Too Good Not to Pass Along

So for the record, I'm doing all right - I'm still drafting Part II of "Invincible". I know you're waiting with baited breath....

But in the meantime, a well informed friend of mine with remarkable procurement skills found this article and passed it along.

(PG-13 warning: there are a few swears but they are not flagrant and/or directly pointed at anyone)

I felt like I had just heard a General Conference talk when I finished reading. This puts words, paragraphs and names to a bunch of things that I've been feeling angsty about and affected by.

Please read this and remember you're human, that's thats beautiful, and VERY NECESSARY.

By the way - I love you guys. I don't say that enough.

Tootles,

~e

Invincible

Part I

I think that there are a few moments in every life where you're shown of what you are and are not made. This is my accounting of one that I had last week.

Growing up a Long/Dees it's very easy to feel, well, a bit super human. School and anything cerebral comes fairly easy. On the Long side, we're rarely sick, and if we ever are we usually just power through it. Sports come fairly easy, anything physical actually. When I was playing water polo and regularly lifting weights I put muscle on so fast I couldn't keep up with how strong I was becoming and Lennyed more than one hole in a wall and broken door frame. For the most part, people believe what you say, laugh at your jokes, seek your advice and value your company. As much, you grow up not really being affraid of anything. You can either think around, charm, or power through whatever situation you find yourself. I'm not going to lie, it's pretty damn awesome, most of the time.

As such, I begin to think that nothing can really hurt me until I realize that because I see things differently, I feel things differently and typically more extensively and I realize EVERYTHING can hurt me and regularly does, but typically I'm strong enough to bear the blows. I remind myself that it's imperative to feel feelings, but to let them pass through. They do not control me and that I'm strong enough to take it.

That all being said, last week while shopping for drain-o at an all but empty Lowe's after a church activity as I'm wandering the overwhelming isles of wrenches, drill bits, lawn chairs, carpet rolls, and weed killer I start wishing there was a 3D Google contraption that could let me just find the bloody drain-o. This particular task does not high-cogniative levels of problem solving so my mind starts wandering into girly places, inventorying the recent pairings and/or interests of my friends and the local boy club and realize that, for about the umpteenth time, I'm sans partner/interest/pursuer.

Everyone (in my Looney Toons mind) is about to gallivant paired into the sunset and I, again, am left at home, broom in hand, by myself.

This idea starts to upset me and instead of the familiar sting of tears at my eyes the focus is lower, in my chest. It starts to tighten like an asthma attack and I can only manage short shallow breaths. My heart starts pumping like a captured field mouse but I don't get light headed, I don't feel compelled to sit down, I don't want to cry, I just can't breathe and I don't know why and my heart feels like it's being dribbled against my sternum.

Being the Long I am, having assigned myself to a task, I take the physical discomfort, shove it aside, and continue on my drain-o search. I try to keep a steady breath, yoga breathing fixes everything right? Oxygen, the fastest way to detox the body. I finally find the drain-o, properly compare potentices with price and container size, get through the self check out (yoga breath, yoga breath, yoga breath), and make it to my car.

Tasks being completed, I turn my cartoony brain to the most pressing matter at hand, my insane body. I don't really have time to play Dr to myself but my body was demanding attention and if I know one thing its don't poo-poo anything that has to do with the chest/heart/ lung region.

So I sit there in my car, I inventory my racing heart, mentally cross referenceing it with other accounts from remembered NPR articles and friends' stories and my slew of Medical School friends running medical dialog. I rewind and review conversations, picking out pieces of information that seem to apply, come to a conclusion that I don't like at all but one whose evidence I can't refute. I sit there for a few minutes longer, rerunning my experience, the evidence, my existing knowledge of possible explanations and I realize I need more data to be sure. I reluctantly text my friend who has mentioned similar experiences before:


What does a panic attack feel like?

























Replies come confirming all this weirdness. I realize the trigger, feel helpless and silly but that I cannot dismiss these feelings. They're demanding time and attention. But I have no idea how to explore them. Talking about them with anyone of my afore-mentioned friends and/or family would just trigger the route "Don't be sillys" and "You know you're wonderful" and "He'll come around some day" that never seem to make me feel better. Ever. If anything, they spray gas on the fire. I think they never comfort because that's never been the issue. My raw and unaddressed fear isn't a life without love, it's a life alone. I know I'm loved. That has never been an issue, but being left behind, being left out - that's what closes the shutters on my rationale.

