Public Road

Movement of Sorts

2011-02-02T18:20:00.000-06:00

The great blizzard of Chicago has fallen upon us and buried me into my subterrestrial home of warmth and comfort. I feel like Mole, in Wind in the Willows, anxious to come outside and discover what the sky has brought to me. For now, however, I let the fire light this shadowy room as I sit cozily on my couch, tucked underneath this blanket and read stories to keep my mind energized.

I’m attempting to read, and then write a few words. Get inspired by a string of sentences that another author can formulate. It’s like a series of math equations or an eloquent sequence of musical notes that fit precisely together. I’m trying to refine my craft into something bigger than myself.

But I’m distracted by the smell of this magazine that keeps me fumbling through pages to find the inserted sample of cologne. It waivers my attention away from these genuine words I type out in a silly chain. It smells like him. Anything with a lingering musty smell reminds me of his skin. It reminds of me the day we spent at Macy’s picking out the perfect scent, but nearly every form of emanation inserted into the corner of his neck and shoulder blade seems well deserved.

For now, while he’s away in his own home, unburying himself out of the ravages this weather has brought to us, I write. What I came here to write about is my next step, which is movement. A word that was imparted upon me last week by an advisor. Part of moving forward sometimes means replacing the old with the new.

I have used this blog as an outlet for my transition to Chicago, but it has never been about me and has never been about my words. It’s always been about something outside of myself and therefore I have limited attachment to it.

The more deeply I have thought about it, the more inclined I am to rid myself of it and to start anew. No longer do I want to come to this public forum with a sense of fear, but a better understanding of who I am and this deep need to be vulnerable.

A new blog will be carefully planned out and words will be chosen with more precision and less restraint. I have developed a reverence for the associations I have had with this blog, but some of the posts I adore, and some of them have been life altering. I’m not sad to see it go; in fact I’m rather elated.

For those few that have read this, I thank you. I hope you are prepared for something better, something I hope to become more accustomed to, and something that brings me closer to the truth of this all. I want movement and the life that has been intended for me. With the next endeavor, I hope to find all forms there.

Love you all!

My Christmas List. One Item. Easy.

2010-12-02T13:22:00.000-06:00

Boom.

Chicago food is delicious, maybe a little too much...

2010-11-30T13:28:00.001-06:00

I'm crossing blog posts here... Hippie blog meet Chicago blog, vice versa.

Hey guys, I've gained some weight in the last two months. In fact, I went to put on my work pants today and could barely get them buttoned. In no way, shape, or form am I saying that I am overweight, but I'm just saying I don't want to go out and buy new clothes.

I was looking back on photos of when I first moved here. My face was less swollen, my eyes were white and clear, and my hair looked like silk. I discovered, however, that Chicago is full of delicious food. Food that my time in Iowa did not provide. Sure you can get cheeseburgers there, but they often did not come with a fried egg on top, with thick apple smoked bacon and Gouda cheese. Nor could I find a popcorn appetizer that was cooked in bacon grease and then topped with those crispy little pig fat bits. And the beer, good god, the selection of beer is extensive, beautiful and often tastes of flowers. This, my friends, is why I cannot seem to get back to the way I looked pre-Chicago. Vegetarianism is nothing but a pipe dream lately.

Eating this way has become nothing but a simple addiction. At one time I avoided sugar, but now have to have a chocolate bar for breakfast (no joke). Starbucks is conveniently located in my building, so trips for my favorite latte have become frequent and needed for that quick fix.

Like many things that have begun to change in my life lately, (old habits I have kindly asked to stop) I would like this to be one of the pillars that support who I am.

Michael Anderson, the creator of the documentary, Eating, says "the American eating habit is suicidal". I have recently become part of that culture. My routine trips to the produce market, have been cut short by routine trips to Whole Foods to pick up Mac N Cheese or cookies. Somehow I justify a food substance that does not have preservatives, but is layered in sugar, the caloric equivalent of a rock.

The simple thing about this is, I know better. It blows my mind that our modern day diseases and ailments were unrecognizable by the medical community 100 years ago. It blows my mind that we are teaching our children the same patterns. It blows my mind that children are getting diabetes from what they eat at a very young age. Ugh, our country has been blowing my mind for years now and I have to ask, when are we going to evolve already?

When am I going to stick with my evolution? Alicia Silverstone, an idol of mine (although I don't totally agree with the vegan lifestyle), says that we should flirt with the idea. Flirting often gets me discouraged as I yearn for perfectionism. I give up too early in the game. One day of back sliding results in four weeks of binging on sugar treats and meat products.

I've learned lately, after some real talk with myself on the train, that I should not be so hard on myself. I've been much too self critical lately and need to let go of that. Perfectionism does not exist. Back tracking and finding yourself again is motion of life and I also return to center, eventually.

So, I sit here with a cup of this orange tea concoction that I got from the cafe down the street and decide to eat a handful of Milk & Honey's granola. It's small changes and no matter how many times I falter, I can pick up right where I left off. Something small is better then nothing at all.

Cynicism

2010-11-29T15:38:00.001-06:00

Ah, so I've been writing in my other blog so much that I forgot about this one, apparently.

I had this moment today, inside my head. I was thinking about my first week in Chicago. I was at a bar with my bestie. We were having drinks and celebrating my new life in the city. The guy next to me decided to chat me up. He had lived in Chicago for nearly 10 years. He was a displaced Tennessean who found himself in a city that was too big and too angry for his liking. He had made the decision to move back home and was, himself, celebrating his last day in Chicago.

I remember he was confused by how utterly "sweet" I was. He would ask my bff if I was for real, or if that was an act. It wasn't. I was sweet to a fault and once he understood that I was genuine, he imparted these words of advice... "don't let this city change you".

I think it was only a week later, that the extreme amount of empathy and sympathy I carried, was quickly drained out of me by the cruelness of the city. I stood in line at the coffee shop and tried ordering some confusing coffee concoction for my girlfriend, to which I had gotten incorrect. While I was flustered, the annoyed Barista made it known to the entire impatient crowd of patrons that I'm a moron. I came back to the car with a regular coffee and tears that drenched my face and my little soft hearted soul developed it's first callous. My bestie replied, "you'll get used to it."

It took me a year to get used to it. People were cruel and I developed one solid festering callous after another. I had an epiphany that I was no longer the super sweet girl that my ex used to cater to after I found myself yelling at a cabbie for treating me like I was a tourist who didn't know the difference between Wacker and Western.

I have become a product of my surroundings, much less congenial and much more cynical.

2010-11-01T13:20:00.005-05:00

It’s been awhile, I know. I’m writing school papers.

I woke up this morning and thought about my 26 year old self. I’m in college. I’m sitting in my house. I’m studying. I’m trying to get out of a relationship. Every morning there’s a large snake that comes out from underneath the house and suns itself on the back stairs when I take the dog for a walk. I’m listening to Jack’s Mannequin, Yellowcard, and Motion City Soundtrack on my computer. I’m scribbling notes on a piece of paper.

Fast forward to 2010. I’m in college. I’m at work. I’m in Chicago. I’m looking out over Lake Michigan from my desk. I have an incredible man in my life. I am surrounded by brilliant people whom I adore. I’m meeting and engaging with the bands and people I obsessed over four years ago. I’m writing things that are meant for something bigger than scratch pieces of paper.

Not a day goes by that I don’t feel incredibly grateful for how my life is turning out.

Dear Upstairs Neighbor

2010-10-06T21:44:00.003-05:00

Like, I get it. I get the whole hipster I'm going to record techno music in my apartment on my mini keyboard. You're awesome. You might make it big in the whole underground raging techno scene, maybe. You like music and that's cool. I like music. I have friends who make music. I enjoy listening to people do their thing, making music, but most of that is good. You are not good.

I don't enjoy listening to you play that same worn out beat over and over again. I'm telling you, I heard that same thing on some sci-fi channel one night. It was the part, right before they were about to cut the alien open, only to find more aliens. You know, the anticipation part, when they find the little alien egg pods all over and then the scientists all give each other that look. You know that look. It's the oh my god, I just found baby aliens look. Crazy alien babies.... Anyway, stop. It's been done. Whatever you are trying to accomplish up there, it's retarded.

Listen, I personally hate techno. I really do. And I bet you really hate my indie crap. So, here's what's going to happen. You keep playing your beats real loud, late at night and I'm going to start blaring a little Ray LaMontagne or do you like Frightened Rabbit? Of course you do, you little hipster fuck. I'm going to make you hate your life with some.... shit, all I own is hipster crap. I'm going to track down some Glee soundtracks! Yea, start hating your life you little bastard!

This is a variation of chinese water torture you are performing on me but with less water and more repetitive electronic beats.

I get up at 5:30 am every day for work.

Fuck off.

2010-09-30T10:11:00.004-05:00

Few people know that I wanted to be a teacher at one point in my life. I tend to live my life in a very black and white way, so teaching children really interferes with the lifestyle I want to lead. (Being pious has always been difficult for me). I am so passionate about the literary arts, I don't know quite where I should put all this energy. Teaching at one point became one of my options.

I finally read Alice in Wonderland and Treasure Island this last week. I wonder where these books were when I was in elementary school? Why weren't we forced to read some of these classic greats? Why am I finally getting to them now?

I had this amazing teacher in second grade, Mrs. Besch. I have always felt that she was some kind of revolutionary teacher. She read us Uncle Tom's cabin (what a brave move, looking back) and it was literally from that point on that I developed this passion for books. She influenced my love for writing, telling my Mother to frame one of my first little pieces of writing. Her teaching style focused developing our reading and writing skills, or maybe that's just what I remember about her class because that was my favorite subject. She was an absolutely brilliant teacher.

She was also so incredibly compassionate, a rare find in teachers that I have had throughout my life (from elementary school onto college). I remember the morning I woke to find our family dog had passed away. I broke out in tears during the first hour of school. She hugged me so hard, what seemed like an hour until I was calm enough to return to my desk. I loved her. I really loved her.

I've been dying to see the documentary, "Waiting for Superman" about our failing public school systems (my pirated copy should arrive next week, thanks IT guy!). I discuss this for hours- from feeding our kids minds with crap, and then feeding their bodies with crap during school lunches. It's no wonder that the general public makes me afraid for my country. We are raising mindless uneducated creatures, who just get by. I take public transportation, I witness the aftermath on a daily basis.

My children will attend private schools, for sure.

Weekend

2010-09-21T11:59:00.004-05:00

We saw De’Mar off last weekend. We drank to his departure to London. I asked Kevin if we could watch him play Letterman in New York, to which he swiftly replied “no” to. I have never been to NYC and what better excuse is there to go than to watch your friend play in front of an audience of millions. Apparently, we can watch him any time in Chicago. It looks as if my vacation to east will not be happening soon.

I’m dying to go to New York, just to visit. She told me it suits me and she can imagine me living there. Chicago is the mid-size version of New York City, and I’m satisfied with that. If I were to choose another city to live in, I would probably either go east coast Boston or west coast San Fran. I lean sharply to the west, however.

Last weekend was so brilliantly good. The three of us eating mashed potato pizza at Piece and drinking beers, while chatting about artists who stray from their bands and venture solo, we debated over who made it and who didn’t. We drank shots of whiskey and Miller Lite in a wood clad pub, where he bought me a rose, which tied perfectly around my wrist.

The weekend seemed to extend forever. We shopped for hours on Saturday, buying little to nothing, except for the extra items that fit nicely in my bathroom. I like the placement and the smell of men’s soap that sits on my bath tub ledge, the extra toothbrush in my medicine cabinet, and the reserved towel in my linen closet.

I ended my weekend, with the homework that seems to consume my life; reading Alice in Wonderland in nothing but my underwear, and writing a little bit more. I stumbled upon a writing contest through the Chicago Reader, and I think I’m going to make a go of it. I have little expectations, or any real hope that I will actually win, but I still feel the need to give it a try.

Life is good.

Doors

2010-09-17T16:10:00.003-05:00

It's early afternoon on Saturday. I can smell your intoxicated breath through the phone. It's thick with the whiskey I recognize so well, it's the same smell, the same taste, that rests on my palate when I need to disappear on a late Friday night.

You cannot call me when you are in a state of awakening. You cannot call me when things are clear, when your words fit imperfectly together in a nervous state, a sober state. It's convenient for you. It's convenient for me, because I cannot handle the truth of it all.

