!”

I live in a large high rise, with a gated parking structure underneath the building. I was walking outside earlier this evening and decided I wanted to go to the store, therefore, I needed to get to my car. Realizing I didn’t have my gate opener with me, I could have simply gone back INSIDE the building and down the elevator to the underground parking structure, and all would have been well in my world. But noooooo.

I was about to turn the corner on the sidewalk, at which point I'd be a just a few steps away from the garage gate entrance to my building . If I'm a lucky person, it will be open from a car having just gone through and I will be able to effortlessly stroll into the garage and down to my car. As I made the corner, I heard that familiar noise, the metal and springs creaking and the motor kicking on to begin moving the gate. It had been opened only moments ago, so it was now beginning its descent. You might see where this is going…

Can I make it??!! Is there enough time? Calculate!! If I sprint, will I make it or will I simply end up the not-so-proud recipient of a 2009 Darwin Award?

No decision.

Only another split second of hesitation.

That hesitation cost me. My choice was now doomed from the moment I heard, “Run!” in my head. My wavering prompted an erratic, frantic, completely hysterical dash toward the rapidly closing gate. Arms flailing, legs moving, but as though they were not connected to my body or even to each other for that matter. My heart pounding in my chest, the gate was stopping for no one! All of a sudden, my knees buckle…

...and I fall.

Half in and half out of the garage, I lay sideways on the concrete, my life flashing before my eyes as I watch the metal bars coming closer and closer to terminating my very existence. (Well, at least I’m wearing my favorite sweatshirt.) The rattling and screeching of the moving parts pressed on and seemed only to grow louder and faster as I decided that I really didn’t want to die (or be horribly mangled) today. And, just then…as in every single action movie ever produced...when [insert name of action hero here] is mere centimeters away from being dismembered by a gate…drawbridge…spaceship hatch…big rock, I fling my arms and legs long (my flip flop flies off in the process) and I barrel-roll to safety into the garage!

All was suddenly quiet. The gate had descended to its resting place. I mustered the energy to barely sit up. One shoed, I looked around for the other one. And. There it was. On the OTHER side of the gate. I crawled back to the unmerciful barricade, grabbed a bar with one hand, reached my other arm through as far as it would go. JUST out of reach.

Humbled, hobbled, exhausted from the adrenalin rush, I picked myself up, dusted myself off and made my way down to my car another level below. Didn't even bother to take off the one shoe I still had left, I just walked like that. Flip. Flip. Flip. I got in my car and drove back up to the 'scene'. I watched as the gate opened. Suddenly seemed it was moving a lot slower than before. My very confused flip flop was grateful to once again be with its partner, I was grateful that I was driving my car with all my limbs intact instead of trapped under a gate, mumbling something about just wanting to go to the store to buy some chocolate.

Moral of the story:

Yoga is good for you. Indeed, when one thinks of yoga and its practitioners, typically words like graceful, fluid, elegant come to mind. Bikram yoga on the other hand, as I repeatedly tell my students in class…makes you a superhero. Or at the very least you feel like you could be one.

Afterword:

My iphone survived the entire stunt without so much as a scratch and I walked away with only a bruised knee. There is a chance that surveillance camera footage exists of this entire episode. One can only hope.

I really dig this guy

2008-12-17T23:43:00.000-08:00

Being a skeptic about most things, I needed some 'proof' as to why our thoughts are able to manifest things (The Secret, while nice, didn't do enough to explain to me how those things are actually possible. Oh me of little faith, I guess. I needed to know how and why. Just like magicians...their illusions are great, but I still want to know HOW the f they do the damn trick!) This guy explains the science, the biology of how and why your thoughts really, actually, physically, emotionally, psychologically control your life.

"We are powerful and we are capable of doing things that are called miracles. Miracles are actually events that science does not understand yet. Very profound miracles happen every day. For example, some people have cancer and suddenly their perception changes and they may experience spontaneous remission. By changing their perceptions of life, they reprogram their cells. That is the expression of epigenetic mechanisms, molecular processes that give the power back to the individual. Rather than perceiving that "we are victims of the cells," the new science recognizes the power that we have to control the cells."

He also goes on to speak about harmony and another way of perceiving it, embracing it and honoring it.

"Think about it this way: underneath your skin are fifty trillion cells living in harmony in a very closed environment. These cells are very intelligent. We have always looked down at everything less than human as not being intelligent. That is our hubris and it is going to cost us a lot. If you can look inside the body and see those trillions of cells living in harmony, recognize this: every cell is a sentient being just like every one of us. Every cell lives in a community and has a job to support that community. There are rules and regulations. Cells get services. There is health care by the immune system. The garbage is taken out by the excretory system. The digestive system delivers the food. There is a society consisting of trillions of individuals inside our bodies that can thrive when we are in good health, yet the few billion people on the entire surface of the planet are so out of balance that we are destroying our environment."

excerpt from: Bruce Lipton

Watch this...please

2008-12-01T01:03:00.000-08:00

STORY OF STUFF

and do something, anything more than what you are doing right now.

I’m a sucker for soundtracks

2008-11-05T12:58:00.000-08:00

My ipod was on shuffle as I drove up to the registrar's office today to drop off my mail-in ballot in person (long story). As I followed the long line of cars into the packed parking lot, I noticed all the people, all the cars, all the volunteers, the buzz, the excitement, the nervousness, the hope. As I inched along in the line, the song changed over on my ipod. An uncomplicated, sweet song by a man called Bob Schneider. "The World Exploded into Love".

There was basically a drive-thru set up for mail-in ballot drop offs – apparently, I'm not the only one who had to do this. An older black gentleman smiled a big smile at me right at my car window as I handed over my yellow envelope. He said, "Thank you!" with such enthusiasm. I said, "Thank YOU!" and winked at him (I wink sometimes). I hoped that he did not take it as any sort of nod to Sarah Palin - but more to my excitement that I was voting for the person who could potentially be the very first African-American president in history. As soon as my hand let go of the envelope, tears instantly welled up in my eyes and there was no way of stopping them.

The song continued to play and I continued to cry. I am a sappy, emotional girl sometimes. And I like it.

I drove through the pathway marked with orange cones toward the exit and passed several more volunteers who smiled and made eye contact with every single passerby. I sniffled and wiped my cheeks. My window was still down. The line of cars was moving slowly enough that a man who noticed my tears asked me if I was indeed crying. I said yes and held back what would have next become full on sobbing. He said it would be okay. I told him I was crying because I was happy – and that messed up as it seems right now, I truly believe we live in a great country.

He looked at me and said, "Yes, ma'am. We do."

The song ended and an older tune shuffled its way unto my car speakers, though no less befitting to the moment. I've always loved the way this simple song made its point (to me anyway).

The The – Lonely Planet

Planet earth is slowing down
Overseas, underground
Wherever you look around.
Lord, take me by the hand
Lead me through these desert sands
To the shores of a promised land.

You make me start when you look into my heart
And see me for who I really am.

If you can't change the world. Change yourself.
If you can't change the world. Change yourself.

I didn't care if the sun didn't shine
And the rain didn't fall from the sky.
I just cared about myself.
From this world to the next
And from the next back to this,
By our actions we are bound.
We're running out of love
Running out of hate
Running out of space for the human race.
Planet earth is slowing down.

You make me cry when you look into my eyes.
And see me for who I really am.

If you can't change the world. Change yourself.
If you can't change the world. Change yourself.

And if you can't change yourself then…
CHANGE YOUR WORLD.

I'm in love with the planet I'm standing on.
I can't stop.
Can't stop thinking of
All the people I've ever loved
All the people I have lost
All the people I'll never know
All the feelings I've never shown.
The world is too big.
And life is too short.
To be alone.

Happy Changing the World Day, everyone!!

Life. Death. And all that gray matter in between

2008-05-23T01:39:00.000-07:00

My grandmother passed away last week, her name was Anna, she was 88 years old. Her husband Michael, my grandfather, passed away 10 years ago and I know that every single day of those 10 years, she wished she could be with him again. They were the definition of "til death do us part". Good times and bad times, they had seen it all. Together. They fled from the war, worked in factories, dreamed of a better life, moved to countries where they didn't speak one word of the native language just to keep that dream alive. Eventually, my grandfather died from lung cancer, my grandmother stood by him through every torturous moment.

This is Anna and Michael, when they had fled to Germany for a short time before ultimately making their way to Brazil (and later finally coming to America). I like to think that this is the way my grandparents are sitting right now. Together again at last:

These are their great-grandchildren, my nephews, Zenon and Krystian.

They are sweeter than candy and I find myself wishing I could stop time, just because it goes so fast. The church grounds where the funeral services were held, also house the preschool that I attended at the ripe age of 3 or 4, however old you are when you go there. I took a stroll with my nephews to show them where their Teta (aunt) went to school. The room itself has not changed one bit in 30 years. There are still the same yellow and red hooks on the wall where the kids hang their coats. The room even smells the same, and the chairs – well they would easily be considered 'vintage' or 'antiques' (possibly even 'relics' by this point). I had a boyfriend in preschool - I was on top of my game back then, I'm not sure what happened since. I distinctly remember telling my teacher that we had to sit next to one another. She smiled and said ok. I mean, how do you argue with a 3 year old on such a serious subject?

This is Abby. Abby is a cocker spaniel that thinks she is a magician. Notice how she is able to make the ball levitate under her nose. I had already had a few glasses of wine the first time I saw her do this and promptly decided that I should maybe stop drinking. But then she clued me in on how she does it. Relieved, I poured myself another glass. She snores and likes to put her arm around you when she sleeps. And sometimes bears a striking resemblance to Gene Simmons:

All in all, funerals suck. I've been to way too many of them in my relatively short lifetime. But they keep reminding me, just in case I forget, to make the moments…all the moments - even the seemingly insignificant ones - matter before yours gets here.

I lost my train of thought

2008-04-29T23:37:00.000-07:00

The house where I grew up was in a pretty 'normal', middle class neighborhood in the Midwest. Tree lined streets, kids running around the neighborhood or riding their bikes, a pond and creek nearby where many a frog were fetched, clothes were muddied, and knees were skinned. There were also train tracks that ran along about a 1/4 of a mile away or so, not close enough to ever see the train go by from our house, but close enough to hear the horn blow (I'm tempted to say whistle, because it's a train, and it just seems fitting, but to be accurate in my description, it was definitely a horn sound) and sometimes a small rumble from the cars on the tracks when it got to the intersection of the main road outside of my neighborhood.

I remember so often visitors asking us if the sound bothered us. To which we typically and quite sincerely replied with another question, "What sound?" We'd lived in the house for 9+ years and truly didn't even hear the train anymore, we actually had to try TO hear it.

This memory came back to me the other day while I sat up late one night reading in my new place and I heard a faint, but familiar sound. The sound of a horn in the distance. A train at a crossing somewhere, not so nearby, but not too far away to hear. Much softer than the one from my childhood recollection, but resonating in almost exact resemblance otherwise. It made me wonder about how we seem to become accustomed to things, so much so that we simply no longer notice them. If everything stays the same, or repeats itself in the same manner for so long, we seem to become conditioned, without even realizing, to just not notice it anymore. Even our noses essentially 'stop smelling' the same scent after being around it for an extended amount of time.

I started to wonder if this is why we purposely choose to shake things up once in a while. Life throws us some un-expectations for sure, but how many do we bring upon ourselves? It might even be when things are running unusually well in life. Have you ever picked a fight with a boyfriend or girlfriend just for the satisfaction of seeing them react? Just for the exhilaration that might come from sending them into a state in which you don't generally see them? If things were happy and perfect all the time (as we maybe find ourselves wishing they would be), we'd likely grow entirely accustomed to the sameness of it all, wouldn't we? Seems we'd start to lose sensation and just glaze over until life became boring. Same reason we purposely choose to read specific stories, watch particular films or listen to certain music that we know will instigate feelings of sadness or melancholy, or anger and annoyance…purposely bringing about whatever the contrary mood, because you just can't keep feeling the same thing all the time without it losing its worth or worse yet, becoming virtually absent. Maybe we need to stir ourselves out of the hypnosis simply to relearn how to appreciate what we have. Just in case we've lost our train of thought or unintentionally tuned it right out of our consciousness.

I can't make you love me...

2008-04-24T02:36:00.000-07:00

...if you don't.

The word love here can be interchanged with like, want, respect, care for, understand…take your pick.

Eve Ensler, of The Vagina Monologues fame speaks about a woman she met in Kenya who went on a crusade to end the horrible act of female circumcision – or more appropriately referred to as female genital mutilation…which is exactly what it is. As a 10 year old child, Agnes suffered this horrendous fate, against her will. She vowed to make a difference, dedicating her life to ending this atrocious practice. The fucked up thing is that as this woman began to speak out, trying to teach people that this behavior is brutally inhumane and appalling, she was actually exiled by her community. Here's something that you'd think wouldn't take much convincing, right? But because people are so conditioned, they are simply unable to sense right and wrong, literally unable to see when wrong is happening in front of their faces. Thankfully, Agnes pressed on for years and insisted on fighting for what she believed in and people eventually started to come around. Although, the fight continues; girls continue to have to run away to the safe house that Agnes had built specifically for this cause. There are still people who believe that Agnes is the one who is in the wrong.

It's incredible to fathom that on both sides of this particular conflict, for instance, both parties truly believe that their belief or action is completely justified, (even though the average person reading this in our society would, without question, deem one side clearly right and the other obviously wrong.

It's difficult to comprehend that even when you have the best intentions, choose the noblest path, give straight from the heart, and care so much it actually hurts, there may continue to be someone (or even many) who will continue to simply not feel your vibe of energy. No matter how much you truly believed they just would.

It's sad that though you might try and hope and wish, you just can't MAKE people understand you…you can only continue to do what you truly believe in your heart is right in your life and hope that maybe one day they might finally come around. And if they don't. Well, then that's the unfortunate part of life too.

I guess the lesson is you don't ever let them discourage you from your path. And God forbid, never, ever stop being you.

"Kill Your Television"

2008-04-11T01:34:00.000-07:00

This bumper sticker graced my car back in the early 90's thanks to Ned's Atomic Dustbin. One of the most chaotic concerts I've ever been to in my life, by the way, but this has nothing to do with anything I'm writing about.

I didn't exactly kill my television, but I did sell it when I moved to San Diego. Aesthetically it wasn't working with the layout of this 1920's house, but more importantly, it was no longer working with the arrangement of my soul. In LA, the only time the TV would be on was when my roommate was home. He's the type who likes the noise in the background, even when he sleeps. If he wasn't around for a week, the tv wouldn't be on for a week.

I have not missed its presence even once.

I love to read and find there's even more time than ever to read now. I am able to stay informed with precisely what I am looking to expand my mind with via the internet (with a few distractions, of course…but not enough to have any major impact on my time or my life). I have found the time to donate to good causes and keep up on my correspondence, two things that help to keep me feeling all warm and fuzzy inside.

I find that I feel better, physically and mentally, from not having the news shoved in my face 24-7 as well. Some may call it selfish to not want to 'know' everything that's going on in the world, I call it self-preservation. Too much of that negativity and terror and doom is enough to do the same to you, from the inside out. Not to mention the freedom from advertising. What's the latest greatest product that I just have to buy? I have no idea. And I seem to be surviving just fine without it. Let's not be mistaken, I've not locked myself in some log cabin without any contact with the modern world…and I still am a technology junkie, but it's not being crammed down my throat with manipulative copy and catchy-get-stuck-in-your-head-for-days-on-end jingles. What's funny, even with my love for technological gadgetry, I took a step back in time the other day to about 1953 when I wrote on my list of things to buy: "clothes pins".