Flashes of being on the tree-line Provo street of my child hood and having my big brother purposefully get his friends together in front of me and then ride off on their bikes while yelling behind him that I can't come along, that I'm weird and a pest, that I'm not invited and I'll get beat up if I try to follow. Family reunions where my cousins flitted off to the mall without even considering me. Those come crashing in and for a tic I feel a shudder go through out my consciousness, destabilizing things for a moment and I'm not sure if its a layer of delusion being stripped away or a layer of foundation being ripped out.

I look over at the drain-o on my passenger seat, remember the pressing task of a clogged bath tub at home, wipe the tears away to see straight, take a few more yoga breaths, decide I need to air this out later, start my car, shove aside my weaknesses and just keep going. That is the only thing I know how to do.

I'm not sure what to make of this new info but it'll keep for another day when I'm feeling stronger and a little bit less alone or maybe when I've got my red boots and bullet proof bracelets back on. Nothing can harm me then.

Them Fellas

I'm kind of excited for Thursday. Lemme take a ridiculously windy way to tell you why.

I think I've got to do some reprogramming when it comes to the menfolk.

Upon reflection and regular conversations with my roommates on the subject, I've only found myself instantly attracted to a handful of men, like 5. Like, couldn't speak kind of attracted. Five. Over the course of my entire life.

I've become attracted to the guys I've dated over the years but very few of them have just punched me in the face with their pheromones and swagger.

I have a few explanations for this:

1) I really don't consider guys that aren't LDS. I've been taught to scan the room for possibilities and only Temple-bound fellas would qualify.

2) Most LDS men are not what I would consider attractive. They are many other wonderful things; kind, smart, funny, attentive, personable, convicted - but, sadly, at least in my immediate demographic are all a bit on the goofy side of cute.

3) I grew up in a very LAish part of LA. There are A LOT of good looking people here. It's a modeling/acting/singing hot spot. That demographic ran off into a lot of the coffee shops, comedy clubs, music halls, pool games and boutique shops in which I spent most of my high school weekends.

4) Growing up with and in my family.

I like to talk about my family a lot. They're fairly amazing to me. It's a constant source of wonder to me that I might be a part of the group that most of them occupy.

They are all excellent, bright, kind, hilarious, and extremely good looking people. They regularly blow me away with their levels of insight and their ability to stop foot traffic with an eyelash flick. This is male and female inclusive.

I say this as someone who has truly struggled to feel part of this group my whole life and thereby absent of any self aggrandizement. It's just fact. If you don't believe me, I'll make introductions and you can see for yourself.

Growing up thus, I think has spoiled me in a lot of ways. I'm used to lively and intelligent conversation on a regular basis with people who are fundamentally kind and the best looking person in the room. This is my norm. Sounds amazing but outside the walls of any given family reunion it's grounds for heaping portions of letdown. Especially in the dating world.

I dove in to the dating world at 18 and found some lovely prospects. One of the previously mentioned Big 5 was a Harvey Mudd student we'll call Adam. He was a 6' 4" black belt, rock climbing paragon from Las Vegas that blew me away, dated me for a while, but ended up having never broken up with his girlfriend who was attending BYU at the time (there are SO many reasons why I don't care for that place) and he bitterly broke my heart with his cheating self. But I was 18. That's what happens when you're 18 and you think nothing can hurt you.

The next one of the 5 was an Adonis from Morocco that I knocked across when I was serving my mission in Washington DC when I was 21. I had heard Elders tell stories of knocking across beautiful women and having to pick their jaws up off the floor but these were silly sexually repressed LDS boys. I had fairly low expectations of them. Until I met Sahim. I still remember every awkward foot shuffle and crack of paint on that doorway. We were knocking a few apartment buildings in the interior of Alexandria and a lot of the Latino community I was called to teach lived in tandem with the immigrant Muslim community. So, in turn, I spent a lot of time with them and REALLY learned to love and respect them along with my darling Latinos. That day, from the smell of curry in the hallways and not of maize, we gathered we wouldn't find many Latinos but we knocked up the apartment building anyway. Then, this one door was opened by another 6' 4" (that's a favorite height of mine) caramel skinned, emerald eyed, 25 year old Apollo in training with a jaw bone you could use for a straight edge and cheekbones that could cut paper. He. Was. Amazing. He smelled like fabric softener and baby lotion. He was beautiful but what was the most impressive was how soft his eyes were and how sincere his smile was. He reeked of sincerity and genuine kindness and I was a puddle with a name tag and clunky shoes.