You tell me about my Great-Grandfather and ask me to write about his opposition to the war. You fumble for the right words and tell me I am the next Capote. All the while I'm thinking about sitting alone in front of my birthday cake when I was ten, and watching how the storm you created made all the candles flicker as you slammed the door. It is a silly thing for a child's birthday to ruin your afternoon and I was terribly selfish, and for that I'm sorry.

I hadn't heard your voice in nearly a year. I try to decipher if you had aged. My ears hear the familiarity of the sound, but know nothing of the words, that lack such precise meaning. The words dance and I trip over them. I can't follow them, I can't move with them, it's a beat I cannot recognize.

And I fall back. I'm any age. I'm 30. I'm 16. I'm 4. I'm 11. I'm afraid to speak. Each word that I illicit from my lungs, each syllable from each breath, is reserved, because I know the consequences and I know the motions. It's a false move. It's a land mind. It's me having to filter. You'll be gone again, if my feet move too quickly.

The implications are unwavering. And I wonder if you ever have thought about what you created, as I wander through this, afraid of each word I spell out, each word I utter. I'm afraid of the doors that close. I'm afraid of the sounds of latches, of my own and of theirs, of his. So I step lightly, speak lightly, and I breathe lightly; and watch as the doors swing hard and shut tightly and I wonder, ever so slightly of your remorse. The non-existent remorse.

Rant

2010-09-16T13:50:00.000-05:00

I moved out of my parent's house THE day after graduation. I then rented out my first place (a little party house). I then moved a few times to various cities in various states before settling in Des Moines where I had my first apartment when I was 19. I've then lived in a few small Iowa towns, where I've either rented or owned a house. Then I moved to Chicago, on my own. I had no roomies (except for a couple of girlfriends who needed to stay with me after breakups or job losses), it's been just me. I've been independent, on my own, since I was 18. No parents to financially support me through life, through college, through anything. I've done this on my own, people. (It's hot, I know).

So here's the thing...

Stop sending wedding invitations to me at my parent's house with my name as a side note... as in To: Mr. and Mrs. Blah Blah Blah..... (and Lindy).

2010-09-12T20:25:00.001-05:00

The word "girlfriend" rolled easily off of his tongue this weekend. Every time he said it, it took everything inside of me not to turn around and latch onto him and hug him. I didn't think it would feel this good.

I like the word. It's a simple word. I had never thought that I would. Something had scared me about it for so long, for the first 10 months we were together. Maybe because what I felt for him was nearly indescribable and scary. Or maybe it was because every relationship I have witnessed growing up has been consumed with control, pain, mistrust, and abuse. I still associate commitment with those feelings. I had assumed that once a relationship was formally established with us, that instantly everything would change and that's when the bad things would begin.

I'm trying hard to let go of those feelings for one of the first times in my life. I realize that only you can control what comes into your life and what you allow. Being in a relationship isn't about taking things away from the person you love and intentionally hurting someone. Maybe what I have been taught growing up stops here with me.

While I never believe that someone else can make you happy, but that it is your job to fulfill your own needs, I am infinitely happier with him in my life again. I have been walking around for the last two months wondering where the intelligence in Chicago was hiding, where all the wit had gone, or people with any real talent, and if I'd ever feel as connected to anyone as I did with him. I'm so content right now. I feel like there are so many good things just coming back into my life.
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About a year ago I was turned on to this Chicago fashion blog that will go unnamed. I was obsessed with this blog, I thought it was brilliant. It was composed of street photos of well dressed Chicagoans, and even sometimes Des Moinesians. I had found out who the creator of this blog was and had this image of her for so long: driven, ambitious, self-respecting, confident, secure, creative, classy, cool. The kind of women I admire, the kind of woman I want to be.

I met her in person last night for the first time. She was nothing I hoped she would be, in fact she was the complete opposite of everything I wanted her to be. I found myself disliking her with such a disdain, that I could hardly tolerate her company. She wasn't rude to me, she didn't talk to me, and maybe she could sense my energy I put out. I was so disappointed in her behavior, and I saw her talent being wasted with such disregard because of the way she was acting and the way she represented herself, and I think that's why I couldn't be near her. I'm not a woman hater, but I get so annoyed when girls give women a bad reputation.

I hate watching talented women looking stupid by throwing themselves at men, talking about who they've had sex with, making dramatic scenes, hitting on other people's significant others, getting loud and obnoxiously drunk; and I hate how I hate my own kind for acting this way. I get so disappointed in women sometimes.

Weekends

2010-09-07T14:24:00.002-05:00

“Do you want to smoke?” He says.

It’s been years and I haven’t been this tempted until now. I’ve had too many drinks and everything feels good at the moment. I get distracted by the way he looks; I mold one figure into another. I replace hands, and arms, and eyes and hair, until it’s familiar, until I am comfortable with the image.

We try to talk about the existence of God, but it’s a struggle. It’s nothing but a time filler without any substance. And I breathe and I breathe and I breathe.

I begin to wonder about God, and the idea of perfection. I wonder about skin and its subtle imperfections, a placement of a mole, the softness of one spot and the roughness of another. God is fallible.

I morph my bar mate’s image again, and this time I’m sitting across from him and watching him interact with his new love. He turns to her, and then looks at me and says, “she leaves, she leaves, she just leaves”. The green chartreuse sits thickly on his gums and I can smell the memory from this distance. I leave when it’s best, before you can realize it. I left long before I sat on that deep red couch and tucked myself under the quilt his Mom had sent him, before the air between us hit my lungs. I left before he had told me not to come back.

I trace my fingers around the edge of the glass. The condensation feels cool to the touch, and I form an escape plan. It’s what I know best. It’s the door behind me, a quick exit out. Two steps and I’m gone, it’s what I do best.

And what I think best, is no longer wondering. I just come here and sit and soak up your time and submerge in sour taste of one sublime drink after another. I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.
I’m no longer there.

I was so close, so very very close....

2010-09-05T14:29:00.002-05:00

If anyone caught my blog yesterday for the four hours that my post was live, you saw one of my first reasonably vulnerable posts. I got drunk, came home, and immediately took it down. You would think the opposite would occur, but it didn’t.

I was so close, so freaking close. Bah!

Nothing I say here will change anything about the situation. I wish I could drive this into my brain a little more.

Mori moved back to Iowa. Part of my blog post was about people moving into your life and moving out of it, specifically my life. I’m not going to tell you how I feel about it, the emotional parts I don’t want to admit to having. People have their own journeys and their own paths. No matter how much you want them to stay, your life will still be ok once they move on. New people emerge. Nothing is stationary. The more you fight it, the more you destroy your own journey. Accepting what is, is really the fastest way to move on. Resistance will only confine you. You can’t hold people hostage, no matter how much you want them to stay and be a part of your life. (I could write an entire zen book dedicated to this subject.)

I will tell you that I’m a little jealous, of her. I love the city, but most of you know, I miss having a garden. I miss having a yard. I miss having a house. I start to wonder if maybe I should have taken that job back in Des Moines. Places don’t make you happy, it’s what you make out of your situation, but I can’t help but wonder.

I also feel like I was part of some sort of waiting game lately. It’s like the universe sent out some kind of grand message that I’m newly single. I haven’t told anyone, just a couple of girlfriends, but no one else really knows. It’s like they can sense it, smell it. I haven’t even really written about it until now.

I’m in such a transitory state, but I’m excited about it. You just never know when something is going to happen, or what is going to happen, and I love that feeling. And maybe that’s why I can’t let myself write anything deeper than this. Maybe it’s because I realize how swiftly feelings pass, how moments pass, maybe the years of trying to practice what I have been preaching has really paid off.

“Life. Don’t take it so seriously, it’s over before you know it.” -via my dead grandfather in a dream.

This is dumb

2010-09-03T10:04:00.003-05:00

I've been considering revising this blog, or creating a new one. It's been on mind mind, since I started it a year ago. I've wanted a more honest blog, a more open blog, but that comes with consequences.

I've been reading Birdykins and have been feeling more and more jealous. What draws her readers in, is her pure and honest posts. I have this capability, if I wasn't so fucking scared.

I'm finding that I hate coming here. I sit down and want to write about it, but I won't because I can't.

I've been writing more "real" pieces, but cannot pull the trigger on posting them. Sometimes I will post them for two minutes and take them back down. I'm just tired of writing about my job, my classes, my meals and my other daily boring activities, when life is happening. This had initially been a blog about my experiences in Chicago, and I'm pulling away.

Life is a mirror.

Last year, I wrote a blog about Mr. South Korea Teacher. It has been hands down, one of the most honest things I wrote here. When I wrote it, I had a moment of thinking, I don't care who reads this, I don't care if he reads this. It's real. What I wrote, wasn't for him and wasn't for you, it was for me. I was vulnerable for a brief second.

I confuse vulnerability with a lack of confidence. I want to be vulnerable, but there is such a fine line (from my thinking) between the two. I haven't fully understood it yet, because I never let myself feel that way, even though I want to.

And the reason I haven't been forthcoming with anything is because I am so afraid. I try to walk through life with a confidence that I have not found in my writing yet. I hate being wishy washy about my writing. I hate that I keep writing at a distance.

I try to tell myself lately, nothing you say or do will actually make a difference, nothing you write here will change anything about the situation, so why not be honest about it.

But what holds me back, is weakness. I'm so stuck on maintaining composure, that many times I lose a sense of emotion. I adhere too tightly to the narcissism my Dad passed down to me, and the stoicism my mother ingrained in me, and the hardened person I strive to be. Some days, rare days, when I am overtaken by any "feeling", whether it be sadness, anger, guilt, happiness, when I have a surge of creative momentum, I take advantage of it, it lasts momentarily before I put those feelings aside.

What good are writers without the emotion you can pour into words? How can I really even evolve, without being myself here?

I'm at a crossroads here. Life is changing for me. I want my writing to change as well. I have to remind myself, nothing I say here will change how things are.

Life

2010-08-29T10:11:00.000-05:00

I'm taking a much needed break from studying. My classes are tough this semester. And while I love to write, when it is forced, it isn't fun.

I had an infinitely good weekend. I went to a great party where I saw some old friends and made some new friends. I danced hard at Continental. I drank Ice House, smoked a Marlboro red and did Jello shots. I laughed my ass off. Wore the most amazing skirt. I felt like I was in high school again.

I went out for drinks last night. Dating is strange. You sit across from each other and judge the shit out of the other person, wondering if there is the potential of mating with this person for life. I'm not big on dating, normally. It seems so forced and expectations are often too high. Aside from Mr. South Korea Teacher (the anomaly), most guys never make it past the first one on one date with me. I often date because I end up making the most amazing friends. Almost all of my great dude friends have resulted from a first date gone wrong, I am grateful, however, that they still want to hang with me as friends.

There has to be some sort of casualness about the entire thing. I'm not really interested in what you do, how much money you make, how often you have to wash your beamer; it's all about being real for me. My extreme hippy views do not care about any of this. My only requirements is that you be witty and intelligent, that's really it. If you can't banter with me and hold your own against me, I get bored quickly.

Requirement number two... Please don't ask me what my favorite book is. It's like asking someone to choose their favorite $100 bill. I read a lot and if you don't know who James Joyce is, this conversation is probably going to not end well, so let's not talk "books", ok thanks.

Also, don't be so overly excited about me, just be yourself. I wish I could stress this more. I go into a date just being me, if you don't like it, then I saved myself a lot of time and energy. Do the same. I like to think of myself as a prize, and you should too, and that way we are on equal playing fields. When you feel good about yourself and I feel good about myself, things go better.

I often feel like I should come in with a disclaimer, when I go in on these things. I'm not girly, I'm dudeish. I don't want flowers. I want to hang and be buddies and have fun. Relax. That's all.

Going Home

2010-08-25T22:39:00.000-05:00

Iowa, I'm looking forward to being cradled in your arms in just a handful of days. I can't wait to tuck myself away on the acreage, sit on the cabin porch. I'm ready for horseback riding and searching for farm kittens. I'm ready for late night beers with friends, parked somewhere off a dirt road, and seeing stars that I haven't seen in ages. I'm ready for the quiet. I'm ready for the sweet corn, my Mom's garden cucumbers and tomatoes. I'm ready to wake to church bells. I'm ready to see my girls. I'm ready to see my Grandma. I'm ready for the distance, between there and Chicago, the distance I need for a moment. I'm ready.

2010-08-23T21:54:00.003-05:00

I'm agonizing over a trip away from the city.