I have the convenience of a dryer here, but have opted to use the clothesline more often than not. I actually find a sense of peace and joy and contemplation in it. Hanging the clothes up, enjoying the beautiful weather as I do so, appreciating the fact that I live somewhere that the weather is pretty incredible most of the year. Appreciating all the things I see while I'm outside, the lizards that run past me into the canyon, the wild flowers that are blooming quite wildly, for lack of a better word, the hummingbirds who never cease to amaze me with their astounding ability to hover in one place and then speed right past me like a kamikaze. All of this is missed when you're sticking your head into dryer to pull out your dried and shrunken clothes. My grandmother had a dryer for as long as I can remember, and for as long as I can remember, she hung the whole family's clothes out to dry. She was green before her time. She is one woman who certainly appreciated the earth and its gifts, as she could grow an oak tree out of a twig in like a week. Her garden was the most magical place when I was a kid. Roses that would bloom as big as my head, apple trees that yielded the most delicious apples I've ever eaten, even to this day. Don't even get me started on the tomatoes.

Ever since my trip to Peru, my life has slowly been shifting into a much more simple plan. Even the short time that I lived without electricity and hot water (or windows and door locks for that matter) was such an awakening, it's just such a shame that we get conditioned so deeply that it is such a slow process to break yourself of it. But, a positive one nonetheless. I had purged so much stuff that I just didn't need when I got back, and this became a ritual, almost weekly, more and more things got packed up and donated to the Goodwill. I couldn't tell you one thing right now that I miss, I barely even remember what I've donated. It's the most liberating feeling in the world. When I moved to San Diego, box upon box of my eight years in LA began to make their way to donation centers. In the four months that I have been here, I have made 3 trips to the Salvation Army and one to my friend's parents - who go to Mexico weekly to donate our castoffs to the needy. I hope to get to a point where I feel I have nothing 'extra' in my life, nothing that isn't useful, so I don't feel tied down to any 'thing', to be free enough to go and actually do great things, instead of just talking about them. It's funny how easy it is for some to wax poetic about how to live life with a bunch of quotes borrowed from a fortune cookie or their Yogi Tea teabag , but unless you're actually practicing it, it's just a bunch of empty words.

The last time I set a bigger intention to do something, it was regarding teacher training for Bikram Yoga, just a few months later, I looked back at my words in almost disbelief as I wrote my first blog from Hawaii. A life changing experience that I continue to cherish. This time, I'm going to talk about joining the ranks of those who are volunteering their time and energy in places of the world where unspeakable lack exists - and for no good reason. There is really no excuse not to do more. Look out, a few months from now, maybe I'll be writing a blog from a village in Africa, where I'm guessing I probably won't be watching TV.

Audacity in a Box of Tissues

2008-04-01T01:48:00.000-07:00

I went to the store today to purchase some everyday necessities: cat food, cat litter, toilet paper, tissues (because I’m sick). Normally, I don’t even buy tissues on a regular basis, knowing how particular I am about a number of things, this surprises even me. But typically, I just grab some toilet paper when the need arises to blow my nose and typically, I don’t have to blow my nose, because I hardly ever get sick. Then of course, I spoke those words out loud the other day and boom, two days later, so sick I was praying for death. Since my nose is so sore from blowing, I stood for a few moments considering exactly which tissues to purchase. I don’t particularly like the lotion filled ones, so I moseyed over to the Kleenex brand and ignorantly picked a box and chucked it in my basket. (I say ignorantly because I’ve been making a ridiculous effort lately to be more green, checking labels, doing my homework, but somehow the tissues didn’t dawn on me. I’d say I’ve been doing a pretty good job, but of course there’s always more to think about. It’s so overwhelming as a matter of fact there’s another blog in the works dedicated to the subject.)

So, the whole point here is, I get home and unpack my things, sneeze a couple hundred times and, naturally go for the tissues I just bought. As I tear off the perforated piece of oval cardboard to get to the tissues, a piece of green paper folded like an accordion is revealed underneath. For a split second, I thought it was a coupon, but something was different about this slip of paper. It looked like someone snuck it in there by the way it was folded, it wasn’t printed on fancy, shiny paper the way you imagine a well marketed and designed coupon would be. Very curiously, I unfolded each crease and began to read the message:

"Here’s a little secret that Kimberly-Clark, the largest tissue maker in the world and parent company of Kleenex, doesn’t want you to know:

Kimberly-Clark makes Kleenex from 100% virgin fiber, which has a devastating impact on ancient forests. When we asked company officials to improve their environmental practices, they refused to change their ways. Kleenex has told us that you the customer, are not interested in buying products good for the Earth."

The message goes on to urge us to act now and communicate with the makers of Kleenex to urge them to make a difference and if they continue to refuse, simply stop buying their products.

This surreptitiously placed note was signed:

GREENPEACE

Immediately, my mind speculated as to how Greenpeace pulled this off. At what point did they infiltrate the Kimberly-Clark corporation? Was it an inside job? Did they pay someone? Or did they get a Greenpeacer hired undercover just to have him or her clandestinely slide these messages into the Kleenex boxes? I can only imagine mine wasn’t the only box with this hidden message…how many could they possibly have gotten to?

This may sound corny as hell, but I got a little charge from this. Knowing that people not only didn’t take No for an answer up against a big corporation, but went about orchestrating a way to get to people individually AFTER they’d already made their purchase was pretty exciting. They went the traditional route and asked nicely, when they were met with resistance, or flat out refusal, they continued to fight. I respect that.

This of course is not the first of an act such as this, and it certainly won’t be the last…especially in this time of great divide and shift and chaos and desperate need for change, environmentally, governmentally and everything in between. We have been pretty fortunate (or unfortunate, depending on how you look at it) as a country for quite some time. Not that there hasn’t been a need to fight for righteousness or fairness, but things haven’t been quite as tilted, let’s say, as they have been in other nations around the world. When things aren’t too unfair, most people don’t feel compelled to get up and speak out. It’s when things get really crazy and unfair and preposterous that the uprising and coming-together-as-one-for-the-cause really begins to happen. In a way, it’s almost good that this shit is alarming. It’s actually kind of good that Bush wasn’t just a little bit of a fuck up, but a HUGE one, so that people are pissed enough to do something and become informed (maybe for the first time in their voting career), instead of just muttering about how shitty everything is lately. Now people are irritated and getting really antsy…so much so that they are seeking out others who share their vision and expectations and hopes. Not only locally, but nationally and even globally. I like it, it’s giving me a charge of adrenalin pretty regularly. It’s reminding me not to be complacent with mediocre, or worse than mediocre, downright unfair, callous or selfish behavior of any sort. I like that we are realizing that we can’t keep putting things off or simply placing blame on someone or something else, because that’s not going to solve the problem. If they keep doing whatever it is that’s ’wrong’, we all continue to be affected.

Reading that note in the tissue box today reminded me a little bit of the way I felt a few years ago when I heard the story of Natalia Dmytruk. In November 2004, Natalia was just another ordinary Ukrainian citizen, doing her job like she did any other day, interpreting the news for the deaf and hearing impaired on state-run television [they don’t have closed-captioning like we do here, they still go the old-fashioned route with a tiny image in the corner of the screen visually signing the spoken information). If you think our elections in the last 8 years were pretty crazy or unjust, imagine if our candidates were being slowly poisoned during their campaigns! (Not that some Americans weren’t hoping, I’m sure.) But, seriously, how ridiculously medieval is that? In the midst of all the craziness, Ukrainians too were dealing with what seemed to be a completely unfair outcome in the polls. Just as we were all shocked, they were too. Well, here’s where Natalia took the problem into her own hands, literally. While the newscaster was announcing the ’winner’ of the election, Natalia began to silently speak out to the deaf community, saying that the election results were false, that everyone was being lied to and they shouldn’t accept it. She also told them in utter fear, that they might not see her again, because she knew she had just done something so defiant, in a country where poisoning a presidential hopeful is apparently a common occurrence, that God only knew what her fate was going to be. Mere hours later word began to spread and people literally took to the streets to contest the vote. If you get a chance, look her up online, her story might give you a goose bump or two: Natalia Dmytruk

People find courage in times of turmoil. People find strength when hope seems to be lost. Whatever it is, a greener planet for ALL of us to enjoy, or ways to keep an empire from crumbling, we all have to fight the fight for what’s right. I don’t claim to know even nearly enough about politics or government or the world – I try to learn and stay informed at the very least, but I can see some huge changes happening and as scary and shitty as everything is going to be for quite some time, I look forward to the huge change for good that is going to come of it. People will almost be forced to learn how to bond together and be more supportive of one another, and learn that "you" is not so different from "me" when the greater cause is going to affect "both of us". As tough times approach, people are going to have to learn to have compassion for one another or things are only going to get tougher. Things have gotten so easy, so to speak, for so long, that I think people have forgotten that we are indeed, as they say - a whole that is greater than the sum of its parts.

So basically, turn off some lights, recycle, stay informed, be prudent, be compassionate and be green. Be kind, make love, not war, okay..even if it’s just sex, whatever.

And vote.

This blog, opinion, ramble, whatever you want to call it, brought to you by a box of tissues.

I guess everyone gets their 15 seconds...

2007-12-20T20:22:00.000-08:00

...of fame?

Jason Mraz "Beautiful Mess" We Sing. We Dance. We Steal Things.

In Deep Smit

2007-12-15T11:28:00.000-08:00

The definition of the word "smitten" is an interesting one. Or an interesting three rather.

Smitten – adj.
1. struck, as with a hard blow
2. grievously or disastrously stricken or affected
3. very much in love

Fine is the line between genius and insanity, and evidently so is the one between love and grief. (The latter pair, of course, capable of making you feel not at all unlike definition number one, sometimes, but not limited to, the stomach region.) Another testament to the whole yin yang outlook on life, you just can't have one without the other or at least without the distinct possibility of the other. Why, when we fall for someone, do we immediately get scared? Or why do some go as far as to completely avoid falling in the first place? I've never heard of anyone who is afraid of their heart bursting with love. But utterly terrified of it getting shattered into a million pieces by way of love gone disastrously wrong? Welcome to 98% of all poetry, music, storytelling and film. As soon as we open ourselves up to another person, it is that very instant that anything is possible. Anything. Making it precisely the reason it feels so amazing to fall so hard and so free and so completely for someone. Because it can vanish, for any reason, in an instant.

One of my favorite quotes from a film (and one of my favorite films actually) is a line from Flirting with Disaster where Tea Leoni's character boldly responds to a whiny Ben Stiller complaining about how vulnerable he feels in his relationship.

"Every marriage is vulnerable, otherwise being married wouldn't mean anything, would it?"

It makes perfect sense. In any relationship actually, not only marriage. If you don't fear losing it, what value would it have in the first place? It goes hand in hand with another one of my favorite lines. This one from (the BEST show in the world) Six Feet Under. A grieving woman asks Nate, "Why do people have to die?" He answers simply, "To make life important."

What makes something precious? The fact that it is unique, delicate, special, rare, extraordinary?

What makes something precious? The fact that it can be broken, stolen, hurt, shattered, destroyed?

I will ask again.

What defines precious? Something that is loved, admired, respected, cared for, cherished, valued, treasured?

Or…all of the above.

Fine line or simply facets that make up the whole? A diamond is stunning with its unparalleled beauty and sparkle and clarity…..but its edges are sharp. Its authenticity is often tested by its ability to cut glass. So does the same hold true for love? Do you know it's real only when you know it can really hurt you?

Home Alone

2007-12-07T08:39:00.000-08:00

My first night in my new place and I spent it alone. All by myself, but certainly not lonesome. As the clock struck midnight, I grew another year older but unfortunately not any less scared of the dark. Or the boogie man. Or just weird noises that I think are the boogie man.

This house is old, it creeks and sighs a lot, kind of like me. Tonight happened to be an extremely windy night as well. Great. The tree branches scrape up against the windows and all I can think is Freddy Krueger. And then came the rain. I love the rain…but boy is it interesting when it rains around this place. There seems to be thousands of different surfaces surrounding the area for the raindrops to ricochet off of…oversized drops from a rain gutter that's not quite doing its job, tiny little tap dances on the concrete patio outside my room, rain on the window panes mimicking the sounds of me typing on my keyboard, somewhere else a rhythmic clapping sound happening that I am almost convinced can only be an actual human clapping their hands together outside in the rain. I am bold enough to do many things, but throw me in a house that has lots of places to hide and I am a bonifide chickenshit. I think it may stem from the not-so-pleasant things that happened either to me or around me as a child, you just don't recover from that kind of stuff very well, I guess. But that's a whole other story.

I stayed up all night, unpacking boxes, listening to the sounds. Stopping once in a while to familiarize myself with the creepy noises, knowing that I already love my new home, but it's just a matter of time to grow accustomed to its difference, its personality and character, its flaws…and once I do, I am going to love it even more because I will no longer be afraid. I know it is here to protect me, keep me warm and witness my life, unconditionally, as it unfolds under its roof.

The sun is coming up despite the fact that I'm attempting to will it back to bed, just for a little bit longer. I was just getting used to the dark. Even if I didn't have hundreds of boxes to unpack, I would have sat up all night anyway, I just wanted to take it all in. The whole night. See what this old house had to say, have it tell me some stories that begin, "I remember when…" Sleeping wouldn't have allowed me my first whole experience in what seems to be a brand new life. So many changes have come about in my life recently, I'm shocked that I'm not more stressed out. I've packed up my life, cleaned house - literally and figuratively in my life, moved away from La la land, been spending time with someone who, to my amazement, likes to make-out more than I do. (And he's damn good at it too.) Sometimes I have to stop myself and think, Who am I? Nothing here is familiar, it's my stuff, but it's in different places, it's my life, but on a different map, and who IS this guy who holds my hand in his and then leans in to kiss it with all the charm and chivalry of a time long since vanished?

Thirty four is starting out to be an interesting year, not at ALL what I had pictured or planned or predicted, but I'm kinda digging it so far. The only complaint I have about the house, it's F-ing cold! Especially tonight with all the environmental antics going on outside. The heat doesn't seem to want to make its way to my room. This problem, as well as my scaredy cat-ness, could be remedied rather easily if the cute boy would just hurry up and get here…

Good thing I don't sleep naked

2007-10-26T04:20:00.000-07:00

My insomnia's been in check lately...and luckily it's been a while since I've had to get up in the middle of the night to pee, as well. Thus not having to deal with the whole "To flush or not to flush" situation either. I'm happy, the cat's happy, life is swell. Then, as luck would have it, the last two nights, I'm up at some ridiculous hour trying to estimate - without using too much brain power, because then I might wake myself up too much - just how serious the state of emergen-pee is. Do I HAVE to get up or can I maybe risk trying to hold it until a less ridiculous hour of the morning. I had to get up. Then I decided I was hungry. Then I was wide awake, with nothing to do at 4:20 in the morning. Hmmmm, just then I got an idea. A couple of tasty hits later, and accidentally dumping the contents of the pipe in my bed...I happened upon this in the Oddly Enough section of Reuters:

LONDON (Reuters) - A surge in naked sleepwalking among guests has led one of Britain's largest budget hotel groups to re-train staff to handle late-night nudity.

Travelodge, which runs more than 300 business hotels in Britain, says sleepwalking rose seven-fold in the past year, and 95 percent of the somnambulants are scantily clad men.

"We have seen an increased number of cases over the years so it is important that our staff know how to help sleepwalking when it arises," Leigh McCarron, the chain's sleep director, said in a statement.

One tip in the company's newly released "sleepwalkers guide" tells staff to keep towels handy at the front desk in case a customer's dignity needs preserving.

The company said naked wanderers often ask receptionists such questions as "Where's the bathroom?," "Do you have a newspaper?" or "Can I check out, I'm late for work?"

Studies have found that sleepwalking can be brought on by stress, alcohol, eating cheese or consuming too much caffeine. It generally takes effect an hour or two after going to bed, when people are first slipping into a deep sleep.

Asked Thursday why she thought 95 percent of its sleepwalkers were naked men, a Travelodge spokeswoman said: "We have more men staying with us than women, so that could be a factor."

AND THEN...