I had only been in the field a few weeks but my eyes popped and I think I said "Hi. We're missionaries from the Church of Cheese and Rice and Rattle May Snakes" and then just dropped off. My companion was unaffected for some reason and very entertained by this awkward and potentially humiliating situation for me (She didn't like me too much.). Under normal circumstances a companion would scrape her companion off the floor and diplomatically take over the conversation until her companion could compose herself, but my companion just kind of let me writhe. He introduced himself as Muslim and likewise was kind, hospitable, and very grateful for our visit, like 99.99% of the Muslim community always was. He invited us in even though his father wasn't at home. He got us something cool to drink. I think that I can definitively say that the people who let us in and gave us something warm on cold days and cool on hot days were almost always Muslim. Did I mention I really loved those people? Because I do.

We chatted for a modest amount of time and I attempted to be cogent and on topic but am still not aware how successful I was. Then his dad came home. At that point I wasn't sure there was a more beautiful man on the planet but his dad looked like Sean Connery's better-looking younger brother. I wouldn't have thought that it was possible but you didn't get to meet this family. I do not know what they put in the water in Morocco but it WORKS. My companion started getting a little rosy-cheeked around his dad, which I found quite weird, so at that point we went home. But My. Word. Yay Morocco.

I didn't meet another one of the 5 until I had been home for a few years. I was 26 and a very good friend of mine had recently taken the post as head Pastry Chef at the Westwood "W" hotel. She met a good amount of the aforementioned Beautiful LA People there because they were holding down jobs as valets and servers etc in the hotel while they were working on their acting/modeling/music career. One of these blokes was a guy named Joe. Joe has a band called Lady Sinatra. He's that lead singer-type guy. He kind of looks like a rogue vampire from "Angel" but he's really this incredibly tender vegan that rescues kittens and has an Eagle Scout. Because Joe is about 6' 8" he also moonlights as a bouncer for the Viper Room, this slightly well known music club on the Sunset Strip. So, naturally Joe's band plays the Viper Room a lot. My friend and I ended up on the list for a lot of these shows pretty frequently and one time one of Joe and my friend's mutual friends decided to drop by the gig.

We'll call him Byron.

Yes, Byron.

And he was perfect. It is very difficult for me to be interested in a guy without having a conversation first but Byron did not need any prerequisites. I noticed him when he first came in because one he was very tall. Most male LAites are in 6' to 6' 3" region. I'm pretty sure Byron stood somewhere in the 6' 6" realm, so naturally he stood out. He stood out in every way. The Viper Room is one of these places to be seen so the crowd can be a bit presumptuous and overdressed. Guys are typically in their starched collared finest Guess and Armani dress shirts and stupidly expensive 7 jeans, tanned and gelled up within an inch of respectability and a little bit over sometimes.

Byron kind of swayed in with a white tank top on, regular dark jeans, a black skull cap and a modest sliver belt buckle. He didn't look a thing like anyone else there but was the best dressed one. He was observant and contained and confident, like Rat Pack kind of presence. I couldn't stop looking at him. I'd rarely reacted like that to anyone in my life so my conscious kind of split for a second as I continued to be unable to look at anything else in the club except him and marveled at the first-time nature of this experience and the attraction without any familiarity. It was new and pretty delicious. And all this without an introduction or even knowing that he was part of the Lady Sinatra crowd.

When introductions were finally made and I'd established that he wasn't a figment of my very single imagination I became further dithered out when, in an effort to make conversation and simply be near him, I asked him about this odd tattoo he had on the inside of his arm. I don't like tattoos very much, if at all. Sometimes they're not horrible but if anything, they're conversation starters. Unlike most Angelinos built like him, he didn't have some obtuse and out of place trite tribal tattoo. Instead he had a written paragraph. He got a little embarassed and asked if I knew of a book called "The Stranger" "You mean the 1942 definitive Existential treatise on Human Nature by Albert Camus?" I said "Never heard of it". We laughed and I felt Kathrine Hepburn-awesome for a minute or two before he disclosed that it had changed his life and had tattooed one of his favorite quotes on his arm when he graduated from high school.