I had a conversation with one of my girlfriends today. A couple of months ago she went to New York and L.A. to take a step back, to get out of Chicago, and see herself from a completely new perspective. She gained some clarity, some insight, just through distance and through the loss of routine.

Clarity, come to me.

I read a book about this guy who couldn't find his voice. Nothing he had etched out onto paper seemed good enough for his fingers. He sat at his desk and stared at the blank sheet, pen in hand, and frozen for two solid hours each day. He decided to remove himself from his environment. He went back home, staked out a spot in his parent's old farmhouse and wrote until his calloused fingers could no longer hold the weight of his pen. Consciousness seemed sudden, seemed to come from the space hidden between destinations.

Consciousness, be eminent.

A friend told me about an acquaintance, a budding young artist, who couldn't see past his own limitations. The world too chaotic, the environment not softened enough for his talent. One night he made a run for it, he slipped out and held himself up in a convent for over two months. He nestled himself amongst the white and black habits, in confinement, a solitary room with only a bed and simple linens. The silence, the stillness, the grace, the contemplation, embodied and enfolded him to the point of release. Brilliance flooded out in steady worded increments.

Contemplation, be my guide.

And where do I find my own destination? Does it lie in the rogue deserts of the south, the grittiness of a bruised city, or a sullen hilltop overlooking green waters, or is it still here, right here, right in this moment? Maybe it isn't the place, but maybe it is the space. It's not the distance measured in land, but the distance between reality and truth, what is and what isn't.

Maybe it's the moment of clarity, when consciousness and contemplation unite.

Stolen from "I Wrote This For You"

2010-08-22T09:17:00.001-05:00

"You were better to the ones that were worse for you. And worse to the one that was better for you."

So simple and yet, so true.

Finally... My Reflection on Last Year

2010-08-10T16:01:00.002-05:00

I’m writing more. I feel back to normal again. I feel creative again. I would love to describe for you the downfall of my self-esteem, after working for and leaving the business that I cannot name, but it’s all so trivial now, and I don’t want to dredge up what took me months to get over. I feel good. I feel great. I feel amazing.

I walked to work and felt rather reflective today. Some days I pay little attention to the Sears Tower. Other days I stare in awe, whisper to myself, I can’t believe I live here.

The novelty of it all has yet to wear off, still, two years later. Who knew that you could ever fall in love with a city? Who knew that I would fall in love with this city?

Last year, Mori and I were driving around the Chicago. We wound up on a dead end street somewhere near an old steel dump. Mobs of homeless men and women had filled grocery carts to the rim with scrap metal that they had found in the alley ways of the grimy Chicago streets. We parked the car for a moment and briefly watched as the road became a traffic jam with loaded grocery carts and the filth covered bums who would come to the area to exchange steel for a small amount of cash. Our attention moved quickly to the sidewalk where two men hoisted up a large bottle of dark syrup, some kind of rum, and poured it down a woman’s throat. The image was too spectacular for words. The look on her face, her head held high, and her arms outstretched to grasp the bottle; I can only compare it to a dehydrated child in desperate need for thirst. Mori and I looked at each other and wished one of us had a camera. It was one of the most beautiful images I have ever seen in my life. That will stay implanted in my memory forever.

And while that image will become burned in my brain, another moment from last year will become entrenched in my emotions. I remember what I was wearing, down the pink underwear I had on that night. I remember what drink I had in my hand. I remember every step I took. I remember how I parted my hair. I remember nearly every word that came out of everyone’s mouth that night. I remember where I stood and how I stood. If there was a night that you can be in love with, this is it. It’s not very often that people get to meet someone they adore. It’s not very often that the voice you hear on that repetitious song you play over and over, stands next to you and buys you a drink. It’s not very often that you get to hang out with someone whose lyrics can make you drop to your knees. Meeting Andrew McMahon, was one of the best moments of my life. Hands down.

Last year was full of new experiences. I have never lived with a girl before. I have never had a female roomie, but when Mori moved back to Chicago I was happy to take her in. It was probably one of the best series of months in my life. So many weird, awkward, and fun times that we decided we could write a comedy series based upon it. Two border line opposite personalities: Mori with her empathetic heart, and me with my soulless little heart; Mori and her creative mind, and me a little too logical; Mori a homebody, and me who needs to be social…. My apartment was never the same after she left it for her own apartment… a block away.

Last year, was good moment, after good moment, after incredibly good moment… but it also came with heart break. Losing my Uncle was an unexpected tragedy. Staying in a job that I was unhappy in, and then eventually losing it, destroyed my self esteem, all of it. These were the lowest points. These low points gave me a new perspective, and ushered in some positive changes.

Out of all the things I have learned last year, this one thing has stuck with me the most: “you get out what you put in”. I have heard this quote a million times, but have never applied it to myself. Life is a mirror.

Chicago, you are my reflection. You have been hard on me at times, but have loved me more often than I can count.

I am unequivocally and unconditionally in love with you, as long as you don’t boot my car again.

Randoms

2010-08-06T09:23:00.004-05:00

It's the anniversary of my second year here in Chicago, bitches. Usually this is a time of reflection and careful plans for the future. I'll skip that for now and wait until I'm in the reflection mood. Last year was amazing and I loved every second of it. Excited for what's in store for me this coming year...

I found out this week that I get hired on permanently the third week of this month. I'm also going to work on getting my Broker's license in April. They made this new rule where they are completely eliminating sales licensing, all agents are required to hold broker's licenses. What doe this really mean? Basically, more difficult tests and higher dues. At least I will have that under my belt.

I've been so busy this last week. I need more time at the end of my day, trying to keep up with social obligations and personal obligations and also, trying to cram everything in a weekend, is difficult. I'm all TGIF, lately.

Speaking of social obligations... The other night I strolled over to Lincoln Square to have some after-work drinks with some friends. We (they) sat around telling sex war stories. I find it amazing that so many dudes have had a "gay experience". I do not have this. I must say, I have never kissed or snuggled with a girl. I've just never been in that situation, but apparently, a lot of guys have. I find this crazy. Ah, I love friends, what a great night.

Also why I love my friends... "Did you get a makeover?" Me: "Ummm, no." "You look great!" The only thing I'm doing differently, is increasing my intake of coffee and eating more junk food and spending more money on myself. Yay, life!

The apartment above me is available. I'm dying to move. I have just been dragging my feet on it and I don't know why. I'm so desperate to get out of my apartment, yet, I just can't pull the trigger. My intuition is telling me not to do it. Something else will come along. I just don't know how much longer I can stay in it, before I want to ax myself. I am such a creature of habit, and sometimes making changes is hard for me. I'm really stubborn, ask me mum.

Sorry this is all so random.... I finally was able to get to bed early last night. I feel like I have so much energy.

Great Day of Unexpected Surprises

2010-07-30T21:02:00.003-05:00

It's been nearly a year since I wrote this article. My Grandma asked me to write something for this magazine, she even bought me subscription to add to the pressure. I wrote it on a whim, without expectations and it came during a painful time in my life, after the loss of my uncle. I had nearly given up on writing anything for publication again. I felt as if I had done my part. I had popped out a few poems and I felt as if I could never top them, so I stopped.

My writing began to drift further away from anything worth substantiating. I was writing about somewhat trivial events. I was writing about nothing worth meaning. I yearn for more meaning in my life, something broader than my current experiences.

I got a call this afternoon from my Grandma. She had received a few messages from some people who had read the article. She rushed home to find her magazine in the mail, and called me immediately. I had no idea.

This was not some of my best work, I'll admit. I wrote it in an hour, but it has given me a little ambition. An Iowa magazine is not the New Yorker, but it's something. The fact that they gave me a check as well, gave me a little aha moment. Wait, you can get paid to write?

I mean that's the dream right? Apparently, that is my dream.

Let me add that I love my life. I have this great circle of friends, family, and now co-workers. Little unexpected surprises like this just make me so much more happy. Chicago=love. I love this city. I love this life.

So, the editor of the magazine changed the wording and the structure around. I wasn't surprised. What I find the most interesting, is that they wrote that I am a writer. I re-read the phrase and wished it to be true....

Please excuse the grammatical errors and such. I tend to write in "stream of consciousness"...

I fall in and out of love with the city often. My Grandmother tells me that I have become addicted to the “bright lights”, but little does she know I’m desiring the softness of a still Iowa night. Today, like many other days, I’m missing home.

I moved to Chicago a year ago, officially a year ago last week to be exact. Some days are harder than others. I miss the silly things about Iowa, like the over abundance of parking spots to the bigger things, like my entire family.

Moving to the city has given me the artistic freedom I have yearned for. Few other places would allow me exposure to such a broad range of cultures, while still living in the Midwest, and also provide me with an atmosphere to do what I love, to write. So, I buy my time here. I write about the new experiences that I have encountered in Chicago, while I secretly long for the simplicity of my former existence in Iowa.

Last week I took the train back to my roots, southwest Iowa, due to the sudden and unfortunate death of my much-loved Uncle. As the train pulled out of the station and traveled on it’s way into the countryside, I felt a sense of relief. The vast farmlands unfolded as the train pushed along and a smile took over my face, and my breath sighed, “home”. Home to be in the comfort of my family, and home to comfort them as well, as the devastation has set in and we felt a need to be near each other.

The second I stepped foot on the Iowa soil, the grass and trees seemed greener than anywhere else. I wanted to devour it. While some see the cornfields as endless and boring, I see it as startlingly beautiful. The rows of corn and soybeans create waves as you drive along. There is a motion and a stillness all in one; the alignment of each stalk in perfect symmetry. I love the way the colors change in the endless acres of farmland; the way you can judge the change in seasons and months based on height and color of a plant. The barrenness of the fields in the winter and the anticipation we as Iowans feel when the soybeans finally come bursting out from their early spring slumber. I long for that.

But it’s my family that I long for even more than the rolling Iowa hills, the snow covered fields in the winter, or the locusts that sing me to sleep on those hot August nights. It’s devastating times like this that I feel lucky to have this family. But everyone in Iowa feels like family, we feel such a strong connection.

The atmosphere is different here in the city. I miss the overpowering sense of community, the sense that you belong, that you are connected. I found that connection, as I watched the lines of people who came here to pay their respect to my Uncle, to add support to those of us who grieved for our loss. There were those that brought food, those that came to hug my Aunt and tell her that they will be there for her, our community, our extended family. We gained a feeling that we were not alone, a sense that when something happens it affects the whole. We share in each other’s pain, we feel something that surpasses sympathy and moves onto a tremendous amount of empathy. Our loss is your loss.

I came home a week later, swallowed up by the city. I felt like a number, and sat alone in my grief. Days went on, business as usual. I make a phone call to my Grandmother and hear about her best day this last summer. A new ice cream shop opened up, in her small town of Griswold, by a local Mennonite couple. So she sat and had a scoop and chatted with some of the locals. I sit here and write, looking across the busy and bustling street of people I will never know, never encounter again and think to myself, that does sound like the best day ever.

Music in my Life

2010-07-26T23:29:00.001-05:00

I went to see a few bands play at the Empty Bottle. The show was, well, terrible. Fact: Bands who dress in costume (Besides KISS) are covering up for their lack of talent. Also, I SAW A FANNY PACK! Made my night. It was glorious and all leather. Awesome.

I have a lot of love for live music, but in like 45 minute increments. Any show that lasts longer, my attention span seems to drift away.... When the music is semi-terrible, my mind drifts even further, until I want to be in bed. I kind of wanted my bed tonight, all curled up in my undies.

I heard on the radio that Dashboard played tonight? I would have liked to see that show. I still love DC. I still crush hard over Chris Cabrera. Him and his arm tattoos makes my heart go pitter patter just a little bit too much. It also takes me back to a place when Screaming Infidelities was my song on repeat, now it's Even Now.

My buddy, Ryan, invited me to see Interpol, but then took it back, as he fucked up the whole entire time and place. We aren't seeing Interpol. I'm ok with that. I hope he reads this....

I've been dying to see a good band lately. Ah, life.

Can I love my job anymore than I do? I know the novelty will wear off in due time, but seriously, I'm amazed. The older gentlemen tell me I'm the cutest girl in the office, a little border line sexual harassment flattery is sometimes welcome, and it makes me giggle. The others ask me if the pics of my niece and nephew are my children, which has made me want to take them down. Sorry kids, you are breaking my self confidence a little. 24 yr olds do not have 9 year olds. Ok, In Iowa maybe.