I ran across this:

Manned Cloud Hotel: The Way of the Future
POSTED: Thursday, October 25, 2007
FROM BLOG: The Informed Traveler - Luxury Hotels

It's a bird, it's a plane, it's a… flying whale in the sky! In fact, this enormous whale will be an eco-hotel, an environmentally-sensitive air-ship that cruises the earth. The mastermind behind the Manned Cloud? Jean-Marie Massaud, the brilliant designer who used to work with Philippe Starck and who was named Designer of the Year at last year's Salon du Meuble in Paris. His dream– a unique, helium-filled hotel from where you can appreciate the most marvelous views of Earth– could be realized as soon as next year.

Imagine the sleep I'd get up there and when can I make a reservation?

Sweet dreams everybody...

Everything I ever needed to know about meditating...

2007-09-24T23:06:00.000-07:00

...I'm learning from a cat.

I have tried and tried and tried to meditate. Calm the mind, center myself, DON'T fall asleep, be still, don't fall asleep, think of absolutely nothing, don't fall asleep. I can't sleep at night, but get me to try meditating and I'm out like a light. If you suggest to me that I meditate in bed to try and trick myself into falling asleep, it doesn't work. I've tried. Basically, my attempts to meditate, while full of effort and hope, are typically quite unsuccessful.

However, about a week ago, I was watching my cat sitting in her cat bed. SHE appeared to be meditating. I was actually kind of jealous. I watched as something caught her eye and she looked around for a bit, then back to just sort of gazing lazily around the room, and subsequently back to staring at nothing but somehow completely present, aware, conscious, blissful and just plain old being. She seemed to be the exact representation of the definition of my recent tattoo. I stared at her for quite a long time, at first trying to figure it out, trying to figure her out. What is she thinking? IS she thinking? Is there just a whole lot of nothing going on in there? She must be thinking something, Christ! What is it?

Then I just stopped trying to figure anything out and decided to simply 'be' there, just like this very zen-like feline sitting in front of me. I laid very still and merely observed. For the first time in what seemed like forever, my own mind stopped spinning wildly with its random, scattered, uncontrollable thoughts. I wasn't worried about tomorrow, pissed about yesterday, unnerved about today. I was simply here. I watched her ears move to the direction in which she heard a very faint noise. I heard it too. I began to hear a lot of things that I don't think I would normally hear because my mind is too busy being busy. They were insignificant noises…but then again, maybe they weren't. They were noises that were happening as part of the day, in that moment of time, that are just as significant as any other, only this time I was wholly aware of this reality.

My cat just taught me how to be present. Be where I am. And accept it.

I'd recently read a book called The Power of Now and had earmarked a number of pages to go back to re-read at a later time for better understanding. When I finally came out of my closest-thing-to-mediation-I've-ever-realized, I went over and picked up the book without any specific intent, maybe just to browse through some of those pages again. I casually opened the book to a random earmarked page and the first thing I saw was the bold lettering of a paragraph header that read:

Wherever you are, be there totally.

Funny, I read it a month ago, but it didn't actually sink in until I was staring at a cat.

Continuing on my journey of meditative discovery, just the other day I was visiting a friend who had gotten a new kitten a few months ago, a very cute one I might add. Of course there's a huge difference between a 13 year old, fat, sleepy cat and a teeny, bouncy, playful, ball of energy kitten but my newfound ability to practice my meditation seemed not to discriminate. It was late in the day and everyone was retiring for the evening. Kitty had some energy stored up, after all, he'd just taken a much needed nap on my stomach a few minutes earlier. I twirled one of his cat toys around the kitchen and he chased it…relentlessly. I, of course, wouldn't dream of having anything to do with his dissatisfaction, so I didn't dare stop until he decided he didn't want to play anymore. Kittens can play for a long time without getting tired, I've forgotten this. He jumped again and again as I twirled and looped the string around and around. Accidentally, I sort of just zoned out…once again, not thinking about anything except that present moment. I was not me, I just was. Nothing and everything existed right there in the middle of that dimly lit kitchen. For several moments, I felt full of peace and ease and stillness, even though the whole while, kitty pounced and jumped and ran all around me. Strangely, it was actually because he was doing this, that I was discovering this long absent feeling of serenity.

My 'meditation' was interrupted by my friend walking into the kitchen. Not surprisingly, the kitty's concentration on the string was not at all diverted. Oddly, after waking from my spell, all the thoughts that did pop back into my head were so unmistakably clear. I had a thousand things that I wanted to say right then, things that finally made sense after what seemed like hundreds of years of muddled confusion. Things I wasn't sure how to say before, but now they just seemed so simple. I was so surprised though by my unexpected stream of consciousness, that I said -- nothing. I just sat there with my mouth open and eventually managed to eek out a smile to my friend who stood there, probably thinking I was just WAY too into playing with his cat.

I've since tried to meditate on my own, without the help of a feline and while I'm still having a hard time with that speed racer mind of mine, I'm finding I can be much more present and appreciative of the moment at least, which is a good start anyway. Whenever I do need help, I guess it's nice that I don't have to look far to find one of the furry Buddhas lying around this place who can help me to s l o w the heck down and continue to remind me how to be here now.

Bjork is Bjeautiful

2007-09-02T01:03:00.000-07:00

I see who you are
Behind the skin
And the muscles

I see who you are, now
And when you get older later

I will see the same girl
The same soul
Lioness, fireheart
Passionate lover

And afterwards
Later this century
When you and I have become corpses

Let's celebrate now all this flesh on our bones
Let me push you up against me tightly
And enjoy every bit of you

I see who you are

Bjork - "I See Who You Are"

Say my name, say my name

2007-08-14T17:57:00.000-07:00

It has been said time and again that humans love to hear the sound of their own name. Every single time you hear your own name spoken aloud, aside from the cerebral aspect of your brain activity notably increasing, it is a tiny confirmation that you exist. You are real, you matter, you are recognized, accepted, loved, missed. You belong in and to this giant universe and somehow you are relevant because you've been given your very own identity to be so.

We long to matter.

We long to be significant (even if only to one person, ever).

There is a scene in the movie "Shall We Dance" (I haven't seen the whole film, but) the speech that Susan Sarandon's character gives is quite lovely:

"We need a witness to our lives. There's a billion people on the planet... I mean, what does any one life really mean? But in a marriage, you're promising to care about everything. The good things, the bad things, the terrible things, the mundane things... all of it, all of the time, every day. You're saying, 'Your life will not go unnoticed because I will notice it. Your life will not go un-witnessed because I will be your witness'. "

We also seem to long for a witness.

To witness what, though?

It seems it's not so much the big events in our lives as the little, seemingly insignificant ones from which we draw our sense of belonging. And honestly, how many big events are there, really? Is it not the thousands of lesser moments that do just as much to shape our life into being? It is small moments such as these for which we seek even the tiniest bit acknowledgement or recognition.

Go out and visit or call someone you really care about today. First, don't ever assume that they know anything about how you feel about them. And even if you're not the most openly mushy or complimentary person in the world, just say their name...remind them that they are real and that you're happy they exist.

Ancient Chinese Secret

2007-07-24T01:06:00.000-07:00

I was leaving a friend's house the other morning and decided to detour into Chinatown on my way back home to find myself an herbalist and have him mix me up a little remedy. While I feel I cleansed myself physically and mentally while in Hawaii, I just couldn't help but think that I might benefit from a nice concoction made from some leaves and twigs and random indigenous Chinese shrubbery.

I walked into the first place whose sign I could actually read. "Herbs". Sounds like a good start. I looked around as I made my way to the pharmacist-looking lady behind the counter. I noticed some interesting items available for purchase in this "herbs" store. Scary looking mushrooms, scary looking dried out fish that still had their heads but their eyeballs were poked out. As I rounded the corner of one glass case, I saw a plastic bin full of very crispy...seahorses. This made me sad, I really like seahorses. Of all the oddities inhabiting the alien world I call 'the ocean', I deem seahorses as one of the most peculiar looking creatures and quite possibly my favorite. There was no turning back now though, I wasn't leaving this place without a bag full of creepy stuff.

The pharmacist pointed me in the direction of the herbalist, he talked to me for a few minutes in something that resembled English. He made me stick out my tongue or at least that's what I think he said. He looked at me funny, this may have been because he noticed something strange with the condition of my tongue or because he had no idea what this seemingly nice Caucasian girl was doing. He wrote out my "prescription" with a bunch of Chinese characters and I prayed that none of them said "eye of newt" or "crunchy, dried-up seahorse". As I handed the paper over to the pharmacist, I watched her carefully as she opened her apothecary drawers and weighed out each ingredient for the 'tea' I was later going to brew at home. I didn't see any horse heads going into the bags, so I was somewhat relieved. I did however realize that I wasn't quite sure what a newt even is, so how would I know if it's eye were in my bag. How big is a newt? What do you suppose its eye tastes like? And is brewing this mixture going to require the use of a cauldron? I do not own one of these.

I couldn't help but think that as they smiled at me and said have a nice day, that they were really thinking, "Sucker!" But, hey what did I have to lose? And how bad could it really be? During my stay in Peru, I ate alpaca and alligator and jungle rat and ants for God's sake! Not to mention drinking that horrid Ayahuasca. This was going to be a piece of cake.

A piece of bitter, nasty, smelly, putrid cake to be precise. I was afraid to look too closely at the bits and pieces that I poured into the pot. A pot that I'm now fairly sure I will never use again, by the way. If I had already convinced myself that there were no equine looking animals in my medicine, then I'd rather just keep thinking that and not inspect anything too closely until it was boiled into a state of completely unrecognizable. So the tea tastes like shit. And I have to drink it twice a day. I gag just thinking about it because it has a similar taste to the Ayahuasca. Not quite as bitter or lingering, thankfully, but still bad enough to make my heart start palpitating when I even think about dosing myself. I've only drank it for 6 days, I have about 4 more to go. Unless, of course, it is decided - presumably when I think I am being asked to stick my tongue out again – that I should take home an additional potion, or a different one for that matter. I am willing to accept this "challenge", just quietly hoping that I don't have to consume anything that once had a face. We'll see.

I'm Halfway Home

2007-05-19T03:11:00.000-07:00

This Wednesday was our official halfway point. It has also been my darkest thus far. I have cried and struggled with my mind, my emotions, my physical strength (or lack there of), my uterus (I'm sure some ladies out there can sympathize with the tiredness and unbearable pain that graces us once a month. Try dealing with it through 990 minutes of yoga in a week.) I have prayed for death several times with the utmost sincerity. Bikram often says something like "Don't worry, you're not going to die. You're not so lucky to die so soon." I challenge that statement. He also says if you die doing yoga you go straight to heaven. We'll see.

They've turned up the heat in the room and people are dropping like flies. It's almost funny. I said almost. It's like a giant game of Whack-a-Mole, one second someone is standing there, the next second...they're gone. I've been one of them…I've had to sit down quite often in the last few days, I'm not sure I have the words to explain what exactly happens while I lose my mind. Fatigue takes over, my brain feels like it's yanked itself out of my head - through my ear - and is crawling toward the nearest exit to get a single breath of air and I just sit there and watch it like a bad acid trip because I'm too exhausted to do anything else. The scary thing is, I've felt pretty good and have been taking care to eat and drink well, and I'm a pretty healthy person. I'm blaming the extra difficulty in coping on Aunt Flo's bad timing. Back home, when I was feeling the effects of PMS, I simply wouldn't go to class, because that was the logical, intelligent choice. Here, there is no choice. You go to class. Period. Pardon the horrible pun. You have a sucky class, but you go to class nonetheless. You also do not leave the room. Even if you have to lay down on your mat the whole time because you just don't have the strength, you lay there, sweating, crying, cursing, wimpering. You don't leave the room. (Two acceptable excuses for leaving the room: puking and pooping.)

I suffered the effects of loss of minerals and/or dehydration this morning (Thursday), my body began cramping up in the middle of the night. My feet, my calves, the muscles around my ribs and torso. Every time I moved, another cramp would try to paralyze me. I didn't sleep a wink. I decided in the morning that I didn't want to end up in the hospital, so I chose to speak to one of the instructors and we decided that I would not attend the morning class. Sometimes you just have to heed the red flags that go up. Another woman in our class was taken to the hospital earlier in the week for dehydration, she stays in the room next to ours, I wasn't around when the ambulance came to get her, but my roommate said it was pretty gnarly…she was severely cramped up from head to toe, almost unable to function. It was because of her that I paid a little more attention to my own symptoms and decided to err on the side of caution.

By next week, the heat is supposed to be near unbearable temperature, I hope that I am back to full strength before then. I pray.

Physically and mentally, this is the most difficult thing I've ever done. Some people seemed to be less fazed by it, some more. There is quite a variety of roller coasters rides here at the torture chamber, with only one theme in common – you have no fucking clue which one you've just sat your ass down on. It might be bumper cars, it might be spinning tea cups or it might be that one that flips you around and loop-d-loop, while you're sitting upside down and backwards and doesn't stop until you throw up at least four times.

I thought I could do anything after I jumped out of an airplane a few months ago. After I get through this, I will be able to reclaim that statement for real.

I've noticed more and more over this past week that people are starting to miss/crave human contact. Although we are just inches away from each of our 305 other classmates (yes, we lost a few) most of the day, many of us are away from loved ones, husbands, wives, kids, cats and are missing healing and compassionate human touch. This week in our final savasana it wasn't a surprise at all that you would be laying there with your eyes closed and the person next to you would just grab your hand and hold it. It happened to me twice and I initiated it once. Our posture clinics are becoming a triage of sorts, sorting victims, providing the necessary attention – foot and hand massages – to relieve the cramping and soreness and pain. And just to feel someone's empathetic hands on your pathetic feeling body.

Although this is our halfway point, week six is supposed to be the pinnacle of this whole training…I can't even think about it right now. I've found myself saying things like "one day at a time"…12 step program.

This Sunday brings a well deserved break, scuba diving and surfing…and not one single thought about yoga. Right.

(By the way, if you ever find yourself in New York, go to John Salvatore's Bikram yoga class. Even if you hate yoga and you never plan on doing it again…it is worth the experience to be in the same room as this man. He is by far the most hilarious person I have ever had the pleasure of meeting and such an incredible teacher.)

Bootcamp for the Soul

2007-05-13T14:41:00.000-07:00

I was prepared for the physical nature of this yogic exploration, but the exposure and wringing out – literally and figuratively - of the deepest, darkest places in my soul have been somewhat unexpected, at least in their intensity.

Week 3 was too busy to write, I jotted a few notes of things I wanted to say at a later time, when I actually HAD time and the next thing I knew the week was over. Time is going very quickly as we are kept extremely busy. The days all blend together in a Ground Hog Day kind of sense, you can't help but laugh at the monotony of some of it. Get up, do yoga, eat, do posture clinic, do yoga again, eat, do more posture clinic, sleep. Lather. Rinse. Repeat. I can't remember whom I spoke with on which day, whom I've met before and whom I haven't (all of us still don't even know each other and aren't entirely sure when we pass someone smiling at us on the street, if it's because they are in our class or if they're just friendly).

Things I've noticed in the last couple of weeks:

Some women are completely clueless to the fact that the very short shorts they wear during practice, shows a little more of their anatomy then they might prefer to reveal. I have seen so much pussy in the last 4 weeks, I don't even know what to say. (A note to guys who want a cheap thrill, take a Bikram yoga class.)

There are so many people who haven't a clue what the words respect and discipline mean. It's sad. And frustrating. But, I don't have patience, so I guess this is my path to learning it by dealing with some of the ill-mannered, undisciplined people in this class.

I'm having really crazy, extremely vivid dreams every night. They tend to be completely nonsensical by the time I'm conscious and am thinking back on them, but during my slumber, they seem so real and practically 3-dimensional. The only other times I've had dreams this dramatic is when I've been experimenting in the expansion of my mind by alternative and/or commonly prohibited means. This yoga is a trip.