*ding*

The kitchen time went off. I was officially done.

Tall? Check.
Literate? Check.
Insightful? Check.
Employed? Check.
Articulate? Check.
Music fan? Check.
Beautiful? Check.
Poised? Check

We never really talked after that 3 min of seemingly obligatory conversation. I think I saw him at one more show but then my friend and I stopped going for one scheduling snafu or another.

We never connected on MySpace. (That was back when it wasn't the WhoreTown/Pediphileville it is now) He didn't pursue a phone number or anything. I'm pretty sure there is a line of models lined up outside his apartment door. I don't think he'd remember me but I definitely remember him and getting knocked off of my 4" heals.

So this Thursday my friend and I are heading to a Lady Sinatra gig for the first time in forever. It's at the same old venue they always were. It's Joe's birthday and I think, if he hasn't received his angels wings and flitted off or been hijacked by human traffickers there is a good chance he might be there. :)

That would be a lovely birthday present indeed and yeah, I'm a bit excited.

Checking in

After conversing with some besties on the subject, I think that it's time to give my poor dusty blog some love. I miss writing and, as narcissistic as a blog is in reality and theory, I do have a lot to say. Also, it's free and I find myself rather witty so I should make time.

I've had a number of ideas for posts:
Why I'm finally convinced that Disneyland is loosing it's soul
A nostalgic ode to the Huntington Library and why it defines awesome
My live music addiction
The new addition at work and my new glorious spot under the skylight and reason #4589 why my bosses rock
My new definition of "friends"
My opinion on LDS men and their frustrating discontents
My new-found terror at turning 32
My new abode
The utterly inadequate lighting in my new abode
My amazing new roommates in my new abode
Why life with a dog is different, better, and necessary
My new Life Hacks
My first Las Vegas wedding and my first night in the Paris Casino
My current obsession with Joseph Gordon-Levitt
Why Christopher Noland or Danny Boyle should direct every movie ever
... and a whole lot more.

But for now I think I'll just check in since it's been half of forever.

Firstly, to get that white-hot burning question of yours out of the way - no I am not dating anyone. No one is calling, no one has Facebooked, no one is texting, no one is asking about me and I don't have anyone in mind. I'm an involuntary Mormon Nun in training and there isn't much I can do about it. It makes me sad and I kind of hate talking about it.

Yes, both my visiting teachers are happily coupled girls, one of whom is engaged just in case I needed more reminders of my solo state I'm resigned to being pathetic in the matters of the heart and have healthfully turned my devotions to celebrities, personal hygiene, stray animals, dust bunny mitigation, CostCo deals, and Masterpiece Theater. You know, like every other forgotten 30+ single lady of substance.

I had a Wily E. Coyote moment today when I was cleaning up the dishes from dinner, being home alone. Both of my rommies are currently out of state on their respective summery galavants and I have been sans domestic company. About 3 nights ago when I was warming up some healthful taquitos I heard some shirty meeeowing at my screen door and I almost jumped out of my skin because there, on my porch, in the dusky sunlight was a yellow eyed, grey Persian mixed cat that looked EXACTLY like the cat I had growing up who had passed away a one-eyed, weathered, battle ax of a cat a few years ago. Yet here was her bright and brisky reincarnate at my door saying hello. Well, she was asking for food but I took it as a “hello”. I promptly gave her some of my taquito and we sat on the porch together for a tic. I just finished a book about Egyptian gods and looked at her yellow eyes and decided that The Universe (read: God) recognized that I was sans domestic company (my roommate even took the dog on her galavants. I mean, I know he is hers and all but seriously, leaving me with only fish for company… There was much sadness in the land.) I decided the cat was trying to be my friend and protect me till my people got back home. Cats were pretty badass per the Egyptians and the Egyptians knew their stuff.