Self Indulge Myself

2010-07-24T11:10:00.001-05:00

Hey blog readers.... I'm going to self indulge myself and pretend that you care for a moment about my great new job!!!! Please disregard any blatant rambling, as my allergies kicked in in full forced a few days ago. I'm in the middle of being absolutely miserable. I'm also mixin' meds. Whoo hoo!

After a week adjustment.... I love it. I absolutely love my new job. The people are so incredibly nice there. I'm so excited about this. It's just a combination of everything I enjoy doing, a little design work, a little real estate, a lot of great people, and the best part... freedom! Oh, and a steady pay check really helps. I already feel like I belong there. I'm back to being described by co-workers as being very "bubbly" and "outgoing", that feels good. I'm back to being me (after big bad scary boss made me doubt myself). I'm awesome and I'm glad they see it too. I love this new job life!

I'm casually looking for a new apartment. I got this apartment out of desperation (it's been two years already?). My bestie and I needed to be separated before we killed each other and I needed an apartment, like in two days, and I needed it to be cheap. My manifestation skills zeroed in and alas! my boss just purchased a new building with a vacant apartment! So, I moved in. Now it seems as if sunlight would be a great thing to enjoy. I'm just too good to continue living in a garden apartment. I've picked out a few things I want....

[A small brick building in Smith Park (I love the less urban feel to the area, very quiet, very suburbs), a backyard for a garden, a porch, hardwood floors, a large kitchen (for cookin' shit up), lots of windows, vintage style, parking, and cheap rent. Pretty basic, right?]

I want to have people over. I want to have bbq's. I want to have girl's night at my place. I want to have friends stay over. I want to have plants again. I want to have sunlight!

It would be nice to have a roomie to split the rent with. I kind of liked having someone to chat with every day, but I also like walking around naked and sleeping naked, just being naked is nice.

New Job

2010-07-15T21:05:00.002-05:00

Ah, I haven't written in awhile. Life happens.

I got a job.

It's downtown. The entire thing is an entertaining entourage of experiences:

I ride a train. I walk 15 minutes to this train. I get off at Union Station. I fight through mobs of people in the morning. I walk another 10 minutes to work. I pass the Sears Tower (or the "what you talkin' 'bout Willis tower). I turn at the Lyric Opera House and head down Madison. I find my high-rise (see picture to the left). I swipe my security card to enter the elevators and ride up to the 33rd floor. I walk to my cubicle, pass the by the solid glass windows that look down upon the city streets where the cars look like toys. I sit and work on designing marketing material for my team of brokers. I take a lunch break at 1. I get coffee and a little snack. I sit outside. I sometimes walk to Macy's and get my makeup done. I briskly walk back. I chat with the techies. (I find coding and vector explanations highly interesting.) I leave early, or sometimes late. I ride the train home and walk another 15 minutes to my apartment. It's a good gig.

It's an adjustment, I'll admit it. I work in an office with nearly 100 people (most under 30). I cried the first day at home. I cried the second day on my walk home. I cried the third day on the train. I cried the fourth day walking to the train.

I'm full of resistance.

I'm out of my element, but maybe that's a good thing. Maybe I need to be extracted away from that normal I cling to.

And maybe that little girl who saw herself living in a high-rise overlooking the ocean, was actually imagining herself working a high-rise overlooking the lake. Clearly, it's close.

The highlight of my last week...

I've been having to walk my dog late in the evening. The neighbor kids are always playing soccer in the alley. They love to pet my dog. Ah, kids... are so freaking adorable. There's a little four year old who goes crazy over Grace, he jumps up and down when she tries to lick his face. I wish I could bottle that kind of happiness. The story is out, I absolutely love kids. It's one of those things I don't want people to know, like my love for cooking. Maybe it's the feminist in me that likes to keep that under wraps. Next thing you know, people *cough family *cough, start expecting you to behave like a woman who starts popping out babies and cooking dinner for her man. #idontwannagetfat

Life

2010-07-13T21:41:00.000-05:00

There's so many things I want to say about life right now.....

Also, this sums everything up that I am feeling about everything... "I don't wanna fill in the blank".

I'll leave it as - I'm ordering Chinese food right now. I'm watching TV. I'm engaging in bad habits.

Enjoying Unemployment

2010-06-22T17:42:00.000-05:00

I had the best day today.

I woke up, got a text from my friend about the html book I've been bugging him about. He had it and was willing to do a trade at the corner of Chicago and Milwaukee. My job: to ride the bus.

I've never actually ridden the bus by myself. There are things that I feel that I am too good for: A job in service. Sometimes, my apartment. Sitting down at fast food restaurants. Shopping for clothes at Wal-Mart. AND... taking mass transit. Call me a princess or whatever, but I don't care.

I didn't take the bus to Chicago and Milwaukee. Instead, I walked. I walked the entire way from Humboldt Park to Chicago & Milwaukee. It took me 45 minutes.

It was a freaking gorgeous day. I put on my sun dress, flip flops, and headphones and just walked. It was awesome.

My buddy and I had some afternoon drinks. Both unemployed. Both taking online classes at Iowa State next semester. We talked a little about life. His girlfriend is moving in with him after dating a year. I talked about my desperate search for employment, to which he replied.... enjoy it, it's summer, quit fucking whining about it. Touche.

We nerded out at the apple store downtown. I played with the new ipad. (Not impressed.)

AND....

I took the bus home! All by myself. It wasn't that bad, but it made me realize.... I want a new car. But I feel like a full fledged Chicagoan now. I am a girl living in the city sans car! I have to walk to get groceries now!!!!! Yeah!

I told Ryan he should write a "how to enjoy unemployment" book (being unemployed for almost a year). Here are some of our thoughts....

Take naps and take them often.
Day drink.
Make friends with others who are also unemployed.
Enjoy your unemployment checks.
Go to the beach.
Don't watch tv.
Go shopping.
Don't whine about being unemployed.
IT'S SUMMER!!! ENJOY IT!
Stay out late and sleep in.

Also, I saw my old boss today and I got an email from the receptionist who is now on the axing list. I feel horrible for her. She is going through the same that I did, the mind games, the abuse... but you know what? I had such a great day and I couldn't help but think the universe was trying to tell me to quit feeling all sappy and bad about this... it's my independence. I'm liberated for eff's sakes.

2010-06-21T16:13:00.002-05:00

It's always amazing how life works.

Things change so quickly. I think about my girlfriend, Kelly, who casually signs on to a dating website for kicks. Sh meets someone online that same day, they have one date, get engaged a few months later, and are married within a year. It's strange how fast life happens.

Life is just like that. You just never know what is in store. Just one change in your day can completely alter your life.

I'm waiting for that moment. I counted up the resumes that I sent and stopped after I got to a hundred. It's frustrating and feels like someone sucker punched me in the chest.

And for the first time in so long I had a mini breakdown the other night. An accumulation of confusion.

I had been withholding this secret and it has been torture. So I'll let the blog world of unfamiliars in on it. I just need to get it out...

I had gotten a job offer in Des Moines last week. It doesn't matter what it was for. It doesn't matter that my buddy offered me his large three bedroom house with a back yard to rent. It doesn't even matter how much money I was offered. All that matters is the timing. The timing is unreal.

So there it is blogger world. Whatever "God" my family and friends have been praying to (they admit this) has more power over my mine. I'm not ready to give in quite yet. Although I have a small garden apartment (I've always had a house prior), no job, no car, no real girlfriends yet, I'm still not ready. I'm stubborn. I have a lot of fight.

This was kind of my dream. (Although the high rise I used to imagine myself living in, as a little girl, over looked the ocean and not a lake.) I am always thinking that there is something bigger out there. Not something to make me happy (because only you can do that), but something beyond the small Iowa towns I have lived in. Give me culture. Provide me with learning experiences. Send me opportunities.

Do I sacrifice a "safe" life in Iowa for the unfamiliar in Chicago?

I choose the unfamiliar. It's so much more exciting.

Night Hours and Writing

2010-06-07T23:23:00.000-05:00

I've become a night owl. I never wanted to be a night person.

I loved the mornings. I loved the sunlight, creeping in through my windows.

I hate the mornings. I hate the way the sun breaks through to reveal the corners I haven't dusted or the dirt I haven't mopped up. I hate how it reveals everything.

The nights, drenched in darkness, never insinuates anything. It is what it is. It cloaks my walls with a grey shadow. It hides those imperfections. It envelopes and disguises space.

It hides me.

I traded in the office for a coffee shop, for a park, for a couch, for a floor. I want this. I want my fingers to be placed on this keypad always. I want the words to string out and group together. I want this.

I want a penny for every letter, and a dollar for every word, a diamond for a litany of stories that you haven't already heard.

I can't have this.

2010-05-29T10:41:00.001-05:00

I can't wallow for too long. I can't sit in self pity. I can't enjoy a state of depression. I try. I attempt to try, but it never works. Two Tylenol, a few cigarettes and a good non-chick flick movie (Transformers), and some notebook writing and I am back in business.

My girl and I spent last Monday at the beach. I look back now and think I am so glad I got to enjoy myself before my axing. We had a little picnic of food, I bought my favorite magazine (which I only briefly glanced through), I drew pictures in the sand, I people watched, I bought an obnoxious amount of appetizers after the beach outing, and had a few drinks that night. It was one of the best days I had ever had.

That day my bff and I watched couples make out on the sand. The beach, the water, the sun makes couples throw their inhibitions to the wind. It was like watching soft core porn at moments. A mix of love, bare skin, and alcohol that would make my Grandmother blush.

We move on to catching a drink at our favorite hipster bar and we see the down side of couples that weren't so in love...

I have this curiosity about why couples fight. It's a borderline obsession, I'm always wondering and always asking people... what the fuck do they have to fight about? My bestie and I watch this couple, bellied up to the bar, arguing. Her hands are thrown in the air. He looks fearful. Then she walks off in disgust. He didn't agree with what she was saying.

It's apparently obvious. It's control, I come to the conclusion. It's always about control and power. It's about the ego wanting something you think the other person should give you, the little you. The control and power can be reduced down to fear. That fear can be reduced down to not wanting to get hurt. People want to control the actions of the other person, or their reactions, so in the end they don't have to get hurt. This doesn't just happen in intimate relationships, it expands over almost every situational relationship.

Once you realize you have no control over another person and/or situations, you have a terrific sense of relief. Things that people do, have a minor effect on your life. If I could have only told my early 20 year old self that.

I often revert to Joko Beck's idea about "the promise that has not been kept". We tend to create illusions about how something is going to be, whether it's our job (that's me!), a new home, a new friendship, a new relationship and from those ideals we create a promise to ourselves. Those promises tend to be this situation and or this person is going to make me happy and when it doesn't we begin our search again onto a new life that will fulfill that promise. So we keep searching and searching and searching only to find that "life is a promise that is never kept", desires are never fulfilled completely.

These words have brilliantly altered my life. Life is a series of endless disappointments and it is so wonderful because it never gives us exactly what we wanted or asked for, we never know what is around the corner. How awesome is that? Once you let go of this idea of trying to control what is going to happen, there is an enourmous sense of peace.

2010-05-27T11:20:00.002-05:00

I lost my job yesterday. I was told it was coming, but not until July. Plenty of time I had assumed to find a new one. It came earlier and without warning. What I had been preparing myself for a year ago, came when I had wore an adorable new dress and a purple pair of pumps. It was a good day I had presumed.

Shocking news makes me crawl into a cave and hibernate. I have the initial reaction where I tell those closest to me, only the people I love, and then I get mad and completely shut down. I avoid phone calls and people in general.

I spent yesterday morning in a little coffee shop trying to send out resumes. After ten resumes sent, I became frustrated. There were two dudes sitting next to me, trying to write a screen play. They debated this one scene for over an hour. Their voices growing louder. I wanted to reach over the table and hit them, just beat the crap out of them. I just wanted to take out all this pent up emotion and punch them in their junk. I wanted to take my coffee and pour it over their little trivial movie about something presumably stupid.

So, before I made a mess out of the rest of my day, I walked home. I did what my body told me to do. I went to sleep. I knew the next day I would awake with a clearer head and less, "I hate the world" emotions. I'm not the victim here.

I woke up this morning at my usual work wake up time, around 7. I had a very zen moment. This is life. This is how it goes. It's the ups and downs that you can't avoid. This is my story. So often, one bad thing often leads to something better. Sometimes something really bad has to happen for something really good to happen. The things in my life that I never thought I would recover from brought even better things in. That gives me an unexpected sense of relief.