I run the risk of sounding like I've gone completely schizophrenic, but I'll say it anyway, just the other night as I was dozing off, I swear to God, I heard a voice, as clear as day, shout out my name with such exclamation it was as though they had been looking for me for days or weeks even and finally just bumped into me on the street unexpectedly. Only this street was some astral plane somewhere in the cosmos. I hesitate to say I heard it inside my head, because that does sound crazy and it's not at all what it felt like, it was just there in my altered state of consciousness. I was so surprised by it that I feel I was jarred from that place or space, so unfortunately I didn't hear anything else. But, with as tripped-out as I've been feeling lately, hopefully I'll manage to have another astral encounter again soon. Have I already mentioned that this yoga is a trip?

I've become hooked on the coconut ice cream at a local ice cream shop. They open at 6:30 am and close at 11:00, this is great news for me and my schedule.

There was finally a memorial for Don Ho, I didn't go, but I heard it was nice.

I just learned that box jellyfish infest the shores about 7 days after a full moon, leading warnings to be posted for the beach bound. I still have not found out why they do so, but I find it quite fascinating nonetheless because apparently you can set a watch to their timeliness. Weird.

Quieting the mind is one of the most difficult tasks to accomplish. I am a wanderer. During yoga, mostly because we're doing it so damn much of it, I find myself thinking about an array of different things. Food, the ocean, whose fart it is that's stinking up the room and what the hell they could have possibly eaten for dinner, music, sex. Sex is a pretty dominant thought on the wandering days. Well, I'll be honest, sex is a dominant thought most days for me, yoga or no yoga. I consider myself to be a very sexual person. I like it and I'm not going to pretend I don't. I'm not slutty, not just anyone gets invited in to my personal space. Why I'm thinking about it so much here, who knows, maybe it's because it's been so long, maybe it's because I'm constantly twisting and turning myself into funny little positions that make me think back to earlier, enjoyable times when I was doing kind of the same stuff … only naked … except maybe for a pair of knee socks, just for fun.

Sigh.

But back to quieting the mind. It is said that humans have anywhere from 12,000 to 50,000 thoughts per day. No wonder it's hard to quiet that shit down. Not to be misunderstood, I like my thoughts, but boy is it hard to shut them off when you just want a little moment, even 20 seconds in Savasana, of silence. Nothingness. Peace. Calm. I never realized how much I drift, until I tried not to think for 20 solid seconds. They often say that Savasana is the hardest posture, because humans tend to find such difficulty in attempting to still not only their body during those short moments, but also their mind.

My body is getting so stiff that my postures are getting worse. This was to be expected, but it's still frustrating. Many of us are worse than beginning students right now since our hamstrings seem to have turned into concrete blocks and our flexibility has become non-existent. My arms feel like they are going to snap off at the shoulders during half moon pose and I'll be left standing there like the Venus de Milo in hot pants. From what I understand, there is no breakthrough point during the training, pretty much everyone's practice is going to continue to suck until the end of the 9 weeks and only after we leave and begin to conduct our practice in a more normal manner do we see the progress we've actually made. This I cannot wait to see.

There are so many more things to write, but as usual, my mind is beginning to wander and I'm feeling quite lethargic today – today's class was the first one in which I wasn't bouncing off the walls afterward – so I'm off to an astral plane to quiet my mind, maybe collide with some cosmic mind and have some mind blowing sex since I can't get it any other way right now. (Aside from drugs, alcohol and cigarettes being forbidden during this time, sex is a no-no as well.)

Sigh.

We are all millionaires

2007-04-28T20:07:00.000-07:00

It's the end of week two (of nine) Bikram Teacher Training and it's as though the first seven days didn't even exist since they were so different, so far away from the changes that have already presented themselves in days eight through fourteen.

My body is experiencing some serious pain. The pain likes to travel, go figure, just like me. My horrible knees from 6 years of basketball are strengthening, but of course they are letting me know how much they dislike the process. Today, however, I was able to do standing head to knee, full on, the entire posture, beginning to end. (I haven't been able to do it once since I got to Hawaii for some reason.) My right hip hurts so badly that it is keeping me from doing triangle, which is frustrating the hell out of me, because although there are many in this class of 311 people who sit out of more than a few postures, I don't want that to be me. But, I've had to tell my foolishly stubborn side to take it easy and let myself heal before really fucking things up for myself. I somehow seem to forget that I have 7 more weeks of this.

7 weeks. It's funny. During our first 3 days here, many of us felt like we had been here for 3 weeks with all the commotion and adjustments being made. Now, I feel it was just three days ago that I was thinking about how I had 9 weeks ahead of me. Time is a funny thing.

My days have been long, we wake up no later than 7:30 am, go all day, sometimes until midnight or 1 am. We have two breaks in the day that are roughly about 45 minutes to an hour (by the time you get out of the class, up the crowded elevator – or stairs when you're really impatient - and up to your room) in which time you have to shower, eat, wash clothes, prepare for your next class and possibly even start making something to eat for your second break just because you have an extra 6 minutes that day. Anyone who has called me, know that this is why it is damn near impossible for me to talk during the week. Unless of course you are up around 3 or 4 am Pacific Standard Time, in which case I would LOVE to talk as this is about the hour that my insomnia takes over and I would love to hear your beautiful voice.

On the days we plan ahead, which is most days now that we're getting our routine down, a handful of us sprint to the ocean right after our morning class. More students are starting to catch on, what has taken them so long, I have no idea. Maybe because we insist that they are crazy to miss out on such a reward after a tough class. We don't have much time, but as I said, if you've planned well, you can be out there for a good half an hour at least. The salt water is so good for sore muscles and ironically, because of our limited time, we find ourselves even more grateful for every grain of sand we step on along the way, every wave that hits our aching bodies and every drop of sunshine that reminds us that no matter how fucking hard this is, we're in Hawaii. It is so true that you indeed do not appreciate things if they are simply handed over to you. You cherish and value everything much more when you've had to work for it. And if you've had to bust your ass for it…there's no describing how invaluable that thing, whatever it may be, becomes to you.

I can already see physical changes in my body, in just two weeks. I ran my hand across my abdomen while waiting in line, just sort of unconsciously and I didn't even recognize that it was me I was touching. I have the beginnings of what may be growing into a six pack. Another bonus is the fact that I can eat whatever I want. I eat pretty healthy as it is as I've never been a fan of fast food and all that, but I have always been a sweets whore and I justify my cravings for chocolate and cookies and ice cream even more now. I can honestly say that it is pure satisfaction to eat a decadent chocolate mousse cake something-or- another with ice cream and not even think for a moment that it's bad for me. I'm eating an ice cream sandwich as I type this…if you could see my smile you would see it covered in edible, chocolaty sweaters. One sad food note, the imported avocados are $3.50 each. And the locally grown ones are just not as good. I miss California avocados. The best ones I've had back home were the ones I've picked myself. Another testament to the "things are always better when you've had to work for them" philosophy.

I find this whole experience to be strangely parallel to my Ayahuasca adventure last year. Many of us have been drawn to this, as if by some invisible force, many of us started this journey to be healed in some way, be it physically, mentally, emotionally or all of the above. There are people here from all over the world, with many different motivations and life stories. Not at all unlike the very different, yet exactly alike group of strangers I met in Peru. Even the aesthetics of our practice/ceremonial area has similarities. Everyone is to take off their shoes before entering the room. Not only to protect the carpet, but as a sign of respect. We sit on the floor as we listen intently to our Guru, just as we did with our Shaman in the jungle. We never fail to show our gratitude for the gift of his time and knowledge and compassion that he so generously gives to us…(of course we've paid him, but that's besides the point.)

Aside from the physical challenge, which is intense for me, but not totally unbearable – YET - I am being challenged mentally and emotionally as well. I have shed a few tears in class, not big deal it's happened before, and it is expected to happen to many of us. Last night's class was especially emotional for me. As usual, I'm never quite sure why the tears come, but it's such a nice release. I welcome it. The instructors have told us several times that we will hit a wall or some form of 'rock bottom' in the weeks to come – somewhere around week four or five, they say. It's a little disheartening to hear this considering that we all seem to be at a high point currently, feeling sore, but accomplished and positive in our outlook of the near future. It could be likely that next time I write, I will be depressed and beat, angry or frustrated or God only knows what.

Though I've never experienced a 12 step program, I get this feeling like this is the boot camp version of one. As a matter of fact, there are many people here who have openly admitted the horrible addictions they have suffered, and the only reprieve and viable cure they have found is Bikram Yoga. Go figure. I find myself wanting to right all my wrongs, even ones that have long been forgotten, because somehow Bikram makes them resurface (because they never really go away…you hold on to everything, whether you intend to or not. Everything. Coincidentally, I've been told by several instructors that people hold deep-rooted emotional pain in their hips. Funny that my right one is killing me.)

I find I want to say I love you to every single person in my life. Especially those I've neglected to tell recently. And those I haven't talked to in quite some time. I find that I can't wait to truly reconcile the lingering misunderstandings or arguments or just plain old stupid reasons that have made me grow apart from some very special people in my life. And boy, does this make you realize that pretty much every reason is a stupid reason to lose touch with someone you love. And boy, does this make you realize how much you love. And how much you love to love. And how much love you have to give. And the millions of ways there are to give it. And how unbelievably grateful you are to be able to do so. Without even a remote risk of ever running out of it. An endless, eternal supply, at your fingertips, whenever you wish. God, we are all millionaires, to have this something…that costs absolutely nothing…yet is beyond priceless.

I have no idea what the next few weeks have in store for me, but the intensity of the feelings that have grown, re-emerged from somewhere deep down inside, appeared out of nowhere, blown up like fireworks right in front of me are nothing short of mind-blowing. I like having my mind blown. A lot.

Aloha and Maholo

2007-04-09T17:14:00.000-07:00

I have been given a few lovely bon voyage gifts by a few lovely human beings and I am just overwhelmed at the generosity and thoughtfulness of my dear friends.

One gift is a book called Ever Wonder? by Kobi Yamada. It is a poignant little book filled with questions meant to…well…make you wonder. I wanted to share some of my favorite ones. If any of them happen to make you wonder, maybe take a moment to really answer them.

When was the last time you did something for the first time?

What do you pack to pursue a dream, what do you leave behind?

When will you ever have more time than you do right now?

What are five things you value most in life?

What is the one thing you think of that always makes you smile?

Can you really be brave if you've only had wonderful things happen to you?

If what's in your dreams wasn't already inside of you, how could you even dream it?

Do you know that you know far more than you know you know?

What good has worrying ever done?

Where do you draw the line between possible and impossible?

How do you want to be remembered?

What makes something beautiful?

Are you the type of person with whom you would like to spend the rest of your life?

Are you making new mistakes, or the same old ones?

If you had five minutes to live, who would you call? And why are you waiting?

Aloha and Mahalo until June 16th, I will miss each and every one of you. I hope to see you when I come back ripped and cut and tanned. Or dead.

Ode to Penny

2007-04-02T14:17:00.000-07:00

For anyone who's not old enough to remember, Penny was a claymation character on Pee Wee's Playhouse who had pennies for eyes and would just ramble on and on about random stuff that most of the time didn't really go together or make much sense. This might be why I liked her so much. She also did a PSA spot on drugs. She would say things like:

Hamsters are good.
Pizza is good.
Drugs are bad.

Short and simple, but so sincere as though it was coming from the bottom of her Play-doh filled heart. Unfortunately, her anti-drug campaign apparently had zero effect on me since it's fair to say I've indulged in my share of recreational amusements. Whoever created Penny was probably guilty of placing a few squares on his tongue too, so thanks anyway, Penny. But I always seem to recall her funny little way of saying things. She came up twice this weekend, so this is my ode to Penny. From the bottom of my Play-doh filled heart.

Love is good.
Friends are good.
Fair-weather friends are bad.

Integrity is good.
Sharing is good.
Desire is good.
Insatiable is bad.

Crushes are good.
Vegetables are good.
Feeding the soul is good.
Feeding the ego is bad.

Yoga is good.
Hawaii is good.
Not taking the kitties to Hawaii is bad.

Breakfast is good.
Breakfast in bed is good.
Spilling breakfast in bed is bad.
Clean sheets are good.
Cold pillows are good.
Cold feet are bad.

Hugs are good.
Kisses are good.
Saying goodbye is bad.

Skydiving is good.
Parachutes that open are good.
Parachutes that don't are bad.
Heroes are good.
Winks are good.
Smiles are good.
Frowns are bad.
Laughing is good.
Laughing uncontrollably is good.
Chocolate is good.
Strawberries are good.
Strawberries in your teeth are bad.
An excellent dinner made for you is good.
Great company is good.
Wine is good.
Music is good.
Pictures are good.
Books are good.
Phone calls are good.
Trader Joe's is good.
Recycling is good.
Saying thank you is good.
Walks are good.
Holding hands is good.
Kisses on the forehead are good.
Sleeping in is good.
Spooning is good.
Loving is good.
Being loved is good.
Being good is good.
Forgetting to be grateful for even the teeny things is bad.
Remembering that bad things don't have the power to last very long and that lovely things always live on in your heart is good.

What do the Stock Market and a mattress have in common?

2007-03-30T00:07:00.000-07:00

Inspired by a conversation I had this evening with a male friend of mine, I've summed up how women feel about sex and men in three sentences:

Women are sexual creatures, just like men, we love sex, we really do.

We are also, however, instinctively built to be investors of our, let's just call it, time.

In other words, if you don't show promise of future, prospective growth and the best return on my investment, then logically, there is no reason for me to continue contributing my (ahem)…talents.

The difference between being and adult and being a grown up

2007-03-05T13:08:00.000-08:00

The day I turned 31, I had an interesting realization. Interesting only for the fact that I had uncovered this consciousness at 31 years of age. On that day, I remember it distinctly, I officially became fully aware of my mortality. It was the first time ever that I truly grasped the fact that one day I was going to die. I'd thought about death before, tried to imagine my own and how it was going to happen. Much like Emma Thompson's character in Stranger than Fiction, as she insists, we all do it. But it was just that, imagination, it didn't feel real. I don't know why it hit me that day, there are probably a number of things that finally came together in just the right way to make me 'get it', but I do know that everything changed in that instant. While I had been an adult for quite some time, choronologically speaking, it was that day in December that I finally felt I had grown up. I remembered thinking, I'm 31 there's no denying shit anymore, there's no pointing fingers or placing blame or stomping my feet and throwing a tantrum when things don't go my way. I have to be accountable for me. I'm not just an adult anymore, I am a grown-up!

I also realized the vast difference between the two.

As an adult, I can:
drive
vote
drink
get married
get a credit card

As a grown up:

I can handle uncomfortable circumstances with tact, decency and maturity. I don't run from awkward situations because I'm afraid of conflict. That's life, that's human interaction…that's what is so beautiful about the fact that we get to mingle with one another in the first place.

I can realize that sometimes things are going to be wonderful and perfect, other times they are not. As a grown-up, I realize that those imperfect times are not my cue to put up my defenses or simply act like I don't care.

I can argue like a grown up. I don't feel the need to be short with someone to avoid the confrontation, I don't feel I have to be unpleasant or mean to them just because we're having a disagreement.

I can hold people accountable for their actions. If you've done something shitty, I'm going to call you out on it. Why shouldn't I? It's how you grow as a person.

I can hold myself accountable for my actions. If I've done something shitty, I know it, so there's no sense in me denying it. And you should call me out on it too. It's how I grow as a person.

I can let go of my ridiculous hypocrisies. Just because you project something on the outside, if you're not sincerely practicing it at home, ALL the time, you're nothing more than a fraud.

I can tell you how I feel and if you don't feel the same, I will not falter and change my mind just to falsely protect myself.

I can have enough love and respect for you to look you in the face and tell you the worst truth rather than the best lie.