Fast forward to my Wile E Coyote moment today… I was doing dishes and had put out some food for Temporary Kitty Friend and I noticed some more furry type activity out of the corner of my eye. Apparently she has a litter of 4 adorable kittens that she had brought for dinner as well. It was sweet for a moment. They’re kittens after all and then *boing* It hit me… the kitties, the conspicuous lack of partner or company, the catching up on NPR while drying my dishes in an overly tiled kitchen – I’d become the Cat Lady. I immediately turned on some obnoxious Lady Gaga or something and raced to my friend’s house but… um… yeah.

Moral of the Story: Don’t be too nice to memories from your Childhood. They could only be there to strap you to the wall of your Worst Fears. Fight the Power and fix your pets.

In other news: Work is going well. We've had a bit of a drop off in traffic on the website but we've learned that it's an industry trend and not just us thankfully. We're still holding strong in the black and the new website www.DesignShuffle.com is taking off well. A bit slower than we hoped but strong things are built bit by bit right?

I recently went shopping with my boss and a few coworkers at the LA Mart and California Gift Show for new vendors for our home goods website www.ArcadianHome.com. We have a bunch of home goods vendors right now but we were shopping for some more textiles and larger dollar items that could bring in more revenue for the same amount of footwork. Throughout the twelve stories of the LA Mart and 3.5 acres of vendors at the LA Convention Center I caught myself drooling over more than one rug or two but saw more pieces of pottery, glass, pot holders, stationary, stuffed whattuzits, curly potpourried whirlydoos and stamped and scrap booked cutsieflangles to do me for a lifetime. I’m convinced now, more than ever, that Americans have entirely too many THINGS, love THINGS, need THINGS, and pay a lot for THINGS and as such the market for THINGS is huge and silly. But it’s what gives me a paycheck every two weeks so I can buy my own set of things that I somehow don’t think apply to the rest of the things that are contemptible. Life is fair like that.

My hair is till red. I still love it. I finally found a girl I trust to do my red that isn’t my cousin that lives a rather inconvenient 800 miles away. She is the best I’ve ever come across but my new girl is also quite good, local, part of a family I adore, and moderately priced. Again, The Universe cares about the details of my life and knows I feel much better about it in red hair so he gave me someone who can do red. Because, frankly, red is not easy. And neither am I so we’re a perfect match.

There is a lot more going on but I’m sleepy I need to save some of my modestly entertaining life to blog about later.

But for the time being, think on this…

Who was the first Cat Lady? How did the idea first get it’s stigma? I’m at a loss.

Little Changes

So I've decided that a Good Life is really just a cumulation of good habits.

In my experience with it thus far, Life comes at me in random and unpredictable spurts. There is little rhyme or reason to it from where I sit. A few Sunday School lessons, Holocaust stories, and observations of Middle Schooler's interactions has taught me that what determines whether it ("it" being Life in this case) is a good or bad experience is how you react to it right?

So reactions are pretty important.

Important stuff for me means planning and preparing and rehearsing and rewriting and editing and practicing some more and having your bff review and approve and planning etc.

But I've never really gotten a lot of lead time when big Life moments have come before and I feel, to an extent, that I've blown a few of them because I reacted poorly.

So, in an effort to focus energy on solutions and not problems I've thought:

"OK - I need to react well to everything so that when another Life moment happens I'll see it as just another thing and do well."

"Well" meaning: according to my faith, proportionally to the person and situation, respectfully, without entitlement, and with grace or "like a Lady" for short.

So practicing reactions is stuff you do every day. Then I realized that none of that is a new concept. They're called habits and people have been preaching this for years. Like I said before, I'm slow.

I've realize that I have many different habits. Stress habits, work habits, emotional habits, grooming habits, social habits, mental habits and I found good and bad ones all over the place.

So, therefore if my rhetorical calculations are right; if I change my habits I change my trajectory, or Life. That works for me.

On changing habits: my AP Physics class taught me that nature hates a vacuum. I can't just wake up and let myself think/ say:

STUPID THINGS ARE STUPID SO I'M GOING TO STOP DOING STUPID THINGS. RIGHT NOW. FOREVER. I'M GOING TO BE STUPIDLESS AND SHINEY AND GOLDEN! NONE SHALL THWART MY CARTOON APPROACH TO SELF IMPROVEMENT. I'M STRONG AND AMAZING. I CAN HANDLE IT.