I have an apartment to call my own. I have friends who I positively adore, friends to die for. I have this guy who makes me laugh and who I think is absolutely incredible. I have three besties who are amazing. I have a fantastic Mom. I live in Chicago. I live in Chicago. I live in Chicago.

I have too much happiness in my life right now to feel hopeless. I hope karma gets me back.

2010-05-13T14:16:00.004-05:00

I walk home in the rain. I let the water glide down my arms and slide through the tips of my fingers. All the muscles that surround my bones begin to ache, they have begun to cry. The thunder, the destruction of the sky enlivens the little pieces and fragments throughout my cells, it's the chaos of the night.

Every inch of every step brings about a new thought and I begin reciting Whitman's Song of Myself under my breath while keeping pace, "...for every atom that belongs to me as good belongs to you". I wonder where my brain would decide to go if I left it here in this puddle of water, or if I stopped thinking in terms of tomorrow or the next day, or the next day. What is now has irrelevance to the mystique of tomorrow.

I lie back in my bed, the tart taste of wine still clinging to my pallet, still resting on my breath and I become captivated by the paint that has started to peel off from the ceiling. It's a deterrent, I realize, something to sway me against the ramblings that move in waves through my mind, or the swift motions of the rise and fall of my chest. The whispers of today feel like lead upon my chest.

And these hands, too entirely soft and small, too entirely delicate to be placed anywhere else. Instead, they reach in vain for the coldness of the stones above my head, to feel the antithesis of their own flesh to feel less empty. They'll take anything, anything imperfect, anything less than they are. They are selfish, these little hands, wanting too much and sacrificing too little.

I fall in and out of sleep. The night does me an injustice, waking up the dead with its ceaseless cracks of thunder, making zombies of us all. I slip in and out of a restless dream where you are running, an American soldier, followed by a large group of Nazi soldiers. You slip into a ravine and become covered with rocks and dirt. You become unconscious, saving your own life as they step around you. You are unseen, unnoticed. They cannot decipher the earth from your body. I clear away the debris, wash it clean from your face with my white small hands. How easily the soil moves away from your pale skin. How easily you awake. You lift yourself out of the brush, a WWII soldier with uniform in tact, how easily you become clean, how easily you awake.

House dreams..

2010-05-10T14:39:00.000-05:00

I ordered "The Kind Diet" the other day, I should be getting in the mail today. I'm so excited....

I got the photos back from my photoshoot, done by my neighbor and friend. My friend, Ryan who is a graphic designer and in need of photographers, was so impressed by the shoot that he hired my young neighbor to do some work. I got a nice little thank you yesterday and the promise of a pumpkin pie from my little neighbor.... I'll take it.

I have much of the day off today. I enjoyed some time at a coffee shop and did a little reading (new books, yeah!). I came home, stared out the window at the next door neighbor's private (and fenced in) massive yard with an indoor pool. A flower garden is nestled up right next to my window and I find myself longing for an outdoor oasis.

I've designed my cottage, my future home at least a hundred times on paper and even outlined it in AutoCAD. I pulled ideas from a book I got as a birthday present a few years ago on green design. The homes are designed by architectural greats, they are masterpieces, all with distinct and unique features.

I've imagined it to be somewhere in Wisconsin, although I've never been there. A home surrounded by plant life of every kind, tucked in a private and secluded area amongst massive trees. I like houses where you can't tell where nature ends and the house begins, I like the idea of natural elements brought into the home. Frank Lloyd Wright used this same idea to create Fallingwater, his masterpiece, where he built a cantilever over the edge of a cliff. Pure genius.

I like the idea of a home being open and not cut off from the environment. Large open spaces, tons of windows, concrete or earthen structures, wood interiors with a subtle mix of stone work. Something like this...

Monday dreaming....

Campbell's the Man

2010-05-04T11:25:00.004-05:00

Back in the early 2000's I listened to Mancow every day from his syndicated radio station based here in Chicago. I blame and praise him for my liberal viewpoints, although he tended to encompass all realms of the political spectrum.

A couple of things that really stuck in my head was his views on cancer foundations and the money that they make. Think about all the high priced pink items you buy. It's a money making business, he challenged us to think if they are really out there to cure cancer or to make a profit.

He also informed "me" that political leaders are intelligent, in fact more intelligent than the general public. It's how they got into power. It's what they do with that power that makes them look dumb.

His sexist remarks would challenge my brain to think about my own fundamental rights as a woman. In many aspects this radio host really altered my perspective on life.

Aside from all the political talk and daily antics, Mr. Muller had a spiritual side. He turned me onto Joseph Campbell, the great mythologist. Campbell also studied religion as being a great myth. His opinion was that religion was not to be taken literally or factually but instead to be used as a guide to life, simple stories on what is right or what is wrong. All religions have this sort of communal basis in their belief system, an agreement, it's the story of the hero whether it be Jesus, Mohammed, Buddha or Moses.

But that's not to say that Campbell himself was not spiritual, in fact, he believed that there was some unknown force that guides us. He prophetically believed that we should "follow our bliss" and once we do that "doors will open where we thought no door existed".

That statement always moved me. When I think about the people who just do what they love to do, the world just seems to shift and well, doors open for them. Campbell, himself, loved to study Native American folklore as a young boy. This love bridged into his adulthood and expanded to other cultures and religions. He was able to make a livelihood out of it.

I ask myself the big question, how would my life change if I just did what I loved to do? What doors that seemed to be dead bolted shut right now open up? How would my life expand?

How would your life change, if you just did what you were passionate about?

Goodbye Things...

2010-05-03T14:57:00.002-05:00

My Mom sold the entire contents of my storage unit from back home. It's official, her dream of me moving back is over, so very dead.

I had quite a few items that I bought at antique sales over the past ten years. My old kitchen was decorated in 50's garb, items i had collected. Gone. I had an old radio cabinet from the 30's or early 40's. I used it as a tv stand. It was beautiful. She sold it for $4. Ask me how much I paid for it? I dare you.

She also sold my vintage dining room table and chairs. I loved that set. It was beautiful. I'm sad to part with it, along with my other things. But this is a new life with a new start, I should have new Chicago things, right? Yes.

She was nice enough to keep a few items.... boxes upon boxes of books. I could not part with them. I begged her not to let them go. My loves. I have an obsession and it is with books, my vice. I love books. I love to covet them. I love the feeling of having them in between my hands. I love the words. I love the smell of the pages. I have an addiction.

I could never own a Kindle. There is nothing like having a book. I like to ear mark pages. I like to make notes in the margins. I like the look of a good worn out and overly read book. I like the way they look on a shelf. I have a problem...

My God, it is gorgeous outside. I love it when the weather tip toes past spring and enters full board into summer. I'm so excited for my girlfriends to come this month. E in two weeks and Kel in a few. Warm weather visits from my girls are always entertaining... I predict dresses, heels, drinks and dancing. I luvers them.

I'm so excited for life right now...

Cooking and shstuff....

2010-05-02T12:59:00.000-05:00

I've been cooking a lot lately. Several years ago I bought a cook book written by Rachel Ray. I have never used it, as I have been eating mostly vegan lately. I skimmed through it the other day and found tons of side dishes that were plant based as well as recipes where I could omit the meat. The meals are so severely cheap too. I've been spending my Tuesdays at Stanley's buying a week or two worth of produce and making some really delicious meals.

I've also figured out a way to make veggies on the verge into a dish. These are vegetables that look like they are close to expiring, close to their demise. Before I let them go bad (I absolutely hate food waste), I pretty much throw in everything that is close to going bad into a pasta dish with a little red wine vinegar and some olive oil. So good!

Ah, I've mostly cut out caffeine out of my diet, except on my naughty weekends. I even stopped drinking green tea. This has been going on for a couple of weeks now. I'm sure I will pick up the habit again, nothing feels better than coffee in the morning. I felt as if I was becoming too reliant on it for my energy source.

I have a new weekly blog that I'm into called The Kind Life, by Alicia Silverstone. I was doing my morning Oprah show watching routine and caught her on the episode. She talked about flirting with the idea of becoming vegan, asking herself the big "What if" questions. The always gorgeous Alicia has become a source of inspiration. You should visit her site.

My Weekly Randoms:

One of the tenants in my building needed a stand in last week for a photo session. I was chosen and made it clear that in no way was I photogenic. I worked it out though. I had such a good time doing it, and the photos turned out really great. I had a hard time being cheesy, but the more serious ones turned out to be the best. They looked as if I were a nun seeking salvation. There was a light that subtly hit my forehead and eyes, but the rest of my face was cast in darkness. It was brilliantly good, but my friend will not let me have them, even after an argument ensued. They are for the blog only, and not for facebook apparently. I will post a link to the blog with the pictures, once they are up.

I've been in Mad Men heaven lately. I am finally getting caught up on Season 2. I love this show. I double majored in Women's Studies and English in college and could imagine an entire class being developed based around this show. The discussions would be profound. I love the strong female characters in the show. I love how it takes on the sexism, during a time period when women's lib was just emerging just coming into light. Such a great effing show.

2010-04-29T13:17:00.000-05:00

Sometimes just crawling in bed, in the nude, just feels good. Reading a book under the electric blanket after a fresh shower feels even better. I pull out my book. It's a book I've been rereading for the past year, "Evolve Your Brain" by Dr. Joe Dipsenza. I caught him on "What The Bleep Do We Know" and have become obsessed with the inner workings of the brain ever since.

I decided to pick it up again after not feeling myself late last week. I developed a severe throat ache, a sign that my body has been going into overdrive trying to kill off an awful infection. A sign that my body has been in an imbalance. A possible case of negative thoughts causing a chemical eruption?

My eye decided to do something random, feeling as if it could explode out of my head. I also came down with a bad case of a bladder infection (I haven't had one in several years), and didn't want to get out of bed for a few days. The pain extended all the way down to my feet, so random. This all occurred in a three day period. My body, usually a clean bill of health, has become feeling fragile and I wondered if I was some how at a misalignment.

I pulled out the book, the brain bible, and re-read the chapter on self healing as to try and get rid of whatever my body was doing to me. Trying to get my brain to tell the rest of my body to beef up the security and stop the sickness.

I'm feeling much better this week. Lots of meditation, lots of downtime, lots of just being wonderful happy me. I'm just feeling really happy lately, really content.

A new job is still on my future want list. I told myself that if I didn't get a job by April, (I have a few days left) that I would take classes this summer semester. So apparently that's what I am doing. I'm taking a couple of classes online starting in May. Fun-ish.

Some downtime and some extra nothings...

2010-04-22T20:54:00.000-05:00

I'm using my eyeliner sharpener as a pencil sharpener. Desperate times call for desperate measures. I decided to take the evening off from life and indulge in some drawing, some cooking (spinach artichoke pasta dish) and listening to some moody music. I may even take an hour long shower (and avoid Earth Day). I might even curl up with W.H. Auden. If there was a drop of wine in the house, I probably would have a glass of that too. I haven't had a night like this in awhile. I've been running myself rapid this last week. A night to myself feels good. It feels selfish. I like that.
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I've been trying to teach myself Dreamweaver. I give myself 15 minutes each day to learn something new. Einstein said that doing the same task every day for 15 min. will make you an expert in a year. I don't want to be an expert, but I want to know the ins and outs of this Adobe product. I'll move on to Photoshop when I'm feeling more artistic.

I challenged my friends to come up with a mock name for a mock foundation for a mock website. I asked them to think of a name for a foundation that provides fresh organic food to lower income families, whose providers are women. (Food pantries often provide processed crap to these families).

We all came up with the conclusion of "why is this so hard?!". Somewhere and some point when I'm least expecting it, it will come. The best I could do was Garden Goddess Foundation, don't judge... it's lame.

My buddy's band played the Metro the other night. While I missed the show yet again, I have to say I am impressed at how well they are doing, if I could only say that I was really into the type of music they play, it's really indie and really hard. But still, kudos to them for making a name for themselves. Stylish and fashionable young rock stars, to boot.

I had a real life conversation today with a friend about relationships. Said friend works too hard at trying to find the right one, works too hard at life in general. It was the first time I have used my job as an analogy in a conversation, yet alone about relationships.