The Kingdom of Heaven

2007-02-22T23:27:00.000-08:00

From a religious aspect, there are hundreds and hundreds of interpretations of "Heaven". While the, let's call them minor, details of whether the corner of the cosmos reserved for Heaven is flowing with milk and honey or brimming with indescribably beautiful flowers and jeweled trees or 72 naked virgins can be argued or rearranged or misunderstood, the fact that every version seems to share some unmistakably common and extremely pertinent points is quite promising actually. No suffering, no hunger, utter happiness, complete bliss. The list goes on. Oddly enough, even the extreme ends of organized religion have a version of heaven that highlights some form of unity, contentment and peace. But do we really have access to it only after we die? If heaven is so great, then why would we have to spend a lifetime waiting for it?

I saw heaven the other day.

No death or near-death experience required. It was right there, I could touch it and talk to it and even take a picture of it. Why? Because it was distinctly all around me. It was in the gesture of a man who woke up early to make an amazing breakfast for all of his friends. It was in the laughter that danced around the table as everyone gave thanks and then enjoyed a good meal. It was in the smile of a girl who along with sugar and flour, baked a whole lot of love into the cupcakes she had made. It was in the twinkle in his eye when he brought her something sweet because he knows that chocolate is her favorite. It was in the gaze of two people who finally acknowledged a long, unspoken connection. It was everywhere, day and night, in whispers and giggles, in hot cups of tea and bowls of guacamole, in blankets and socks and warm, cozy fires. And it was beautiful.

I watched a group of people care for one another, look out for one another, pick up after one another, applaud one another. Without any motive, without expecting anything in return, yet in my opinion, we all received so much more. It's so unbelievably easy that it's almost hard to conceive, I've realized. Heaven isn't a place we should all be waiting - and dying - to see...I was raised Catholic. (Dying to see if it actually exists.) Heaven exists because we make it. Right here, right now. All of those ideas put forth by religion can so easily be practiced, in a literal and earthly sense, daily. Create, be and nurture whatever your idea of heaven is…here on earth. It's so simple. We've all heard the notions and dreams of what heaven might be like. What about knowing exactly what it's like?

Heaven

noun

1. The expanse of space that seems to be over the earth like a dome.

2. A spiritual state of everlasting communion with God.

3. A place or condition of utmost happiness.

4. The abode of God, the angels, and the spirits of the righteous after death; the place or state of existence of the blessed after the mortal life.

If you ask me, those first three sound pretty close to the place I'm sitting right now. And the 4th one, if there's more of this after I die, bring it on.

Letters arranged into words never spoken

2007-02-14T12:11:00.000-08:00

Words gathered together
in a letter
never
sent.

To the one I secretly admire,

I have always thought of myself as an educated and well-spoken human being, yet when you walk into a room, I turn into this perfect, bumbling idiot. I watch you walk in my direction and suddenly I cannot speak. I can't catch my breath when you're standing too close to me sometimes. God forbid any part of you should so much as graze any part of me as you walk passed. It is then I am rendered completely useless.

There are so many things I long to tell you, yet I continue, as I have for more days than I can remember, to shelter my thoughts of you. My cowardice prevails time and again, concealing evidence that I might possess an ounce of courage with which I could reveal even one affection I hold for you.

If I could pretend for a moment that I was unafraid, I would express my respect for your brilliance and your generous nature. If I were brave, I would whisper in your ear that I find you incredibly sexy. And hysterically funny. And admirably kind. I would draw you a picture of your immensely big heart along with a note saying I could never grow tired of just looking at your face.

I think of you. Often.

Gutlessly yours,

Alexis

Happy Valentine's Day...or something.

2007-02-14T00:29:00.000-08:00

"Valentine's schmalentines. Bah humbug."

~Alexis Fedorowych

"The world as a whole has forgotten the real meaning of the word love. Love has been so abused and crucified by man that very few people know what true love is. Just as oil is present in every part of the olive, so love permeates every part of creation. But to define love is very difficult, for the same reason that words cannot fully describe the flavor of an orange. You have to taste the fruit to know its flavor. So with love."

~Paramahansa Yogananda

Second Life...

2007-02-10T01:10:00.000-08:00

This gives a whole new meaning to the words Virtual Reality.

Second Life

This might be the craziest thing I have witnessed in my life thus far. Second Life is a virtual world, similar to the Sims video game, but then again…nothing at all like it! (By the way, I’m not a video gamer in any way, shape or form, but I know the premise of the Sims games). Be a character, build a city, theme park, whatever…entertain yourself, work, basically engage yourself in virtual world for however long you feel it necessary to keep yourself away from those 3 dimensional people called...humans.

Second life, is literally what its name states. You are creating your own second life in a virtual setting, however just like in the real world, the smarter you are and the more you prosper, the more money you stand to make. Wait. You actually make money? Yes. The virtual world of Second Life has its own economy – it is based on the Linden dollar. As Linden dollars are spent, let’s say in your virtual guitar shop, they are exchanged into real American dollars. You earn money for some virtual character walking his virtual ass into your store and dropping 100,000 Linden’s on a custom guitar. Let me remind you that this guitar doesn’t even have to actually exist. Out of curiosity, I checked the website for the exchange rate for today: L$267/US$1.00

Does anyone else find this absolutely genius and altogether terrifying?

You create a pretend, non-existent, 3-D avatar, buy a pretend, non-existent parcel of virtual land, start a pretend, non-existent business or build a make believe cottage, make an imaginary product or sell a fictional service. Buy…sell…trade! In all actuality, these products or services you made up CAN exist for sale in the real world as well, as you retain your Intellectual Property rights over anything you create, but that’s just too much to get into at this late hour and my head already feels like it’s going to explode. Current enterprising SL residents (of which there are 3,414,980 - in case you were wondering if this was HUGE or not) have founded and currently run such businesses as tattoo artist, wedding planner, private detective, bodyguard, aerospace engineer, hug maker – I had to include that one because it’s just too awesome - and the list goes on and on. You can literally do or make or sell absolutely anything.

I don’t know who has time to start and run a business in computer land, as it makes me wonder what they are doing at their real life job, however…there is evidence that some successful business owners “in-world”, as they refer to it, are making thousands of dollars – a day.

I have no idea where I’ve been, obviously living under a rock somewhere...as I’m just learning about this from a friend of mine at 2:00 in the morning, but it’s been around since 2003 and quite obviously thriving. And here I thought I was ahead of the game because I had already watched The Secret before it was featured on Oprah today. :) So now, not only do I have the demands of thriving in the land of people who breathe, I now have to concern myself with my virtual success in a world where the selling point of the home I’m about to buy is that it was once owned by Lara Croft.

Oh the pressure, it’s just too much.

There's this one moment...

2007-02-07T15:07:00.000-08:00

...in the middle of the night, in a teeny, little place between wake and sleep, that I wish I could stop time. Right there. It's my favorite time. The curtains are drawn, but you can tell it's still dark outside, completely silent. No cars, no creaks, no birds. It's as though God pushed the mute button so that if you happen to stir during this fleeting moment, you can experience actual peace and quiet. I wake here quite often. There are some days I realize and appreciate (and move closer to) the warm body lying next to me in this split second of silence…and I smile in the dark and close my eyes, willing time to stop right there.

But more often than not, it's just me awakening to complete consciousness and becoming slightly bothered by the realization that I have to pee.

Naturally, I muster the energy to get up and shuffle myself to the toilet. For the better part of 7 years, I have lived alone (aside from the cats). For the better part of those 7 years, I have not flushed the toilet in the middle of the night, just because I peed…I am a subscriber to the whole "if it's yellow, let it mellow" theory. Seriously, it's just pee. And if you're a girl, a little bit of toilet paper. No need to waste all that water for an ounce or two of sterile, albeit slightly yellow, liquid to be flushed out of the bowl. Did you know that your pee is sterile? Did you know that soldiers have been known to use urine to clean wounds in times of desperation? The fact is, you're probably spreading more germs by touching the handle TO flush rather than just ignoring the pee in the bowl and running back to bed to try and get the moment back.

But lately, for me, a small dilemma has presented itself. See, there's this cat that has lived with me for 13 years, who has decided, and increasingly so in the last 2 years, that she cannot drink from her cat bowl of water. No. This is not suitable for her. She must drink from the toilet bowl of water. Therefore, she waits, sometimes rather impatiently, for me to…er, finish, then she slips in and watches while the magic bowl serves up what she considers to be suitable and, more importantly, preferable drinking water.

(I've asked a few vets about this peculiar behavior and as it turns out it's not entirely peculiar. Some cats like 'running' water better, no matter that you were running to that same bowl just a few minutes before to relieve yourself. The consensus from the docs has been, either let her drink out of it - or - shut the lid.) Shut the lid. Have you met my cat? This cat does not meow, she waahs. Some friends of mine swear that she also emits a sound that resembles the word 'Mom' being whined by a two year old who is not getting the attention she thinks she deserves. I have shut the lid. I have shut the lid while I've been on the phone with customer service people and they have said to me, on several occasions, something to the effect of, "Ma'am, do you need to put the phone down to get your baby?" They believe there is an infant - CRYING - in the background in my house (not to mention the fact that they think I'm ignoring it). Shutting the lid is not an option. I know now why parents cave to the kid throwing a tantrum at the store. You just want them to shut up. Plus, tantrum or not, this is the cat that plants herself under my arm, resting her head in the same spot a girl might rest her head on the shoulder of a boy she likes…and then purrs me to sleep, every night. She has me totally whipped.

I bought her, especially for her… one of those cat fountains that keeps the water running constantly, as a gesture to keep her happy and frankly, out of the toilet. I think I actually saw her roll her eyes and shake her head when I brought it home.

So back to the dilemma, I have always been a light turner-offer (thanks mom…good habits start young). I don't leave the water running when I brush my teeth, I recycle my bags and bottles. Since I do my part in these other areas, can I just let go of the fact that I have to flush for the sake of quenching the cat's thirst? Do I have to feel guilty about this? I do have those low water yielding toilets in my place, which use about a third of the amount of water in a conventional toilet tank…which is nice, but...

Two part dilemma.

If you're a mellow yellow person and you're at someone else's house and it's the middle of the night when you have to pee…is it acceptable to not flush?

A study in human behavior on The Master Cleanse

2007-01-31T02:43:00.000-08:00

This weekend, three of my friends decided to commit themselves to the world famous Master Cleanse, a fast consisting of absolutely zero food and drinking a mixture of water, maple syrup, lemon juice and cayenne pepper. Since they are all residing under one roof, they could easily be each other's support system if any one of them began to have any doubts about their deliberate choice to starve themselves for 10 days straight.

Concoctions were mixed, lemons were juiced, charts were made to log their progress. There were even stars that came in the form of stickers to be displayed proudly under one's name on the log; motivation by public recognition and praise if you drank your sea salt breakfast, some ridiculous number of ounces of your maple syrup punch and took a few healthy poops (or peed out of your butt, whichever came first). This commitment was ON.

As a food-consuming spectator to this fasting folly, I have never in my life witnessed so much hilarity revolving around things that could be eaten. Edible or not. As they rounded the corner of only their sixth hour on the fast, the participants were already daring themselves to imagine what kind of desperation they might face in the days to come and what exactly would constitute 'cheating'. "A pencil…does a pencil count? What if I ate a pencil?" One contender went so far as to stomp on a perfectly good avocado because he knew that if he didn't, he surely would have eaten it.

I spent time with each of the participants throughout the weekend; sometimes one-on-one, sometimes in pairs, sometimes all three of them together. This proved to be positively enlightening in the ways of human behavior. The group conversation, quite predictably and without fail, became about food. Someone could be talking about roof shingles and three seconds later it turned into how awesome it would be to eat a burrito. In the one-on-one conversations, I learned about their favorite foods and the particular cravings they were having at that specific moment. However, the undisputed highlight of my surveillance of these fine creatures, was when I chatted with them in pairs. Any combination of two of them (it didn't matter which two), would result in their immediate suspicion of the 3rd teammate - and soon they would be absolutely convinced that he was somewhere…EATING. Every. single. time.

As it turns out I'm not very good at being supportive, at least not when it comes to starving oneself. When the hunger pangs kicked in and the sincere longing for the ritual and comfort of food was realized, a motherly instinct kicked in and I wanted nothing more than to help my starving friends. When one would teeter on the edge of a breakdown, I wouldn't even try to cheerlead them into sticking to it. I immediately offered up my services as: Accomplice. I offered up spoonfuls of peanut butter when no one was looking. I'd present my arguments on why eating an apple couldn't possibly be considered cheating, it was organic for God's sake! While I was away for a few hours and found that some were resorting to sending me text messages about the unspeakable hunger, I made sure to bring my leftovers back in hopes that I could slip 'em a french fry on the DL. Funny as all of this is, it's pretty intense to see how quickly the body experiences the effects, both physical and habitual, of the absence of food. Their feet dragged with the saddest sound across the floor, one considered locking himself into solitary confinement in his room just to make it through 8 more days, another took to cleaning the kitchen counters…with a toothbrush. Anything to keep his mind occupied.

I left yesterday, I can only imagine the antics that are taking place right now as the saga continues. I'm not getting any text messages, maybe that's a good sign. Or maybe it's just because I'm too far away to be of any help.

I've heard much about this diet over the years though I've never had the motivation to try it myself. But I have seen a few friends try, only to give it up after a day or two. So I sincerely commend them for their effort and pledge to this fast. My only wish is that someone had thought to make a video journal, the raw emotion that comes from three grown men denying themselves even a morsel of food is truly priceless. That and watching how fast they run to the bathroom after drinking their daily 32-ounce dose of salt water. Truly something worth commemorating with moving pictures.

The last 10 minutes...

2007-01-15T02:49:00.000-08:00

...of my thought process.

I've decided:

That of all the varieties of apples, I like Fuji ones the best.

That I am positively moving away from LA. It's been great, but I'm done here.

That I love aloe vera juice. At first I thought it had the flavor of what a mild poison might taste like, but now I love it and find myself craving it.

If guacamole isn't spicy, it almost isn't worth eating. I said ALMOST.

If in 6 months, I'm as happy as I am right now in my yoga classes, I'm going into teacher training.

That in 6 months, if it's possible, I want to be as bendy as this one chick in my class. She is un-freaking-believable.

That I have the world's best couch. And my friend that's been crashing on it thinks so too.

That if I really miss rollerskating as much as I say, I need to go very soon.

That I am so happy to no longer be in my twenties. Without a doubt.

That I love this poignant, well executed line from the movie All the Real Girls.
Paul: "I just want to be sure that a million years from now, I can still see you up close and still have things to say."

That true love isn't just about pretty and perfect, it's about ugly and flawed.

It's about old and feeble and gray and wrinkled.

It's knowing that there's no such thing as perfect and that's what makes him perfect.

It's about helping her to the bathroom when she's 80 and still thinking of her as your girlfriend.

It's having the desire and the courage and the devotion to surrender to the entire experience, not just the storybook stuff.

That I am a big chicken shit and I have one thing I really want to say, but I just don't have the guts.

Blood, Sweat and Tears

2007-01-13T17:06:00.000-08:00

First and foremost, high fives and a slap on the ass to all the guys in my yoga class. I probably shouldn't be, but I am genuinely surprised to see just how many men practice yoga. There were just as many men in my class tonight as women. I don't know what you do with your junk in some of the poses, but God bless you and I hope you don't hurt yourself.

Speaking of hurting oneself, I kicked my nightstand the other night while I was attempting to climb into my bed. My bed sits unusually high off the ground, making it difficult for one of my cats to jump up on the bed and apparently difficult for me too. I have placed a trunk at the end of my bed for kitty to use as a launch pad, I might need to look into some steps or something for myself. Anyway, it happened so fast I couldn't even process what exactly I had done, although I do know I laughed out loud at how it must have looked. It didn't begin to hurt until like 2 minutes after the fact. And it didn't bleed until my yoga class. Who bleeds in yoga? Me.