Why yes my inner monologue is in caps, especially when it's being declarative (and irrational) and frequently sounds like Anne Shirley........ What? Don't judge me.

So I'm changing habits - going for the jugular if you will.

After listening to my initial reaction I hear my AP Physics teacher, Mr. Davis, say in is most somber voice "Nature hates a vacuum. Whatever is closest get's the job".

So the ripping out of a bad habit typically sucks in a neighboring (and sometimes worse) bad habit. Less effective**.

Sports and Music have taught me that excellence comes from doing the same thing over and over with consistent little corrections. One just doesn't go to water polo camp for two weeks and come back an Olympian***. One can learn a lot there, theory wise, technique wise even, but conditioning and repetitive, accurate, execution is the only thing that will ever make water polo player a good water polo player. Instant change isn't real change. My goal is a serious habit remodel so my initial/Annesque solution won't work. Ever. Hence, good habits are cultivated by practice to gingerly and deliberately replace bad habits. Like Indy at the beginning of Raiders of the Lost Arc. Not that I consider my disposition and approach to life a bag of sand - but you know what I mean.

Inconsistency is one of my bad habits. I never to go sleep at the same time or have the same thing for breakfast etc. This quality lends itself to a lot of complications so I'm taking and making opportunities to practice consistence. One of these is also an effort to enrich myself, make best use of my time, and create some continuity to my days. I've started listening to NPR on my way to work. I realize this isn't very news worthy or unique and I'm OK with that. There is power in simplicity.

I love NPR but neither habits or it are NOT the point of this post if you can believe it.

The point is; I've been following the most wonderful series/story and I want everyone I know to share the awesome.

Steve Inskeep from Morning Edition has been making his way along the Grand Trunk Road in India and Pakistan. One 5th of the world's population lives around there and over half of that area's population is under age 25. Seeing how small of a place the world is becoming I've realized and embraced the fact that these people are going to be my contemporaries, are going to change the world, and I am VERY interested to know about them and their lives.

I've just love-loved it. Give it a listen/read and tell me what you think. I'd really love to start a conversation about this.

**The Missionary Guide, or "Gia" as the Spanish types said, had a series of training modules. There was always a feedback section and I suppose in an effort to be positive, whoever wrote them only ever termed something as "Effective" or "Less Effective". It was this random ubiquitous phrase in our little worlds and took on epic meaning. If something was just beyond an epic fail it was "less effective", or as we said in the Spanish program "menos efficaz"

Rebuilding

So I've been thinking lately...

My whole life I've been pretty definitive about things. My friend even described me as a "go getter" the other day. I thanked her but found myself really disagreeing especially in light of my life's pace as of late but with reflection realized, she was right.

I have proven to be a mover and shaker in my own life and to myself many many times. I used to go after the smartest and best looking boys in in the ward, Institute etc and more often than not, got them.

I went after jobs I wanted and got them. I went after the degree that I wanted and huffing and puffing achieved it. I saw some girls playing water polo during my 7 am swim class and just got up and decided to join the team. I pretty much Forest Gumped my way into a marvelous set of situations and a rather beautiful life. I was loved and had fun almost all the time. I realize this was all because in the back of my brain I had a plan. I am a planner. It's what I do. It's how God made me. If a pink rose and an itemized check list flew at each other with some pixie dust and mascara that would be me.

I went on my mission, came home, continued through school but bits and pieces of my plan started to flake and fall off in the wind tunnel that was my life. 25 came and went and I was not married nor with children but I still had Grad school and a fun teaching career to look forward to. Once graduation was a real thing in Dec of 2007 and I started the Grad School hurry-up-and-wait dance I knew it was just a matter of time. But the thin envelope came in April 2008 and if I was at liberty to have shut myself up for days I would have, not just mourning the lost opportunity and validation of grad school but because that was the last shingle of My Plan.

From there on out My Plan (read: life) came crashing down like a Jenga Tower.

* I didn't get into grad school.

* I had one of the worst break ups I've had yet that I really thought was going towards marriage.

* I had to let go of a torch I'd been carrying for a good long while and my sub-conscious back-up plan (marriage wise).

* I got laid off from my job.

* I had to find a new job in our HORRIBLE economy.