Said friend, thinks of them-self as crap. Said friend thinks that there isn't anyone out there for them. I explained to this person that at one time I had listed a house that smelled like cat pee. Many of buyers walked into the house and most of them quickly left in disgust. Some made short entrances and some stayed longer than they should have. One buyer in particular was able to look past the mess, look past the smell of cat urine and see a diamond in the rough. This buyer fell in love with the property. There is a buyer for every property, even those that look like they are in the worst shape. Just like there is a person out there for everyone. Someone who looks past the mess that took years of accumulation, someone who sees beyond the surface level, someone who doesn't care about the minor flaws, it's what's in the structure. This person sees perfection when some see disaster.

I thought this was absolutely brilliant, my friend mocked me for this, got a chuckle and we moved on. I still think it's rather hilarious and I might use this on several more occasions when my girlfriends/guyfriends seek out love advice.

Birthday Gifts

2010-04-13T11:47:00.001-05:00

I finally bought Kevin a birthday present last week, a watch. I had spent weeks trying to find the perfect gift. I wanted to get him something fantastic, but I couldn't find a gift bag big enough to package Vegas. Kevin has saved my ass when I needed design help (he's pretty brilliant) on multiple occasions, has let me off of a bet or two (not having to wear a t-shirt in public), and has indulged my love for Iowa on a couple occasions (my happy place), I had really wanted to indulge his love for his favorite atmosphere and hobby. Where better to do it than Las Vegas? That would have been the perfect birthday gift for him.... shucks.

My family is halfway big on gifts with meaning or purpose. As, I've gotten older I've discovered the potential in this. Things that my niece and nephew won't appreciate now (boring but classic books), hopefully they will think about later and realize... their aunt really put some thought into this.

One year, my Mom got me the greatest gift I have ever gotten to this day... guitar lessons! Someone in our family was going to be a musician, and my Mom really didn't care who it was. She grew up with a father who was a master at the guitar, who played in a band, and she wanted someone to replace or inherit that talent.

My Dad was lucky contestant #1, he failed. My Mom moved on to # 2, my brother. My brother also failed, because he had dreams of becoming a drummer (also my secret music instrument love). My Mom, of course, would not allow drums anywhere near our house, and decided she had one final last resort.... her 11 year old musically challenged daughter.

With careful consideration, or a form of desperation, my Mom had looked at me with curiosity. I was her one beacon of hope, a daughter with the possibility of untapped musical talent hidden under the tiny nimble fingers. Did she have grace? No. Did she have the desire to learn? Probably not, but she had an insatiable love for music... let's give it a go, she thought.

My teacher was a long haired senior in high school. I was a fifth grader. Let's step back and think about this... I was crushing hard and became distracted. He was a dream boat and my focus was not there, my brain cannot contemplate the movement between chords, when starring at your future husband. I came away with the ability to play twinkle twinkle little star, and the $100's of dollars my Mom spent on forcing lessons down my throat went to waste a long with nearly a year of time.

The gift in itself was incredible, however. I can also say that I can play the A chord over and over for you with a slight bit of ease. I can also change a set of strings pretty easily on a guitar. So, it wasn't a complete waste. Plus, I have this fantastic memory of sitting in my crush's room and watching him shred the electric guitar while I strummed my little pint size acoustic version. Hellz yeah. I win.

Eating Me Alive

2010-04-01T21:02:00.001-05:00

I walked what feels like 10 miles today. I sat down in Millennium Park and watched a bundle of Jewish men with their black pants, white dress shirts and the traditional yarmulke playing a game of football. I love watching a mix of cultures collide and clash in this overwhelming city.

Since I moved to Chicago I have yet to do the touristy thing and venture out and explore the innards of the city. The year before I moved, I had the tourist locations down to a science.

I have these moments when I am taken aback. Moments when I look at symbolic Chicago, the Sears Tower, the Bean, Navy Pier, the Hancock Building, and I say to myself, I live here. Sometimes that awe captures me and cradles me into a nostalgic cocoon. Sometimes, I have to really be in it, really absorb myself into the moment. I live here. I live here.

On the way back to my cozy little apartment on the outskirts of downtown, where I can look down my street and see the Hancock Building in plain eyesight, Mori and I discussed the prior day's events. Jolted swiftly out of my dreamy city views, I decided... the city will eat me alive. Which it has in ways. Which it did yesterday. Which it has on many occasions in the past two years.

I find myself being tricky. Maneuvering my way out of situations and falling back into others. I find myself being a mixture of feisty and sweet. The Iowa sweetness I was known for fades and rises and quickly fades again.

The smell of the city, I tell Mori, is like a carnival. The food, from the city's massive amount of restaurants, mixed with the subtle flavors of the car smog... is delicious.

If the city plans to eat me alive, I hope it does. I hope I go down with ease. I hope there won't be any struggle. I hope I preface the entire maneuver with, that was a great ride. So go ahead city, eat me.

Even Big Girls Have Bad Days

2010-03-31T21:14:00.003-05:00

I had heard at some point your thoughts create things. It creates your existence and the way you move through life. It's the natural exchange of energy. Good brings about good, bad brings about bad. I'm sure I heard it in some quantum physics book I read at some point. It's always stuck in my head.

This morning I woke up thinking about the kid who sat near me in my college lit class. He was hipster as fuck. Me, with my deeply implanted Iowa mentality looked at him with a natural curiosity. His shaggy hair and brown tattered vest didn't sit nicely in my well organized and detailed atmosphere.

I thought about how he was discovered that semester, drowned in Lake Laverne. It was early Spring. Still cold. Iowa State held the yearly polar plunge in that lake, a few days later they found his body at the bottom of it. I think about all those college kids who didn't realize they were swimming in the same pond with a dead body, or the swans, Lancelot and Elaine, who hovered around him those few days.

And bad thoughts bring about bad thoughts and sad thoughts bring about sad thoughts. A natural progression in the state of emotions.

I think about her with her raggedy shirt and polyester shorts, often colored in vibrant greens or even yellows. I think about the apron she wore when amongst the field of red strawberries. The deep red and brown stains on her clothing from the ritualistic motion of picking them out of the ground and wiping dirt across her pants, picking and wiping. I think about the way she would stand in the middle of her massive garden while I ran down to fill my tiny hands with the berries, and let the juices run between my fingers. I think about the way she'd watch me. I think about the way she must have loved me. I think about they way I would indulge myself in that unconditional feeling. Infallible. I think about the ways in which I miss her.

And sad thoughts bring about tears.

I thought about her in my car. I sat in that vacant condo later and let you mirror my actions, and my unwarranted set of emotions of the early day. Afterwards, I sat in my car and cried about it. I don't know why. It was brief. It was momentary. It was over as quickly as it began. Maybe I cried for her. Maybe I cried from your anger towards me. Maybe I just cried.

Even big girls have bad days.

Misc.... B-Day, Weddings, and the City

2010-03-31T14:25:00.001-05:00

I had a fab birthday last week. I rolled in my birthday with my favorite people for dinner at Old Oak Tap and drinks at J-Bar, Angels and Kings and of course Flat Iron. I couldn't have asked for anything better, a low key night with the people I love.

The weekend was spent at my bestie's wedding and I was M.O.H. What an honor. Kel, is a girl I met 10 years ago, while we were dating brothers. We were kept apart for 4 of those years and were brought together a year later by none other than facebook. We found each other and shyly asked one another out for drinks where we bonded over rants and "what were we thinking" conversations. After that, we were besties from that point on. I love that girl more than anything on this planet.

I nailed that M.O.H., toast by the way. It may not have been brilliantly written, but I am just proud of myself for doing something I never thought I could do... speak to a crowd of 300+ people. I did it with ease and got a little adrenaline rush off of it too. You throw in a little Hawkeye bashing humor and you can get an Iowa crowd rolling, for the record.

I woke up this morning, my usual 6:30 am. I sat on my couch for a few minutes with the door cracked and felt a little breeze roll in. For a brief second I missed Iowa. It's awfully quiet in the city in those early morning hours before all the traffic begins and the taxi horns blare down the street. I enjoy the morning so much so, that I've begun to naturally rise at the exact same time every day.

I've been going to Stanley's on a weekly basis now. Loading up on fresh veggies and fruits, one little trip costs me less than $25 and feeds me for nearly two weeks. It's a great little fresh produce market here in the city. My only qualm is that it isn't closer to where I live. I wish it was in bike-able distance and I wish I had my bike as well.

It's gorgeous in the city today. I'm jealous of this guy toting a case of beer down the street. I want to be on a patio chatting with friends and drinking a beer and taking in the warmth...

I've said it a million times before, and I'll say it again. I love my life.

Poo...

2010-03-18T15:49:00.000-05:00

Ah, is it the weather? Is it having my windows open? Is it the thought of packing away my boots and substituting them for naked legs and dresses? My mood = bliss. A subtle increase from my average normal blissful state.

Things happen. They always happen. I want things and it happens. It usually happens at the worse possible time, usually when what I wanted is no longer of great need.

I spent months obsessing about finding a new job, any job. I would have licked concrete if it offered a steady salary and dental benefits. I got busy at work, real busy. Suddenly, I forgot about my job hunt. Suddenly, everyone has begun calling me about my resume. I offer them regrets. I have multiple closings in the next month. I want to see them through and reap the rewards from working my ass off, i.e. a hefty commission check. I turned down two jobs. In two months, I will want to kill myself for this stupidity.

Otherwise, life is good. Nothing to report, as usual. I'm still considering the new blog, which was indirectly encouraged to me by my bestest in the worldest friend, Kara (love this girl). I kind of really want to do it. I'm kind of like really into it and dare I say a little passionate about it.

My bestie, KelKel, is getting married next week. Excited? Yes. Ready for this maid of honor speech business? Not at all. I'm not good at being sappy. I tell my girls I love them, but I'm not really good with this whole like "emotional you mean the world to me and I'm happy that you are marrying this man" thing. I'm happy for her, but my values and personal beliefs and perspectives on life cloud things. Writing this speech is on my most dreaded list. I'd like to stick to funny, but I don't have funny for this. My funny will come off as asshole funny, which is not funny to most people. Halp.

Speaking of Kel, she had her bachelorette party last weekend. Erica rolled into town and I felt complete. I missed her. I missed fun. Erica brings the fun.

I miss my girlfriends. Poop. Why does Iowa have to be so like, far?

So, this blog turned into a sappy, "I miss my friends" episode. It's the weather. You miss your girlfriends when the weather hits the 60's and you think about girl talks and coffee, or girl talks and beer. Daily girl phone talks just doesn't cut it.

I've been missing...and I've been thinking....

2010-03-11T12:22:00.001-06:00

I haven't written in my blog in a month. Where have I been? I've been cheating and have fallen in love with my other blog where the only reader is, well... me.

I've been toying around with the idea of doing a makeover, a blog make over. I started Public Road to document my journey as a new Chicagoan, trying to make my way through the city while still holding on to my ideals as a small town Iowa girl, but after nearly two years of living here I want to move on. That might mean moving on from talking about the minor ramblings and nonsense I have written about here. I want more substance and I want to start writing about something I am more passionate about. I've been thinking about a theme blog and having someone design it for me, something fresh, clean and simple.

My new year's goal was to become more creative, more honest and more spiritual (not in the organized religious way, in a "me" sort of way). It's been almost three months now, and I have been slowly moving back into the person I was 10 years ago. I'm eating better. I'm not eating oreos for breakfast, lunch and dinner. I'm doing yoga again. My posture is almost repaired after being hunched over and getting constant back aches. I'm meditating twice a day. My mind has become more clear and focused and my anticipation has lessened. I'm slowing down and enjoying the present. I've always loved my life, but I'm finding that I'm loving it even more.

I live my life in the present, for the most part, although somedays I jump to the future when fear gets a hold of me. Lately, however, I have folded into the past. I've thought about being 19. I thought about when I went vegan, cold turkey. I thought about how my body looked, how my skin looked, and how much energy I had as I awoke every morning with ease at 5:30 am. How sustainability and being natural was a major part of my life. I'm admiring the past me and I want that back.

Although, I've never had to worry about my weight, my body was "sluggish. The last few months of changing my diet has definitely changed my body. My bloated stomach, from bingeing on the worst (really the best) food Chicago has to offer, has substantially decreased. My skin, after going through a two month detox process and breaking out, is beginning to clear and I stopped wearing foundation again, only lightly dusting it with mineral powder. My face is less jowly and I can see my bone structure again. The whites of my eyes are white again, and do not have the yellowish tone they used to have. I'm also not walking around in a fog, brought on by the obscene over consumption of sugar and alcohol.