The sweat is pretty self explanatory. It's hot in the room, it's hard as f*** doing these poses..there's sweat. And it burns like a mother when it gets in your eyes, kinda makes you look like you might be crying.

Unless you actually are, crying that is. Who cries in yoga? Me. In all my years of on and off yoga binging, this has never happened to me. Tonight was the second time it's happened in just one week and I gotta admit, aside from feeling slightly exposed, I kinda liked it. The therapeutic effects of crying in general cannot even be argued, but this is not like sitting down to watch the movie that never fails to start your waterworks. Or grabbing a box of tissues and some candles for chick night with your favorite heart break, sob CD. After laying down for Savasana, the tears that streamed down my face were unstoppable. There was no mistaking it, I was crying. I have no idea what the hell I was crying about, but man it felt good. So good that oddly enough, I actually look forward to it happening again.

I played sports competitively from the time I was in sixth grade. I have had coaches that were like drill sergeants. I cannot count how many sprints, lunges, laps, push-ups and sit-ups I've done; this is harder to me than all of those combined. Well, I was a lot younger then. Never in my life though, did I think that I would actually pay someone to enthusiastically surrender my blood, my sweat and my tears and love every damn second of it.

Round Two of The Naked Truth

2007-01-08T00:08:00.000-08:00

(Ding!)

I found myself in a curious but familiar place recently, which curiously led to getting even more familiar with the anatomy of one stimulating young gentleman. And coincidentally, it was here that round two took place.

(I have to take a moment to clarify the 'how many times' thought process of mine from an earlier blog. It occurred to me that three 'times' was not the most accurate terminology to use, considering that I had made a comment to a trusted confidant a short time ago that certain activities had taken place in the evening as well as in the morning. This, of course, would add up to 2 of the 3 times I had suggested for this extremely precise research I was attempting to conduct. And frankly, I just don't like the way that works out, therefore I amend my terminology to be considered in 'rounds'. A round equaling any consecutive, yet unspecified, amount of time spent under one roof...what happens and how many times it happens in that duration...God bless you. And it still counts as one. I'm allowed to change the rules, it's my experiment.)

And so the observations and interpretations have been logged, in journals that will remain undisclosed. I may talk big sometimes, but when it comes down to it, me and my pajama bottoms are incredibly shy and fiercely private. I know what happened and I'm pretty sure he knows what happened, so there's really no need to expand on the exploits. Well, all right, in technical, laboratory analysis speak - he rocked my world.

As I'm sure it goes without saying, I look forward to a round three, and perhaps by the time it happens, I'll have found a way to justify another modification, maybe just a simple...uh, extension in the parameters of my study in unclothed activities.

Laid....off

2006-12-30T04:21:00.000-08:00

The only good thing about unexpectedly losing your job is concluding that shitty day with the unanticipated loss of your pajama bottoms in tangled up sheets. Naturally, with a very hot, very naked guy lying next to you...who knows just what he's doing. Twice.

The Naked Truth - Addendum

2006-11-14T14:37:00.000-08:00

It appears I may have offended a member of the Y chromosomed community with my last blog. "So, that's it? Just checkin' out the goods and then off you go." (Mind you, this comment was not from anyone whose 'goods' I checked out. We are just friends. Just so this is clear.)

But my answer is this: Of course not, my dear. All joking aside and despite the light-hearted nature of my yammering, it's about more than a hook up...it always is no matter what we (I) try to tell ourselves (myself).

It's really about second chances at missed opportunities. It's about the possibility that that same anticipation will ultimately express something that's been there all along but somehow wasn't ready to reveal itself until that very moment. It's about maintaining a belief that movie love really does exist and that though you were distracted by something or someone else, the one you had longed for had a longing for you just the same. And all it took was something, anything, a question, a thought, a whisper, a giggle, in that time you took to pay attention to your curiosity to turn your whole world around and here you are all sweaty and naked, wondering why it took you so long to get here.

(Cue cheesy music)

The end.

The Naked Truth

2006-11-13T12:37:00.000-08:00

In the few days I have left counting down to my trip to Mexico, I've been doing a lot of thinking. Thinking somewhat forced upon me because of whom it is I'm going to see. While in Peru, I met an interesting fellow who happens to have a notable amount of boyfriend qualities. He is chivalrous and very kind, attentive and affectionate (which every girl loves) without being annoying about it (which every girl loves). He's Latin. Everything they say about them is true. How they can be so innately passionate and get away with saying 'make love' without sounding like the cheesiest bowl of Kraft cheese and macaroni, I will never quite comprehend. If a white bread, American guy EVER said he wanted to make love to me, aside from laughing uncontrollably in his face, it would likely be certain death to our budding relationship or even our budding hook up.

Speaking of hook ups, in light of the aforementioned potential for future relationship development, inevitable girlie conversation has taken place regarding satiating the curiosity of the what-could-have-been, before tying on that chastity belt and taking a walk down Commitment Lane. (And just a note, men may think about sex more often than women, but women undoubtedly talk about it more. I know this much is true.)

And so it was decided that yes, one is indeed warranted a visit to their former (or even current) curiosities, even if simply for curiosity's sake...better now than later, better now than never. Let's be honest, who doesn't wonder what it would be like to bag the crush they've been eyeing for so long. And in my opinion, unresolved, unanswered curiosity can be nothing short of agonizing torture. So why have that...

In addition to the unanimous decision by my lady friends to deem the hook up not only acceptable, but frankly downright necessary, it was decided that in order for this uh...coming together to serve its purpose, it must go down, at the very least, three times.

Why three times, one might wonder. Well, unfortunately, the first time is hardly an accurate or fair gauge for either party, really. I mean, let's face it, first time sex can be amazing, or entirely disastrous. The anticipation of this moment can cloud one's vision as well as one's perceptions as well as one's performance. All this sweaty nakedness has the power to provoke one to call out the names of deities into the darkness, or cause one to ponder what in God's name they're doing there. Even Olympians are given a few chances to achieve their best scores and they're already known to be good at what they do. Besides, if it is fantastic, why the hell wouldn't you want to do it again? Am I right?

Therefore, a second round is a definite must. The pressure is off, the nerves have calmed, neither party can say, "I haven't done this in a while". If by chance it was pretty damn good, but you just didn't get to do that one thing...here's your chance. And, surely a slightly more accurate reading can take place at this juncture.

Lastly and most importantly, for one to conduct scientifically sound research, the third time is most necessary for the sake of calculating...an average...of course.

Ayahuasca in Peru

2006-09-27T14:31:00.000-07:00

Ayahuasca - Iquitos, Peru

The trolley drove us an hour and a half outside of Iquitos, Peru to the Blue Morpho Shaman Camp. The look on everyone's face was exactly the same - excitement mixed with scared senseless. A few people chatted to one another, getting to know the person sitting next to them, not realizing how their acquaintance with that person was going to multiply exponentially over the next nine days. The guy standing next to me asked me why I came to Peru and I told him. I won't even dare say it here, yet I spoke, without hesitation, of my hope to obtain a long sought reprieve by participating in an ancient Ayahuasca ceremony.

Or five ceremonies to be precise.

The camp was breathtaking, lush vegetation, butterflies fluttering everywhere; brick laid paths leading to each bungalow displaying its beautifully hand-thatched roof. No locks on any doors and no windows, only mosquito netting protecting us from the elements. Each bungalow would sleep 6 people, one shower, sans hot water, one toilet and one sink, no doors; a curtain our only form of privacy.

After settling in, 28 strangers gathered for dinner. Along with supper came the continuing curiosity of every person who had found their way to this tour. Everything I'd heard before coming here was repeated in conversation after next as we sat behind checkered tablecloths, trying desperately to predict what tomorrow was really going to be like. "I heard that Ayahuasca doesn't just make you puke, you poop too!" "I heard that you sometimes can't even make it to the bathroom." "Seriously? You shit your pants?" "That's what I heard." "What's your name again? Oh, hi, nice to meet you." This was our 'get acquainted' dinner conversation. If any of us were apprehensive or nervous or downright petrified before, it is only fair to say our fear grew to a horrifying climax by the time our meal had ended.

Before long the light of day began to vanish into the surrounding jungle. Lanterns were lit, one by one, in each room, in every bungalow. Along with no hot water, no electricity. The nightlife began to crescendo into existence. The sounds that came out of the darkness were unreal. Insects zinging like jumping jacks on the Fourth of July. Over-exaggerated drops of water, they came from some bird, I think. One sound was likened to that which a Furby would make or a cartoon cat purring -- mixed with a cartoon zipper. It was my favorite sound; it seemed so lovable and innocent. Turns out the owner of that call was a tarantula. Another favorite was the frogs that sounded like cackling witches. At the time of night when they would begin to laugh, a quiet room full of humans would start to giggle and then eventually laugh hysterically from these contagious little amphibians. They were a welcomed distraction from the fact that we were still scared shitless for tomorrow evening, our first ceremony.

I fell asleep to the jungle concerto, never once having to remind myself that this was the real deal, not a nature sounds CD. I awoke fairly early, but continued to lie in bed for a few more minutes, staring at the ceiling of my heavy-duty mosquito tent. I instinctively checked my appendages for bumps, bites, fang marks, do tarantulas have fangs? I don't know. I seemed to have survived my first night in the jungle. I unzipped myself from my canvas house and made my way toward my group, already hard at work pounding some sort of bark with wooden mallets. As they broke apart the outer bark of the vine, its orangey pulp began to show. This was the main ingredient for our medicinal concoction. Ayahuasca - the sacred vine. I grabbed a mallet and got to work. Four large pots (we're talking witch's cauldron size) sat off to the side, waiting for the Shaman to begin their ritual of offering blessings with mapacho (tobacco) and carefully layering the ayahuasca and numerous other plants, barks and leaves. A large brick stove was then lit, the pots were set in place and there the Ayahuasca would eventually begin to boil. This would continue throughout most of the day. When the mixture was done, our first ceremony would begin. Many of us took turns sitting on surrounding tree stumps, staring at the bubbling pots. No one spoke much, but when they did, it was pretty much the same thing everyone else was thinking. "Am I really going to drink this stuff?"

The Shaman tended to the mixture, stirring it, watching its consistency. They strained it and then boiled it some more. They maintained hours of this painstaking process. Anywhere we walked in the camp, our line of vision somehow always directed us right to these ominous pots. Every time I looked at them, my stomach wrenched, every time I tried not to look, my stomach said, 'Nice try'. Late in the day, as I made my way passed the brick stove once more, I noticed the pots were gone.

The early evening quickly began to descend into the canopy of the jungle and the critters once again took their positions in the ever and over-growing amphitheatre they call home. The travelers began to take shorter, quicker breaths as the realization of this day became inescapable. The round house was lit with just two lanterns. This room typically displayed a bouquet of hammocks for lounging; tonight they were swung up over the beams from which they hung in order to make way for the mattresses that now graced the entire span of the floor. Each mattress came with a pillow, a blanket, a cup of water, a roll of tissue, and a big, plastic puke bucket.

As I looked around the room, I wondered if I would be the first person in Ayahuasca history to throw up before the ceremony had actually begun. I moved the puke bucket closer to me.

Our master Shaman quietly walked in, scanning the room, acutely aware of every last person's every last thought. His face appeared sympathetic and humored at the same time, by the palpable anxiety in the air. He's been here before, many, many times. The smirk he wore was because he knew some of our uneasiness was insuppressibly magnified by our naïveté. His compassion shown because he knew some of our uneasiness was about to be horribly, painfully justified. As everyone shifted positions on their mattress, attempting to get comfortable, the Shaman and their apprentices initiated the ritualistic commencement of the ceremony. The lanterns still lit, we watched as they poured each cup, singing into each one individually, a personal Icaro, for the person to which the cup was intended. I watched as each person near me received his or her prescribed amount, I counted how many there were before me. And then I counted again. Before long, an apprentice was standing in front of me with a white mug, containing about as much liquid as one measuring cup. I closed my eyes and prayed like I've never prayed before. I opened my eyes, held my breath and then closed my eyes again. I tried to get it down in one big gulp. I almost succeeded. Ayahuasca's taste has been described in countless ways. None of them, in my opinion, came close to describing it accurately. I'm not certain there is a way to describe it accurately. I do know, however, that I quiver even now as I write this. While trying to get the taste out of my throat, I thought to myself, 'It's no wonder people puke from this stuff.'

In about a half an hour's time the entire room had been served. The Shaman lowered the wicks into the lanterns and the light excused itself from the room in a similar manner. They began to shake their leaf rattles, called Shakapas, a sound that could soothe even the most tortured of souls. Simultaneously, they began to sing. The Icaros would continue for an unspecified amount of time, growing louder at times and sometimes waning into a simple whistle by one or two Shaman. They made their way around the room, dedicating time to any person who appeared to need their attention. It wasn't long before the first person started to throw up. It wasn't long after that that pretty much everyone took their turn in front of their bucket. The indescribable taste of the Ayahuasca the second time around can only be described as worse.

My legs, my arms, my head, everything felt very heavy, as though I had melted and had become adhered to my mat. I seemed to have stepped outside of myself, took a look around and then decided to swan dive inside my own mind. Although the Shaman were still sitting at the front of the room, I could hear them singing and whistling so close to me, as though they had abandoned their physical form and were my very own personal headphones, inside my head. At first geometric shapes, like when you press your eyeballs a little too hard, were floating behind my eyelids. Then colorful landscapes, referred to as vistas, began to take shape. Waterfalls and rainbows, flowers, millions of them, would cascade over a constantly moving scene. I could think about anything and everything at once, without feeling confused or overwhelmed. My thoughts were complete and it was impossible to get distracted by uncertainty or insecurity. An unbelievable sense of gratefulness came over me. At one point, it was as though I was able to account for every single person in my life and know that they had crossed paths with mine for a reason. I could understand the issues in my life that just a few hours ago were undeniably problematic. I was in a place free from fear or judgment. A sense of contentment came over me that was truly authentic.

At times throughout the ceremony, I was aware of others in the room, sometimes it was impossible to avoid being aware. Some wailed and cried and moaned to a heartbreaking degree, others purged relentlessly. Others yet would call out to our Shaman for help, and he would go, be it physically or spiritually, to help them through their difficult moments. Linear time and space are typically lost during these sessions, Shaman are believed to be in multiple places at once, because they are needed in multiple places at once. On one occasion, I knew I heard him standing next to me, when I mustered up the energy to open my eyes, his shadowy figure was sitting in his chair, right where he had probably been sitting for quite some time. Or perhaps not.

At one point I decided to try to focus on one very specific event in my life. The real reason I came to the Shaman in the first place. Although I was aware of the situation in my mind, I could not feel about it the way I have felt for the last 8 years, not to mention, the way I had intended to feel about it this night. I wanted to cry and scream to get it all out, once and for all. It simply was not possible. The Shaman tell you time and again, that your experience with Ayahuasca will not be what you want, but what you need. It will be nothing like what you expect and quite possibly nothing like what you had hoped. I came in expecting a nightmare. I came out cleansed of my enormous guilt, relieved of my life sentence of regret. Yet, strangely, I cannot explain how it happened. It just did. All of the horrible feelings I had harbored for so many years, every minute of every day, were just gone. Disappeared into thin air.

The Shaman also tell you that no two ceremonies will ever be the same. We had four more to go. This was only the beginning.

You make me feel like I belong under the sun*

2006-06-16T01:54:00.000-07:00

In the last month, three different people not related to me by anything other than friendship or acquaintanceship , told me that they were proud of me. All for different reasons, which made it even more special to hear.

I'm not sure if I can put into words how awesome it has made me feel. I am grateful for you just thinking of me, let alone with such handsome regard.

*Lyric courtesy of Citizen Cope

Where's My Oscar?

2006-05-14T00:27:00.000-07:00

And 20 million dollar paycheck?

I have unwittingly become an actress. When did this happen? Why did this happen? More over, HOW did this happen? And why am I not getting paid for it?