* My grandmother passed away

* My sister-in-law almost died and had my nephew 6 weeks early (that's pretty happy though)

* California's Education budget shut down enrollment in 90% of programs I could get into and/or were looking at.

I don't think that I've been the funnest of people to be around this last year and for those of you who have stuck around and still love me - thank you. I'm aware of what a bother I've been. How withdrawn I've let myself become, how moody and distracted I am. I'm sorry. I really really am.

It just hasn't been an easy time. I don't feel sorry for myself. I know there are a WORLD of people out there that have lost homes, lost hope, lost their families, lost health. I know my burden is comparatively light but it's still my little shattered world and these last 6 months I've been starting to pick up the pieces.

I did find employment and am enjoying it a lot.

My nephew remains one of the most adorable earthlings ever

And I've been getting to rebuild.

I've spent a lot of time constructing this life I though I should have and in doing so, I've forgotten a few of things. Namely, who I was and am.

For instance; I'm a self-proclaimed non-crafter. I don't really do cute very well. I'm lame at scrapbooking etc. I've felt unworthy as a female because my quilting skills don't go much beyond tying knots so I just put away the whole scene thinking there were other and better things to do. What I neglected to understand that though I don't need crafts I do need creativity. The majority of my creativity comes out in fixing things; mending socks, hemming pants, organizing drawers and closets. I'm a solutions girl I guess. Hence, when I was cleaning my room (in preparation to move) and doing a Goodwill purge I realized I found a large amount of sewing supplies strewn about and I thought to myself;

Self, you know, you really do like sewing and you're pretty good at it. You're just a really unhealthy perfectionist about it. That's all. Too many things have come easy to you so when something isn't perfect the second or third time you pick up a needle or paint brush you've dismissed it. That's ridiculous. You're human and the sooner you admit that and start working from that vantage point the better. You LIKE sewing and being creative. You've tucked this rather sizable stash of sewing supplies into different corners for the last 3 years. You need to just admit Crafty-proclivity and buy a sewing basket, centralize your efforts, and move on. It's OK.

So that's what I did. With the purchase of my Joanne's Clearance sewing basket I'm admitting my willingness to screw up in the name of progress and give up delusions of infallibility. I'm letting myself be creative again.

Pictures to follow.

This admonition has tree-branched out, in tandem with my impending move, to want to start from scratch.

Like most things, my emotional state is finding root in the physical world. Like, when I look around and start planning the move I find myself wanting to trash everything and start from scratch. Ditch all my clothes, ditch my furniture - everything. Just take my books, shoes and things I love and just piece things back together one by one. Fresh, new, and untainted with the last two years.

This has most acutely come out in the planning of my new living quarters.

I've got all new furniture picked out (mostly because mine is crap) and I've found it all on special or clearance :)

I've made a scaled layout of where it will all go. No.... seriously

and I've started making changes where I could. Principally in new bedding.

My decorating philosophy is find some art you love and make everything work around that. You've all seen the Flora half of Mucha's La Primavera that I love. Here is my framed print



And I've put together this for my sleeping abode



I looked and looked for a duvet cover that would work with Flora and I finally found this one at TARGET! Here's a close up




I could not for the life of me find a bedding set that didn't nauseate me or make me shake my head for the lost aesthetics that is the American Market Place so I knew I was going to have to piece things together on my own and hope the colors worked. I found the sheets and small red pillow cases at Bed Bath & Beyond on a clearance (670 thread count too!) and the Euro shams were another Target find. I had to get them there because they matched the underside of the duvet. :)

I'm pretty happy. I realize I'm turning into my mother, aesthetic-wise. But I think there are worse things. She's pretty classy.

This is only the 5th set of bedding I've ever had. isn't that ridiculous? I remember getting a rainbow comforter when i was about 6. Then when i was 10ish I got a similar one but instead of rainbows it was white with a multi-colored heart pattern grid on it. Then, when I was 16 or so, to thank me for helping her on one of her books, my mother's friend Lael Littke took me shopping for my next set of bedding. I used that till I inherited a California king bed from a wealthy aunt and uncle that were moving and I needed new bedding for that and found this lovely purple and sage green bed set at TJ Maxx by luck and spite. I just finished packing up the last of that set and am ready to move on to my first bed as a real adult. A Lady that is having to carve her way out of the doldrums and through the rest of the world one day at a time.