I still want to enjoy the pleasures in life, a drink with friends, cheeseburgers and fries, and devouring my favorite...chocolate. I just don't want this to be a daily thing like it was in the past year. I don't want to be a food nazi, and never will I try to forcefully impose my beliefs on others, I just want to flirt with the idea of veganism and the possibility of becoming a full fledged member at some point. This is for me.

I will only miss cheese slightly.

Word Doodles

2010-02-18T16:44:00.000-06:00

Instead of doodling drawings, sometimes I doodle words. This is what I came up with today as I was reading through people's fb statuses, the ones that are so passive aggressive. These little word doodles are the way I live my life in relationship to others on a daily basis:

Never try to change someone, it's futile and narcissistic.
Don't try to persuade someone to see your point of view, ultimately, they are doing the same.
Lead with empathy. Always try to put yourself in someone else's shoes.
You can't control another person's path. Don't get involved, they will work it out on their own.
It's not always about you, it's usually the stories the person is telling themselves in their head.
What frustrates you about someone, is probably what frustrates you about yourself.
Don't worry, it's a waste of energy and won't matter tomorrow.
Money is nothing but a token for goods. It means nothing. Your right to be loved by someone should not be based on your monetary worth. Money is nothing.

....my little hippy views.

Some Blogs I Read

2010-02-17T22:56:00.001-06:00

I haven't caught up on my google reader in ages. I had 700+ unread blogs to thumb through. I decided to forego Mashable, as the posts were getting excessive and most of the social media info I have grown bored with. Recently, I'm into blogs that have to do with interior design, mostly about designers who buy flea market and estate sale items and make art with their home decorating. It reminds me of me, or the "me" I used to be in my little cottage home that I made my art project.

At the other end of the spectrum I read blogs that are deeply written with a lot of emotion poured in. I read them out of jealousy, wishing I could be that open and honest. I read blogs that make my breath pause and entices the little ache in the pit of my stomach.

My friend turned me on to http://pleasefindthis.blogspot.com. The moment I read this title, my only thought was "whoah" and it goes like this:

I NEED YOU TO UNDERSTAND SOMETHING. I WROTE THIS FOR YOU. I WROTE THIS FOR YOU AND ONLY YOU. EVERYONE ELSE WHO READS IT, DOESN’T GET IT. THEY MAY THINK THEY GET IT, BUT THEY DON’T. THIS IS THE SIGN YOU’VE BEEN LOOKING FOR. YOU WERE MEANT TO READ THESE WORDS.

The rest of the blog is just an orgy of words. Each time I read it, I wonder how other readers interpret it. Is it a man who is writing about the woman he lost and hoping she eventually stumbles upon this lonely blog, a love letter devoted entirely to her?

Maybe the blog was created for our own interpretation. Maybe it isn't for "her" or "him" to discover, but it's for us, pure poetry to indulge in. In any case, its brilliance was meant to be read and to make heart ache sound like perfection in limited sentences.

I also read http://birdykins.wordpress.com/. The first time I opened this blog, I read the latest post which was devoted to how she lost her virginity. It was so completely honest and I found myself reexamining the way I write, and how reserved I am. Here was this writer letting the general public in on one of the most personal stories of her life. Again, I took a step back and thought "whoah". The way this girl meshes words together still astounds me.

She reminds me of the writer I want to be, the writer I am in private when no one is watching and when there are no witnesses.

Beware! A Mushy Valentine's Day Post

2010-02-12T16:12:00.000-06:00

My bestie's wedding is in almost a month. I can't believe a year ago she just started to date him. It was last Valentine's Day she came to Chicago with her man and announced that after a month of dating, they were in love.

She brought this boy of hers to me, telling him he had to pass the approval of two of the toughest most important people in her life... her Dad (rough and rugged, a scary guy) and me (soft, sweet, and small). He starts off the initial meeting by buying me my favorite beer, hugs me, I shoot him a line of sarcasm and he takes it with a sense of humor. I watch the way he looks at her and decide he is good and I am satisfied with this union.

I like that she found him. They were two people who wanted the same thing. Two people who were tired of the dating scene, two people who probably passed each other a million times at the gym, two people who just wanted to find someone and they just fit and instantly worked. It just was simple and not complicated, so utterly easy.

I was thinking back to when she started dating him and she imparted these wise words: if you have to seek out the advice of your girlfriends about your boy, he's probably not the guy for you. It's simple and true. It means there is comfort and trust already established in the relationship and no need for outside opinions not even from your best friends.

I remember the years I watched her date various guys, I sat with her for hours over drinks discussing the behavior of the guys she was dating and/or why they were acting a certain way, and she probably knew they weren't right for her, but her ego wanted justification.

With her fiance I have never once had her ask me what to do when he does this or what does it mean when he does that. We've never pondered over the intricacies of his inner mind and how it works. We never hashed out his motivations for his actions. To me, this means it's the real deal. Simple and easy love, just how it should be.

So, this V-Day blog post is for my bff and her man. So happy to see her happy with someone that makes her happy. I love love.

2010-02-05T15:21:00.003-06:00

Things that I'm into now:

my nephew's infatuation with Mr. Potatohead, fluffy robes, chocolate (extra dark), beers, smiles, crude jokes, purples and blues, furniture, dresses, dreaming, laughing, cynicism

soft lighting, vintage, plain t-shirts, dark sunglasses,

cottages, beaches, warmth, electric blankets, girl scout cookies,

soft skin and warm hands,

bracelets, yoga, tennis shoes, having nothing but everything,

dollar bills, Fine, Twitter, nudity, vodka, conquering fear, the 40's, The xx, you.

Yoga and Misc.

2010-02-02T12:02:00.006-06:00

I started doing yoga when I was 19. I was on this prolific hippie inspired journey and naturally that fit in well. I did it religiously, everyday, sometimes three times a day. I had moments at work, when all the guys would leave for lunch, and I would do yoga in the conference room. I was obsessed.

It took years for the habit to leave my system. It was so deeply ingrained and habitual, that I would wake in the morning and feel an intense feeling of guilt for skipping the routine. I could easily trick my mind, however, into easing the guilt from my brain. "I'll do it tomorrow", was often my best resource.

The last two weeks I have forced myself out of bed, avoiding the excuse ("I have a friend sleeping on my couch!") and directly went into a swan dive and downward facing dog. It's only been two weeks of a 45 minute routine of poses I have memorized in my brain, and aside for the intense back pain, I feel better.

This yoga thing has greatly reduced this amount of work related sludge that has been sitting around in my body, festering and turning. Sludge that stems from feeling like an idiot savant who ends up teaching people how to change batteries in a camera and delete emails. My self esteem plummeted and I doubted myself. But I digress, as a well deserved apology came to me yesterday and I feel better.

Here I am again venting to nearly everyone about this trivial everyday life stuff, stuff that I usually save for my Mom to absorb... poor woman. Actually, poor everyone who has taken the brunt of my self pity these last two weeks. I have been in survival mode lately and have been living in my head.

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I downloaded Motion City's new album and I love it. I was so excited for the release, and now I can't stop listening to it.

My bff's wedding is in two months. I have to prepare a speech and I want it to go something like this... "I love you and I never thought the day would come when I would see you marry a ultra conservative Republican until I realized you were an ultra conservative right winger. You confirmed this discovery by dressing up as Sarah Palin for Halloween. I still adore you and am happy for you despite our great differences....... I love Obama-care and homosexuals."

I love cringeworthy humor and I'm pretty sure this is not going to go over well amongst the 500 some guests composed of farm friendly Iowan Republicans, this makes it worth it.

2010-02-01T08:41:00.006-06:00

I love music. I love the Grammy's. After watching said Grammy's last night (with amazing pizza in my lap and wonderful company by my side) I felt myself begin to question the general public and their inability to recognize true talent. I begin to lose faith in the "arts" when I see Taylor Swift win album of the year. This to me, is like seeing Nicholas Sparks win the Pulitzer Prize, it just shouldn't happen.

People really dig things that don't make you think or feel. If people did like to feel, we'd be listening to legendary greats during their reign instead of decades later when they dropped out of society. Artistic genius needs to sit and ferment for long periods of time, so we can appreciate it when they have drank themselves to death for non-recognition, or watching people like Taylor Swift win awards.

Does the girl have a talent? Sure, a little. We see glimpses of it in her cutesy little diddies about falling in love at 16 and we float back to that time and connect with the song. We see brief moments of it while watching her onstage playing her guitar easily with synchronicity. We see it sitting there underneath the soft careless breathy voice, hiding deep in the caverns of her vocal chords.

But dear lord, give that girl some vocal lessons. Watching her trying to keep pace with Stevie Nicks was like watching my best friend's dog try to howl along to a soft melody of violin strings, just painful and you wish the howling dog would be taken away to that magical "farm".

I find it startling to know that there are female vocalists out there who can shatter your soul with their voice and lyrics, *cough**Imogen Heap** cough, cough*, and get little public recognition. If you put America's sweetheart, Taylor Swift, on American Idol, she would not make it past the first round.

But, everyone loves a rags to riches story, everyone loves a comeback queen, everyone loves to see someone pour themselves into their passion and have their dreams fulfilled. We love those stories. Why do we love them? Because we want to be that story, we want that dream. We want this blonde haired angelic creature to be our idol to worship.

Give this girl 10 years to become affected by the limelight. Just wait it out until her heart becomes deeply broken, until the record labels use up every bit of her blood, and until she becomes jaded by society. This is when we'll see if true genius surfaces and can pull out any real artistic little dna. Fuck, send that girl to Haiti to see life without rose colored glasses and the minor torments of being a teenager who gets overlooked by the boys for the cheer captain who wears short skirts and high heels. That should shift her sense of reality. Ah, but the public wouldn't understand if her words moved from fairy tale love to the desperate needs of mankind. They wouldn't be able to hum along, the song's a little too deep for them.

Nightmares and Bridges

2010-01-28T08:43:00.006-06:00

Last night I had a series of nightmares. I cried during several of these dreams, probably releasing some pent up emotion as I rarely, if ever, find any reason to cry during my waking existence.

My Mom in a fit of anger, called me and told me not to move to California or New York, she said to stay between the two bridges; the Golden Gate and the Brooklyn Bridge, I can only assume.

I woke up annoyed, still desiring warmer weather and knowing she probably wants me to stay put in real life. She has so often called me her gypsy daughter. She should feel satisfied that I feel complacent here in this city that I love more than anything right now. She should feel relieved that I feel content in my situation and my life here. I love everything right now.

Although, I feel Hawaii may some day be in my future.

Hey guys, my birthday is in 66 days

2010-01-25T10:41:00.003-06:00

It's well known amongst my family and friends that I love my birthday. It's a narcissist's favorite holiday, one that it completely devoted to the day of your birth. It's a day, when I think that no other human being was born, just me. So, let's celebrate that.

In celebration of this day, I often give people a month warning. During this time, most likely, I will end a conversation with, "it's only 26 more days until my birthday!", or my personal favorite, "what are we going to do for my birthday?". That way all pressure of coming up with something wonderful is put on my friends, and makes me feel more loved by them.

I also, remind people of what I want. This occurs via social media posts and gentle reminders... "remember those really gorgeous pairs of shoes I loved, that we saw last week?", "wouldn't it be really cool to get flowers sent to me at work? Yea, like really cool".

I love when my birthday arrives and people wish me a happy birthday in a disgruntled tone, as if to say, "let's get this fucking day over with". But luckily enough, my self indulgent personality comes to the rescue, and I vaguely notice.

Those that do not do something grand for my birthday, get an automatic firing. Last year, however, I had a party thrown in a loft by my friend, another friend cooked a mexican dinner, we all drank Jameson, and went out. My girls from Iowa came in to town and I loved it.

I expect slightly more grandeur this year, think loft party (my buddy's loft with a basketball court, movie theater, three bars, and a trampoline), my favorite band flown in to play, porn playing on the big screen, kegs of Gumballhead, a popcorn machine, a vintage photobooth, a giant chocolate chip cookie for a cake (holla at my sis-in-law who does this for me every year), a dj to spin later, dancing. For food, I want my Mom to send me some of my favorites, this means casseroles, meatloaf, and cheesy potatoes. So, just like a buffet of Iowa home cooking. I want a horse drawn carriage to bring me to my party. I also want people to wear 60's style party attire.

Too much? Not really. This is actually an easy do. Annnnnnddddd go. Start planning.