Yes, I live in Los Angeles, L.A., La la land...where you and your miniature breed dog can become a celebrity, a household name, a spokesperson, a joke and an E! True Hollywood Story in just one week's time. If you're lucky. And you don't even have to be a good actor.

I mind my own business, I don't have a cute, little dog that wears a shirt stating, "Bitches love me." Although, if I did, he probably might, but I digress. I tell people when I like them, I tell people when I love them. I have nothing to hide. Well, up until lately. It seems more often these days I have to hide the way I feel about certain situations. Usually in an attempt to just keep the peace, or take the high road or to be "gracious", but not a genuine gracious, of course. It's all an act. Smile ever so kindly and/or say thank you so that you can save face...the other person's face.

I'm sick of it. I'm sick of making situations comfortable, when they clearly are not. Do you think it's pleasant for me to receive your obviously regifted gift? No, it's not. It's SO uncomfortable, as a matter of fact, it makes me want to jump out of my own skin. But, to help YOU avoid feeling stupid, I will play dumb. I smile and say thank you so very much for your thoughtfulness. And as I walk away, I wonder why I felt the need to deny my feelings and spare yours. When did it become not okay to say what's really on my mind? Because it's a shitty thing to do? Well, guess what? So is regifting!!! You know what sounds fair to me? Returning the 'gesture' with the same sincerity in which it was given. Let's see how that goes.

Or what about the night I ran into a guy that I was spending a significant amount of time with and he happened to be with his on-again girlfriend? I once again tucked my feelings in my pocket and pretended that I was no one of any significance, particularly to him...to spare them both an extremely uncomfortable moment. Neither one of them aware that when I finally got to my car, I broke down and cried.

Why have other people's reputations, feelings, and shitty behavior become my responsibility to uphold? Why do I have to struggle to hold back the tears until I can hide so that no one will know the truly pathetic things that are actually happening? Why am I suddenly an actor whose job it is to conceal or completely dismiss my own feelings, on a regular basis?

Where's my fucking Oscar?

Remote Controlled Expectations

2006-04-28T21:11:00.000-07:00

There's a great scene from the movie Singles where Kyra Sedgwick's character gives her garage door opener to this guy she's fallen for, who not surprisingly, ends up being a complete dick and she therefore loses said garage door opener (which of course symbolizes a plethora of sentiments much greater than the worthless piece of plastic itself). As she purchases yet another replacement to fill the remote shaped hole in her heart, she swears aloud that she'll never lose it again.

I lost my garage door opener not long ago. Off it went. I had a feeling it wasn't coming back. I didn't cry over the sad-looking little box that left my life that day, but over the hope that that little button holds each time it is pushed. No matter how tough any man or woman might pretend to be, the truth remains, no one really wants to be alone. The extra remote somehow represents the extra space in your life, not just in your garage.

As some things never change, I still somehow end up at Home Depot just about every other day. I found myself perusing that section a few times. Get yourself a new one and just don't ever lose it again. Then I thought, that's no way to be. It would be a pretty sad existence to never take risks just because of one, or two, or...ten bad experiences. But, chances to be taken or not, I still left the store without my Liftrex Super replacement.

I came home today and picked up my mail and inside a padded envelope I saw an object whose color could only be described as garage-door-opener gray. Out of the envelope, it fell into my hand and for a moment I was sad to see there was no note. Not even a scribble to say something like, "Hi, not long ago I used to kiss you a hundred times a day and now we don't even speak, how are you?"

But even so, I had the hope back in my hands. What's so awesome about this though, is I will forever attribute the loss of that stupid fucking remote to what finally inspired me to do things I'd been wanting to do for years. Things I kept saying I'd do next week or next month and then turned into years, without accomplishment. This August, I will travel to another country. By myself. And this Wednesday, I begin my lessons with my Spanish tutor. FINALLY. And so I thank you, former apple of my eye, for saying all those sweet things and for every one of those kisses...and then for being a giant asshole to me. You have inspired and motivated me more than I ever would have imagined. And getting my remote back is a reminder that, although at times it may seem like it, hope is not lost. Perhaps misused and mislaid and misjudged sometimes, but definitely not lost.

And so the dance resumed...

2006-03-06T01:20:00.000-08:00

...with his glances from across the room, despite my preoccupation with diversions. His hand then on the small of my back, a heavy whisper in my ear. Its all so familiar but still perilously beckoning. My only other option was to run. A purely wicked dichotomy, because it could only bear the resemblance of catastrophe, regardless of the choice I was to make.

But so the world would not be, without tragedy lurking in the shadows of anything worthwhile. And how easy it is to forget its potential ravages at that one moment. That split second when choice simply ceases to exist and your heart begins to beat so fast you cannot find your breath. And as soon as you do, it is stolen from you just the same. But, oh what a kiss.

God bless the art of coquetry

2006-01-08T15:55:00.000-08:00

I declare, wholeheartedly, I love men who flirt. And completely unabashed flirting at that. It is amazing how one seemingly trivial action is capable of making me feel unquestionably feminine and unmistakably pretty. There is something to be said about the confidence in a man who will hold my hand in his and play with my hair, in a room full of people, although we've barely just met. It is an art form.

One...

2005-11-03T00:13:00.000-08:00

One love
We get to share it
Leaves you baby if you
Don't care for it

U2 "One"

Simple, simple lyrics. Yet, I found myself choked up tonight at the U2 show. Twice. I'm not a concert cryer, nor am I one of those crazed fans who screams bloody murder and then faints right there in the middle of a moshpit. I do, however, enjoy any music that evokes some emotion and manages to replace my everyday skin with those fantastic, tingly little goosebumps. I know Jade, it's chicken skin ;)

Tonight, I shed actual tears. I'm not sure where they came from really...I wasn't even in a particularly sad or emotional mood. I may have been embarrassed (even if slightly) from my blubbering if it hadn't been for one thing, I happened to look over at the 40-something year old man next to me at the very moment he was wiping a tear from his cheek.

I Do. Or do I?

2005-10-14T23:04:00.000-07:00

I got into a long discussion about marriage today. Well, not just marriage, but partnership. These days it seems marriage can potentially be an entirely independent and unrelated action from the actual union of two people anyway. But in an attempt to try and understand why humans do what we do, we asked ourselves how and why people get together. A boatload of questions came about, but not many answers. Not many definitive ones anyway:

Is it natural for humans to want to find that one special person and ‘settle down’ as they say? Or is it the ideology of marriage that has brainwashed us into thinking that we do? If marriage just didn’t exist, would we still act the same way toward relationships? Would we even get into relationships? Are we walking around sizing everyone up to fit into that one slot whether or not there is an exchange of vows? Does the desire for children factor in here anywhere and change anything? Statistically speaking, if we’re meant to pair up with just one person, is it possible for everyone to find their partner in their lifetime? Does the probability of settling down with one person get higher or lower or stay the same the longer you are single? Are over half of marriages ending in divorce now because people are being fed an unrealistic view of what it should be? Are we having undue pressure put on us to get married because that is what is considered the standard? Why are people not getting married as young as they used to? Marriage was created by humans, will it ever be dismissed by humans? Is it even realistic to assume that we are wired to be monogamous?

Phew, I need a drink.

Not Bitching (for once)

2005-09-13T00:32:00.000-07:00

There’s something to be said about going off and just bitching about the things that bother you sometimes. And I mean BITCHING, only the way a woman can. There’s probably a reason the term was originally associated with women in the first place, we’re quite simply really, really good at it. And it’s no secret that I’ve bitched lately about men and their shortcomings (pun fully intended).

I feel a lot better.

And I think the universe heard me complaining. And now, since I am a huge advocate of keeping things fair and balanced, I must now give credit where credit is due.

Big ups to the man who has caused me to wear an especially satisfied smile on my face lately and brought the spring back into my step. As well as helping me remember that there are things worth shaving my legs for. I don’t know where he came from or how he learned the things he knows, but I certainly wouldn’t mind finding out. I’m actually not so sure he’s human to be honest. Some of his abilities are not of this earth.

Some time ago I made out with him…in a 7-Eleven freezer. I would hardly think cases of Budweiser and 2 percent milk to be alluring, but when he spun me around and kissed me in the vapor of our visibly cold breath, I knew I stumbled upon something interesting. And although it would be quite some time before I really knew what I was in for, I got a sneaking feeling that this one had some tricks up his sleeve. These tricks, my friends….are not for kids.

Looking back at my past, I accidentally noticed something, although I’ve never had a “type”, seems in recent years there were a string of guys who weren’t the burliest of chaps. The I’m-a-lover-not-a-fighter types, which is all great and good. I like to think that anyone I choose to spend time with is an exceptional person, for the simple fact that I am extremely selective about my free time and whom I spend it with. But I have to say, I’ve missed a few things over the years. Like guys who own (and know how to operate) tools, like saws and drills and stuff. A tool belt is an added bonus, even if I ask him to put it on just for fun! Or the guy who can pick up those big jugs of water without turning purple before toppling under its weight and cracking a rib. Speaking of picking things up…there’s something refreshing about a guy who can pick me up (and let’s say…just for the hell of it…carry me into the bedroom) with the same ease as say, carrying a bag of feathers. Okay, a hundred and five pound bag of feathers, but whatever.

Moreover, there’s something fantastic and strangely comforting in knowing that if someone fucks with you, he’s not even going to hesitate in taking the necessary steps to introduce his fist to the person's face (only if absolutely necessary, of course). I mean, not that he’d go looking for bar brawls or anything, but he ain’t running away from a little danger when another’s respect has been compromised.
But it’s not just about size and strength, there’s also something very attractive about a man who makes an experience of taking you clothes off, one piece at a time…in the living room. And especially appealing when he actually takes the time to check out the ensemble you just bought (after all, that is at least part of the reason you bought it, you kinda thought someone might be taking a peek pretty soon). There’s something enticing about a man who isn’t afraid to make the first move and even if you say no, he’s aware that it just means no until next time. And until next time he will wait. And when next time comes, he will be equally disarming and kiss you wildly…(and change your water jug for you too).

As always, out of respect for the privacy of others, I never mention any names but, with a big smile I say thanks to my new friend for all the spooning...and the forking.

If you can't beat 'em, join 'em

2005-07-15T00:22:00.000-07:00

I’m exhausted but cannot sleep, why this happens I will never understand…so I find myself in front of my computer. Back in the day I would have found myself holding my journal in my lap. The journal that I painstakingly kept…long hand. It’s so much easier to type. I seem to have this love/hate relationship with technology…

…exemplified by my personal anti text messaging campaign lately. I loved it at first for so many reasons. A great little novelty and a reason to spend all too much money on a new cell phone which boasts easier access to texting (which has now become its own verb), the quiver of excitement from hearing the special ring tone you’ve set for your special incoming texts. The wonder of what that little message might tell you that spoken words could not. But then, I began to despise it. I started to think that communication in this form would deteriorate our one on one, face to face experience. It seemed like an easy, almost cowardly, way out of having to really speak to someone. I decided to put myself on hiatus from texting.

Reluctantly, I must confess I may have changed my mind. But I don’t suppose that’s such a bad thing. There is always reason to discover the good things in everything, especially when you may have just overlooked them initially. My flip flopper attitude stems from a virtual tennis match of texting I participated in recently.

In the silence of the late evening, I lay in bed thinking about my adamant new old fashioned ways, and then I hear that special ring tone. I began to imagine life when there were no telephones. Not only cell phones, but regular telephones as well. Correspondence came in the form of fancy inked letters with a melted wax seal, stamped with a family shield or monogram of some sort (all this to insure the messenger wasn’t being a snoop while on his way to his destination). The anticipation of a letter from a lover may have made the days feel like weeks, and the weeks an eternity. And just as we always appreciate the book much more than the movie because of the pictures we paint so vividly in our minds, the mere thought of her smile from his words as she reads them would stay with him long after the pen touched the paper. It seems that because everything took longer, perhaps they were appreciated more. And that wasn’t so bad.

So what does this all have to do with modern times I asked myself? I realized that if I took a step back, I might find the very qualities I’d written off, because of our hurried world, staring me right in the face. Turns out, there could be many similarities in those feather quill letters and the texts I’ve received. They were just shorter versions…and of course, I was receiving them at lightning speed. No horses or messengers or carrier pigeons. But the wonder and imagination were ever present. Dare I say there was even something romantic about talking to another without actually speaking? With the inescapable romance of a dark and stormy evening (where I was anyway) and the distance between us, I couldn’t help but wonder if perhaps something I wrote may have made him smile. I vividly painted my mental picture, his face highlighted by the dim light of the LCD screen on his cell phone, nimbly pushing the corresponding numbers to form the words he was about to write.

Of course text messages are a far cry from writing a letter, but I found that I liked partaking in a form of communication that telephones seemed to have taken away long ago. And maybe this technology that I love and hate so much is bringing a bit of it back.

Bush League

2005-05-23T17:38:00.000-07:00

They gave me a handy little locker for my shoes, but what about my inhibitions? Where am I supposed to put those?

I found myself in Koreatown a couple days ago. A friend of mine had recommended this Korean bathhouse for a massage and the loofah body scrub they offer...at quite the modest price, no less. Well, that was about the only modest thing about the place. I’ve been to a spa or two in my day. Burke Williams and the like, I also used to work for a day spa while I lived in Chicago. All of these spas seemed to run pretty much the same way, you’re handed a robe and a key, and then you’re pretty much good to go. Use whatever you like, the hot tub, sauna, pool, steam showers, all of which are primarily occupied by entirely naked women. When it comes time for your service, however, whether it be a massage, salt scrub, mud mask, etc…I'm accustomed to being whisked away to a quiet, Zen-like room…just me and the masseur.

NOT so in Koreaville. Aside from being the only white girl in a room full of some of the hottest Asian women I’ve ever seen, they were way less modest than any chick I’ve ever witnessed prancing around in the women’s lounge at an Americanized spa. I swear some of them would get out of the hot tub and grab their folded up towel and just walk with it right in their hand. It was slightly intimidating, I won't even try to pretend otherwise. They've got some great genes -- those bitches. The 70’s bush on the other hand was unlike any I've ever witnessed live. I know, I know. I swear I wasn’t staring, but it was hard not to notice. I am all for rolling with the old school triangle, it’s vintage, it’s retro, it’s in, that’s cool. But trimming the length is a must! I mean no disrespect at all, I was a total bush leaguer in there (no pun intended), they were all damn hot, over-sized muffs or not.

So, here I am (sporting my micro-mini triangle) getting into the hot tub. No big deal I can handle those miniscule moments of nudity amongst strangers. But now comes time for my massage. This lovely Korean woman comes over to me and I believe she is calling me over for my "appointment" but I have entirely no clue what she is saying to me, so I just got up and followed her. We walked into a room that I had noticed upon my arrival. There appeared to be a massage table directly in front of the doorway, and I thought to myself, ‘what an odd place to put the table…right in front of the door??!!’ As I made my way through the entrance, trying to avert my eyes from the overgrown muffin that was lying on that table, an alarming reality set in. There were 7 more tables in this giant shower-like room, and they were all occupied by naked women, except for the one designated for me. I had a couple of choices here. I pictured myself sprinting to my car, barefoot, white robe flailing crazily behind me from my adrenalin-induced speed. 'Screw my wallet, I’ll get new credit cards...I wonder if they're gonna charge me for this robe.'

“Face down!”
“Huh?” I mumbled when I realized I was still standing very close to the only visible doorway (read: exit).
“Face down!” She smiled as she tapped her hand onto the table. Yep, this time I understood exactly what she said.

My next move surprised even me. I smiled a smile from ear to ear and dropped my robe right there on the floor. Me, chicken? Hah!! I did, however, FEEL like a chicken…a chicken getting prepped for the deep fryer. I was being cleaned, slathered and tenderized. I was even garnished with something that resembled a cucumber salad.