Checking In -

Dear Blogosphere,

I've been absent of late. I realize it and I'm not apologizing. The truth of it all is, I haven't been doing well. I've had a cold and a sinus infection and all that but that's not what I mean.

I've been fighting the reds and the blues and the doldrums and the shakes and everything else more than the norm. I don't know if it's that in my weight loss and 2010 goal to Simplify and SLOW DOWN that I've just been getting more honest and I'm seeing myself and the world around me more clearly and it's pretty rough.

I'll be even more honest, I'm weary to talk about it here or anywhere frankly because, well, my blog readers are people I see and talk to rather frequently. I don't have the comfort of knowing my thoughts only exist for nameless people to whom I'm only marginally accountable. And frankly, those that I consider close don't really have an ear for me when I'm not doing well. They either don't know what to do with me or only know a fairly congenial Lizzie and are angsty at a change of scene more than the fact that I'm in pain or they think it's another hyperbolic rant and poo-poo whatever I've had to say in some polite-make-a-joke-quote-something-to-forget-it way.

There are a choice shimming few (you know who you are) who I can openly weep in front of and say that sometimes I'm so lonely it presses on me like a humid night or that I'm terrified I'm stuck where I am for the rest of my life and feel pretty powerless to change either. I can talk about that in front of you.

So for the most part I could just post quirky videos on here or jokes of pictures of my adorable nephew that makes me happy but also reminds me of how much I don't have and most likely, at this point, won't and now I have to hide those tears too.

But they run close to the surface, poking through at inopportune moments. Crying at kung fu cartoons about flying air bison or recounting a film about gorgeous clothes, poetry and love to someone just isn't normal.

Life has still gone on for me though.

I've paid off my car.

I've found some adorable dresses for my Year of Feminine Divine as seen:

here

here

here

here
and
here.

I've turned a corner and have actually fallen in love with a few designer purses; namely Gucci.

You know - having good taste can be very inconvenient. Especially when, for some reason, all of the purses you've every really loved or bought have all come together and coagulated into the glory that is Gucci's Classic Joy Handbag.

I know I'll never spend that kind of money on a purse but I'm really comforted to know that it's out there and that there is a bit of a reason for the Designer Handbags maelstrom of silliness.

I will be moving out at the beginning of June to live with a few friends for a few months. Both of them will be heading out to the wind come December but we'll be able to share this cute yellow house on a hill in Pomona for a season or two. I'm excited and have had fun preparing to have my own space again. I'm leaving a lot of things here so I've picked out a few new furniture pieces and some new bedding. It's been super fun. Jaqueloeen has made a few appearances. I've finally found the vanity of my dreams in my price range
and I've found a duvet comforter that makes me happy every time I look at it, which is it's job, and goes perfectly with my favorite Mucha I plan on putting up.



I'll take pics once I've got the whole thing laid out etc. I've even inherited some paint from all the construction at work to beautify things if we're allowed to paint.

I decided not to go to Coachella this year. My singular Coachella compadre (the rest of my friends list have utterly let me down in this regard) got called away on a business trip to Australia and the idea of camping and attending on my own sat well for a few weeks but got scarier as the time approached. I've admitted that my life is going to be one land mine after another so I Craigslisted my ticket and am trying to walk away graciously. I don't think I'll do a very good job of it. In fact, there is a good chance I'll be crying all weekend.

I've recently become obsessed with purse accessories too. Strange, I know but useful too. I've carried handkerchiefs around since I was 18 and have had an engraved cigarette case be my first aid kit since then too but I wanted a real mirrored compact and lipstick case and pill box and perfume atomizer and all that stuff you'd find in a Lady's purse from the 20's -50's. I've come across a LARGE number of accommodating sites with many engravable and adorable possibilities.

So far I've only scored this lovely black with clear crystal flower compact mirror, lipstick case, key chain set. Nothing too extravagant or silly. Not yet at least.

My hair is cute. My friend Mari and cousin Amber did me up well. Put in an adorable angled bob and colored me red again. It's a source of smiles for me.

But for the most part - that's it. I remain a pretty lonely, mediocre, non-grad schooled and undistinguished Lizzie that can't even bring herself to watch Lost or finish a book.

All the best for you,
Liz