I never knew the meaning of the word liberating until that day. Every nook and cranny was exposed to a room full of ladies, not to mention the woman who didn’t miss a beat while she flipped and patted and kneaded (all the while maintaining her entire routine wearing only a matching bra and panties. Black. Lace. I'm not kidding).

Americans are funny about our junk. We are a painfully yet hypocritically modest society in so many ways. God forbid we see a nipple on television and women have to fight for the right to provide their child vital sustenance in public. But Britney Spears (pre K-Fed) grinding under gallons of pouring water for her audience of 9 year olds who want to be just like her is totally acceptable. Funny, I say.

I have to say, another excellent feature of this hard core smack down I stumbled into was the fact that they didn’t have to be all pseudo proper and fakey respectful out of fear that you would sue them for coming within three inches of your business. It was more like, “You’re in my hood now, you pale American, your laws are no good here.” And probably thinking all the while that my triangle was just too darn small.

It was brilliant. I highly recommend it.

Family History

2004-12-20T02:39:00.000-08:00

Family's History
I’m home in good old democratic voting (this year anyway) Michigan. It snowed the first night I was here, big beautiful snowflakes, the kind that look like feathers. A story came back to me from when I was a kid about the angels having a pillow fight. I like that one. Well, they were still going at it this morning when I got up. The ground looked just like the down comforter I was wrapped up in. What a wonderfully descriptive name, who thought of that one? Comforter. It keeps you warm, it protects you when you’re scared, it always wants to hang around you. If only they would make one in human form. You could choose his thread count (style) and his filling (smarts) and his size (well, you know). You could just go to the store and pick him out right there, and he would be conveniently zipped up in a plastic bag (with air holes of course) and labeled with one of those convenient little round stickers. Like Funny, Smart or Romantic…rather than just Twin, Full or Queen. Oh well. Anyhow, I didn’t want to get up, but I had snow angels on my mind. I wrapped the comforter around me a little bit tighter and slid out of bed. I planned on running outside, dropping the blanket at the door and making a snow angel in my pajamas...just to freak my mom out. All I needed were my boots, so I put them on and opened the door. Sam, my mom’s dog stood at my feet with his ball in his mouth. I took it and threw it into the yard and said, “Go get it!” Whoever said dogs can’t talk doesn’t know anything. He said, “Are you crazy? It’s fucking cold out there!” I swear. And he was right. I turned around and went back inside. Watching the snow from inside was perfect. Perfectly warm. I decided I’d go play in the snow later, at least after breakfast. My mom asked me how I wanted my eggs. I only eat them scrambled. I might need to come home more often.

Later on in the day, my mom and I went for dinner, just her and me. I was thinking about my grandmother and the state that she is currently in. And by state I don’t mean one of the 48 contiguous, I mean her state of mind. She is losing it. That Alzheimer's is one sly thief. I guess as far as geographical states go, it might be fair to say that technically she’s no longer a citizen of this one, or any other for that matter anymore. Hell…she’s not even on this planet anymore. Just a few months back she actually saw aliens. She described the space ship to me, and the people…or should I say “people” she saw come out of it. They were skinny and were wearing the same clothes, like a uniform. She didn’t mention anything about oversized heads and hairless bodies, I’m not sure if that’s good or bad. She saw them right outside the window of the bedroom I’m sleeping in while I’m here. Might be an interesting couple of days. I’ll be checking for implants in my neck or buttocks, or wherever they put them, I’m not really sure.

Anyway, during dinner I began to ask questions about my family. Having had a conversation about families just a few nights before in LA, I guess it prompted me to wonder again about mine. And since I’ve already lost one parent, I’m really starting to realize how much of your history you lose when your parents go. I mean, unless you record your history, which aside from pictures or a few home videos, most people don’t do, your parents are really the link to those days past. I’ve always known that my grandmother lost her parents at a young age. Her mom when she was six and her dad when she was about ten. So, how much could she have been told by age ten? But I learned something new tonight, my grandmother’s mother was orphaned at fourteen, so she’d also lost out on some of her own family history. Throw in the fact that while my grandparents were growing up, a war was brewing and now they had to leave even more of their own history behind and get the hell outta dodge. It’s such a sad story through and through, that there’s a part of me that doesn’t even want to know. But there’s another part that, of course, longs to know everything. What they were like and the fact that I might be like or look just like one of them. I need to find out more of my family’s history, before my family is history.

It's funny how different the world is now. So much of the present, which in the course of 24 hours becomes history, is recorded these days. And you can sit down and watch just about all of it at any given time. (I wonder when President Bush's War - Season 1 and 2 will be out on dvd.)

If ever I have children, I will encourage them to write. I would give anything to be able to sit down and read any notes my grandmother may have scribbled. Having kept a journal myself since 6th grade, I've come to appreciate the documented history of my life that I own. Although much of it in those early years was 'he said...and then I said....and then she's like...i hate her...but he's so cute...I love him'. Ah, it'll be worth at the very least a hearty chuckle someday.

Well, it’s getting late…about the time that strange things start to happen. Maybe I’ll go look for some aliens outside my window. Maybe they know something. They’ve got to, they have a round thing that they can get to fly (she said it was round and it made a noise, almost like a plane and that’s what prompted her to look out the window). Maybe they know about the history…maybe they know where my grandmother’s mind has gone…maybe they know if I’ll ever find a comforter and what his name will be. Oh Christ, the wind just blew so hard I freaked myself out. I’m going to hide under the only comforter I've got right now...good enough.

Be careful what you wish for

2004-11-20T13:55:00.000-08:00

Been on my soapbox lately about technology and how I sometimes wish we didn't have cell phones so our world could go at a less hurried and frantic pace. Well, I believe I just got what I deserved.

I couldn't have asked for a better day Friday. Having just seen Wilco on Thursday night and feeling refreshed and revived again for a number of reasons, it was a perfect day. In addition to this beautiful day, an entirely unexpected surprise at 4pm…tickets for Wilco's show that night...what kind of lottery did I just win?

I went with the same friend and we were amped to say the least. For Thursday’s show we were running so late that I completely forgot to grab my bowl before I walked out the door. I promised myself I wouldn’t forget it tonight. In the lobby of the Wiltern I let out a Homer sized, "Doh!" and decided I’m obviously doing too many drugs and it’s causing me to forget things…like bringing my drugs. Oh well...thems the breaks. We bought ourselves a couple of beers and settled in for another night of Tweedy and friends. Not one minute into their first song, an angel from heaven, disguised as the guy sitting next to us, passes us a joint. Could lightning really strike twice? The concert was even better than the night before...my night was perfect. Nothing could possibly spoil it.

I sat in my chair, transfixed and happily high. I decided to send a friend a text, but decided that I first needed a sip of my beer (which was sitting on the floor at my feet). Note: they don't give you the bottle at the Wiltern, they pour it into a big plastic cup. As I brought the cup up off the ground, my beer exploded. The cup is in my hand, I never dropped it, it is not cracked, but my shoes and pants are soaked. I stare at the cup that I was still holding and I am utterly perplexed as to how this happened. My friend looks over at me and whispers, "Did you drop your beer?" Almost sarcastically, I showed him that I was holding the cup in my hand, so NO, obviously I didn't drop it! I didn't knock it into anything; I didn't tilt it over, what the f....!?? It was almost as if something kamikaze’d its way into my malt beverage out of nowhere, I may have even looked up to the heavens above me for a possible explanation. And then, with a marijuana induced delayed reaction, I saw something that looked very familiar floating in my beer. My cell phone.

If they had been playing "I Must Be High" while all this went down, I would have surely lost it.

Lesson learned. No more tempting fate...it seems she's conspired to teach me a lesson. I already miss my text messages.

(You'd think there'd be a lesson here about drugs, but...nope)

One more blog about boys

2004-11-07T23:59:00.000-08:00

I find lately that I would much rather make out with a guy than, to put it bluntly, get laid. I’m just bored, I think, with the idea of sex. I could get laid any night of the week if I wanted to (primarily because it's not hard to find a guy who would refuse sex). The problem is he most likely wouldn't be someone I cared to talk to the next day, or ever again for that matter. There just aren’t that many people out there that I want to share my pink places with. If it's about ‘getting off’, I have the means to do so, and honestly, probably better than anyone could ever do. But of course, you can't cuddle with a vibrator, so we all know that those little battery-operated over achievers are not the answer to the Mars-Venus dilemma.

Sex, for me, is not an affirmation of beauty or sexiness or desirable-ness. I mean, from a physiological perspective, men want to have sex...to insure their place in the kingdom. Animal instinct is to keep your species alive. Males, being an integral part in that structure, instinctively rise to the occasion (pun intended). It really has little to do with whether I wore my black lacey panties or those really cute pink ones with the ruffle. (Seriously, how many times has a girl put on her hottest unmentionables and had them end up on the floor…still inside her sweater?) You could be wearing a potato sack, he won’t care. Sorry, he might care, but it’s not going to stop him from having sex with you. I’m not denying that men are attracted to women for more reasons than just some instinctual motivation, but there is definitely a different frame of mind between the X and Y chromosomes when things start to get sweaty.

Not to be misunderstood, I sincerely and genuinely enjoy the act…immensely. I’m not shy or insecure about it. But I guess because my instinct isn't driving me to fornicate with as many breathing men as possible, I’m longing for things that seem to be more difficult to find. I was presented with one of those “Which would you rather?” questions the other day. I had to choose one quality that was really important to me. And the choice became this: forgettable sex with a guy who made me laugh every day or amazing sex with a guy who had a horrible sense of humor (all other qualities in these make-believe men were exactly the same). I picked comedy.

Anyone know any good jokes?

Do You Woo, Who?

2004-11-01T17:15:00.000-08:00

I used to think that holding the door open for a girl and walking her home made him a gentleman. And by him, I mean that guy. The one we are convinced we’re going to find, the one who just gets it. But I’ve realized, while those chivalrous deeds are lovely and appreciated by women universally; they aren’t at the very top of the list (where I once put them) of things a man can do to truly be a gentleman. Don’t get me wrong, those things should always be done without question, but there’s a little more than chivalry that defines a man. This gentleman I speak of is no storybook hero, either. He’s not perfect and he doesn’t like to go shoe shopping with you. He belches and wears the same clothes for a week (there’s something about his scent that makes you crazy about him). He forgets to brush his teeth and complains when he’s sick. But, he makes you feel like the only girl in the world.

The latter statement is what I’ve come to realize makes a truly outstanding man. He likes you and he lets you know it. He holds your hand in public. He asks you out on a date. Properly. And the date by no means need be proper, just the manner in which he asked. Has this tradition just faded away and no one told me? Lately, it seems I run into these guys who flirt for about 34 seconds and…well, that’s it. At this point, I would probably think it was me…and they simply decided they weren’t interested. But then it happens all over again, 34 more seconds suggesting their interest, but this time throw in his expectation that you’ll be waking up at his place in the morning. What is happening?

I’ve always loved the word ‘woo’ and it would be great if boys re-learned how to do it. Maybe they should teach it in school, kind of like sex education. It would be the prerequisite class, promoted as the you-need-this-class-before-you-even-have-to-worry-about-sex-education class. To say I’d like to be ‘courted’ suggests that I should be wearing a corset and holding a parasol. The word is pretty dated. Is there a new word to indicate this desire from a new era of old fashioned girls? And by the way, I’d like to clear up some confusion. I’m not sure how it happens, but somehow ‘old fashioned’ gets misinterpreted as ‘prude’ in the air between her lips and his ears. There is a world of difference.

I hesitate to think that my geographical location has anything to do with this. I constantly hear people say things like, “It’s because you live in L.A.” Well, if everyone in L.A. is not really from L.A., then what is that saying? Is something changing in the role of boy meets girl and I’m just not adapting? Could it be technology? I fear that text messaging is inadvertently keeping us from flirting face to face, thereby causing us to simply forget how. I have to admit, texting has been an enormous icebreaker on more than one occasion. But these occasions seem to have fizzled before they even had a chance to begin and I’m starting to blame this feature on my phone. I liked it better when a boy knew I liked him because I didn’t look away when he gazed at me from across the room, not because I replied with a sideways winking smiley.

I’m a girl. I like being a girl. But I’m starting to forget what it’s like to be giddy. What it’s like to blush when someone utters the name of a boy I can’t stop thinking about. A boy who thinks about me just the same. And goes out of his way to let me know. I’d like to think that the days of time honored wooing aren’t lost to those who play what seems to be a testosterone-fueled numbers game. For as long as I can remember, men have been dubbed the hunter...I get it, it’s human nature. And maybe we’re really not meant to be with one person for the rest of our lives, a tiny part of me believes that may be true. But (trying desperately not to sound pessimistic), lately it seems almost impossible to share a few significant moments with someone let alone a lifetime.

Bitch on Wheels

2004-09-26T07:15:00.000-07:00

I love those seemingly normal, fairly average…nothing-to-write-home-about nights that, out of nowhere, turn into a life changing experience. I was prepared to hang out with a couple of friends, drink some wine, smoke a joint and way too many cigarettes, which by the way, is an amazing evening to me in itself. I hate going out. There’s nothing ‘out’ that I feel I need to spend my time doing. Bars are annoying, actually no, it’s not the bars that are annoying, it’s the people. Or maybe it’s me and my antisocial-ness, I’ll take the blame. Whatever the reason, I don’t like going out. But who would have thought that someone who couldn’t go out, even if she wanted to, would have such an incredible impact on me on such an unexpected evening.

Nadia. She’s 64, I believe she said. She’s a cancer survivor, which before this evening I probably would have scoffed at that word…survivor. See, Nadia recently had one of her legs amputated. Me, young and arrogant, thought what kind of survival is that? You can’t walk, you’re in a wheel chair! I felt sorry for her. After hearing this woman speak to us for hours tonight, I started to feel sorry for myself! Sharp as a tack, hysterically funny and swears like a sailor. Behind every word and every story there was this silent attitude that screamed, ‘fuck cancer, what else ya got, I’ll beat that too.’ She drank with us, a self proclaimed ‘wino’. She could drink a frat boy under the table, believe me. Might be the fact that she’s Ukrainian. No attempt to take the drinking title away from the Irish, but Ukes pour vodka in their breakfast cereal. Nadia lit up her sixteenth cigarette and told us a story about how she got her dad stoned when he came to visit, it was his birthday. She was forty-something at the time and she remembered thinking her parents were ancient. She’s not much older than my mother, but she’s hipper than my mom could ever be. Hell, she’s hipper than I could ever be. She refers to it as grass, which is so incredibly awesome I can’t stand it. We didn’t smoke any with her tonight, but next time, I’m bringing her a bag.

I’ve been through some fucked up things in my life and it’s taken me a long time to learn that you have a choice, and it sounds easier said than done, but it really is simple…laugh or cry. It’s your choice. Nadia made me realize that the only thing that can break you, is you. I had only a little sample tonight of the wisdom that emanates from this amazing woman, I already can't wait until next time. Nadia’s experienced so many incredible things that I’m not sure I’ll ever get to do in my lifetime. I can only hope. She’s also been through hell and back, but she’s found the positive lessons to be learned from every one of those moments. And she claims she’s ready to do it all over again, but this time on her new scooter. I’m bringing a notebook next time.

As I drove home I found I was a little sad. I remembered her telling us she might get a prosthetic leg sometime in December. The operative word there is might. A bunch of bullshit with Medicare and money, so she’s not even sure it will happen. I thought about this as I drove through Hollywood. I couldn’t help but think about how twisted our society is sometimes. Especially here in LA, where one can see so clearly the absurd amount of money that successful actors, for instance, get paid. Money they won’t be able to spend in their lifetime, money they can’t take with them when they go. Money they get paid to play pretend. Maybe even to play an amputee in a film someday. Yes I’m sitting here complaining about how unfair the world is. And I know no one ever said that it would be. Funny thing is, I'll probably cry over it before Nadia will.