Oh heeeeey, I have a blog?

2010-01-24T21:32:00.005-06:00

I went on a small hiatus from this blog.

I started another blog and made it anonymous. It has a theme, and it is not devoted to Bloody Mary's. It's a random blog documenting my goals, and seeing how long it takes to reach them. It's not for you. It's for me.

I've neglected this blog and partially because I wanted to and I'm sorry. This determination of finding a job, or trying to discover what it is I'm supposed to be doing has taken control over my life right now. I just want it that bad.

I'm forgetting the "now". I'm wasting away in the future, and this always tends to put a person on edge. You become consumed with what lies ahead, or what life was like months ago, and you forget that life is just occurring right now. I've been doing that and it's not making things pleasant. In the past I have had the patience of a five year old, something I have gradually been able to manage, something that in the last month that has begun to fall by the waste side. So, I let myself slip into the future, and then want everything to just magically happen in the next fifteen minutes.

In discussing "signs" recently, I know that there is no such thing. People use the phrase, "I'm just waiting for a sign" as an excuse to put their life on hold. They wait around hoping that something is going to tell them how to live their lives so that effort doesn't need to be put forth. I found, recently, that I'm doing that, and it's a new phenomenon. I'm waiting for someone to send me some kind of sign, tell me my direction, tell me what I'm supposed to be doing. I'm putting too much pressure on myself.

Life is not about finding the perfect occupation, it's about being. I have completely lost sight of that. In this process, I have transferred thoughts onto things that are non-related. I forget that what you do to earn money is not who you are. I just want to love what I do.

Completely random side note: You know what I love? I spent the entire day yesterday putting together three resumes. I loved doing that. I loved taking something and trying to make it better. I love preparing for things. I love organizing things. I love prep work. I love designing and creating things, if only I had a more artistic eye. I love short term projects. Is there a job for this? If so, let me know...

Ah, I feel like I've stepped into the magical world of drama. I feel like I've taken too many things too seriously. I'm chuckling to myself as whoever it is, underlying this ego, is saying, "Jesus Christ, get over it already". I also think, remember when you were like funny? I haven't been funny lately. I just really miss doing yoga, in my underwear.

2010-01-14T21:47:00.003-06:00

I found you online yesterday. I shuffled through photographs you had posted. I made one brash remark to my sibling about how it's not your style to "friend" me. I felt it wasn't your style to wonder what your daughter was doing, or how she walks through life, as a person. And I forget you are human sometimes, as you always seem larger than life. You always can do anything, solve anything, be anything, a heroic non-human with unintentional, but sometimes obvious flaws.

I skimmed through your photo album, got lost in the stories that filled my head and returned back to find three photos of me towards the last page. You captioned them all. Never would I have assumed you to write something, to be aware of something outside of yourself, but there you are writing "my beautiful daughter" and I soften, as sometimes I do.

Dead Kittehs and Childhood Recollections of Snow...

2010-01-11T11:20:00.013-06:00

Ah, here's me seeking employment. Here is me, combing through Craig's List ads and making profiles on websites, like Career Builder. Here is me, wanting to rip out my hair, because I don't know what to do.

I can sit here in my little la la land world and be all dreamy about writing and feel like I have all this free time to really freelance or I can find a big girl job that is M-F, 8-5. I feel like I'm settling on a career I won't be passionate about, but I just can't get myself going. It's this fear thing. So, I end up in these jobs where I feel stifled, because what I really want to do, is write, 24/7.

So, what is it about writing? Why have I spent the last two years holding back and not lived up to the promise that I have given myself? It's this self deprecating fear of failure. It's me feeling like I am not going to be good enough, even if you tell me a million times that I am.

Let me tell you a little story, about my writing self esteem... I'm in college. I'm attending Iowa State University (Go Clones!), sitting in the hardest English class I've ever taken in my life. I'm half-ass paying attention to the lecture, until my prof decides to veer of the subject of Jack Karouac to hand out packets of current scholarships that the English department has available. I perk up, I love free money.

Out of the three scholarships available, and a two week deadline approaching, I apply for the simplest one, the poetry scholarship. Now, I do this out of a mind set of fuck it, why the hell not. I knew, I KNEW that there would be no way I would ever get the scholarship, but I felt it as if I would officially know how terrible I suck at writing and find an excuse to go back into Architecture. I specifically wanted this particular professor I hated to tell me how much I suck, as he would judge the shit out of me.

Three poems submitted and I forget about the whole ordeal, until I was called into my advisor's office. My advisor is a nasty woman, the kind of literary who has pretentious books and stacks of important papers laid out on her desk. I sit across from her as she hands me my scholarship for some stupid poems I whipped out of my head a few days before and others that I found from my community college days.

What's funny about this, is that it reveals my confidence level about writing....

"So, did like no one apply for this scholarship or what?"

"What? No, a lot of students applied." She's annoyed with me.

"So, did the others not follow the application rules?"

"No, all the rules were followed by other students." She like really hates me right now.

"Wait, so, I like got this thing? Legitimately?"

She looks at me, gets close to my face, like she wants to end my life, and says "you got this, accept it". This is my cue to make a quick exit and say a polite, "ok, thanks.". As I walk out, I hear her say the acceptance ceremony is two days away.

I never went. I really believed that I would get up there and they would take it away from me. That it was a hoax. To this day, to this very second, I still believe there was a mistake. To this day, the story I create in my head is that the professors got bored reading through 100's of students' submissions and mine just was the one where they decided that they were bored and was all, screw this, let's just settle on this one about dead kittens and childhood recollections of snow. Done.

Story of my life (or just the writing part of it). I'll just thumb through some more of these 9-5 er jobs I hate.

2010-01-09T14:32:00.001-06:00

I love my life.

Bad Behavior

2010-01-05T20:50:00.004-06:00

I've been attempting to blog a little bit more. I don't think I can do the daily thing, but I'm working on it. Some days, I have so very little to say, some weeks I have too much to say. This has been one.

I was to meet up with some friends last night at DeVille, but ended up veering off of the path because I had a craving for a Bloody Mary. DeVille apparently does not do Bloody Mary's, so I had to go to a place that usually does me right, State in Lincoln Park. State in Lincoln Park's Bloody Mary's really suck. Bad choice on my part, because we were forced to sit in a sports bar and also in Lincoln Park.

Funny thing, I decided I want to start a blog devoted to Bloody Mary's around Chicago. I feel as if I could be a connoisseur of sorts on the subject. Unfortunately, while announcing this prospect, I also announced that State would, in fact, be known as making the worst in the city, and the bartender heard me. Oooops. Bad behavior #1.

Also, Mori decided that no longer will she just "take it" and decided that when she received her chicken nachos instead of her beef nachos, she would throw a big fit and have the food sent back. Bad behavior #2. However, this actually paid off because we were rewarded with free drinks and shots. Good start to the night.

It's a new effing season full of crazy and I like it...

2010-01-05T07:51:00.010-06:00

Ah, it's another season of "The Bachelor". During this time, every Mon. at 7 pm, you can find me on my couch watching a T.V. show, where I tend to act like a male watching his favorite football team lose. You will see me screaming at the T.V. I will get up and pace around living room biting my nails. I will yell at one of the "players" for making the stupidest move. And often have to have a drink after the show to calm my nerves. I love this show.

Why do I love it? The show is so cringe-worthy, that it's like watching a fucking train wreck happen right before your very eyes. You fit twenty-five desperate women in a room, and it's bound to get a little nutty. This season, they bring back Jake, the desperate male contestant from last season's Bachelorette. He's the guy, if you remember, who broke the "bro code" and let sweet little Jillian know her douche-bag pick for a guy actually had a girlfriend back home. Jake comes to this season, searching for love and is convinced that the girl he is going to marry is amongst the girls who all want to feel his six-pack.

So, let's talk about crazy here. Let's get really real about the crazy that goes on.

#1 I would like for you to look at specimen a., Michelle. Notice that she got a rose, because most likely, the producers are like, hey, we need to keep this nanners chick on the show for ratings. And yes, I was grateful they stepped in. I love watching crazy. She's in love with Jake, and feels that they are meant for each other, like in the way where you have a replica doll made of him and stroke his soft sweet hair every night before you fall asleep and give him milk and cookies and tell him he looks so pretty in his uniform. Errrrr, wait, next topic.

#2 You can't put women together and have them compete for a man without there being blood spilled at some point. Women are just nutsy. Women can get quite insane. I think it's evolutionary or something. It's like their ovaries are telling them they must lock down on this one man to save human kind, and it's only their eggs matched with this one dude's sperm that will save the planet. Girls will fight till the death over one guy, and even if they really aren't that into him. I don't get it.

#3 All seem to have this insane idea about love. This idea that this person and only this person, Jake, is going to fill something that is missing in them, like a soul. It's delusional. I would like to play a drinking game to how many times I heard, "I know he can make me happy". Hey, oh, heeeeeeyyyy low self esteem, I didn't really notice you there waving your hands so violently in the air. People can't fill that little empty place in your heart that your Daddy created, if that were true, there would be no strippers in this world. Story checks out.

So, ya, I love this show. It's like watching the most amazing social experiment. It's full of delusional ideas about love. It's full of drop dead gorgeous girls who end up turning on each other (as opposed to the Bachelorette where the dudes establish a bond with each other). It's a time where I get to yell at the TV every 5 seconds saying, "please don't say that, why did you say that, stop it, never say that to anyone, ever".

If you would like to check out my blog from the Bachelorette... It's where I examine how relationships should be....

My Mother

2010-01-04T11:15:00.006-06:00

I'm cleaning my apartment, reorganizing for the new year and returning to the self I used to be. I'm only now putting away the groceries you bought me. Three large paper sacks full of non-perishables. My brother refers to it as Lindy's food pantry. My brother is also a lover of your unselfishness and gifts.

You somehow are able to get the loads of food to me, even though we live hundreds of miles apart. I love you for it. I love you for this simple tradition, most likely based upon your sexist ideals, but I still love you for it. It's a reminder, a subtle little reminder that the grocery buying will only stop when I'm married. It's a subtle reminder that I am in fact, not married. This tradition has taken a strong hold, even through a five year career, even through the purchase of my first home, even through a six year relationship, even through moments when you were struggling yourself, after Dad became sick and even though I am perfectly capable of buying my own food. I still love you for this. I love you for your empathetic heart. I love that you show me you love me, but never say it, and I understand how much it hurts. I know that the words drip from your actions, I know that they sink from your heart.

The last bag, I pull out a box of pancake mix, a surprise hidden at the bottom. You always know. I add it to the three other boxes that I have not used yet. I cannot tell you that I have become disinterested after an entire summer of filling up on hundreds of chocolate chip pancakes, knowing that it will hurt you. So, I smile to myself, knowing you remember, knowing you take the time to think of little details.

It is a happy new year...

2010-01-02T10:08:00.009-06:00

It's a new year. It's a new decade. Ten years ago I would have been living in Des Moines, IA, in a cookie cutter apartment, another tenant amongst the hundreds in our massive complex. I would have been struggling with who I am, where I wanted to be, where I wanted to go, and who I wanted to be near. Ten years ago I would have rang in the new year in a small house with a couple of small minded people. Ten years ago I was just a secondary character in a short story, a supporting role in a community play.

This year, I am in a city I love, living in a little brownstone, knowing who I am, knowing that this is where I am supposed to be. I rang in the new year surrounded by great amazing people, all of whom I adore. This year, I have never been so happy or so grateful.

I scan over the last decade, over the things I want to take with and the others I want to leave behind. Have I evolved? Have I progressed in whatever journey I am on, whatever road I am walking or have I faltered, have I stepped back? And also, what do I want for this next moment?

To hold myself accountable for all my desires, for all my wants, I am putting a few of my general needs out there for the public to see. This is what I want for the next year:

Stop making excuses.

Forget my father's concept of time.

Get serious about getting serious about life.

Focus on what I want. Get rid of what I don't need.

Be less resistant. (In my personal life and in relationships with others)

Fall in love with architecture again.

Write until my fingers bleed.

Draw. Paint.

Read more.

Design my house.

Make money doing something I love, something creative. aka employment

Find a new apartment.

Buy a new car.

Get a new cell phone.

Love you more and let you know, and not be afraid of that.

Let you know what you mean to me.

What I took away from these last two years, the most important years of this last decade for me, is a strong sense of contentment and of finding happiness in every moment. The two years I kept myself buried in books, in thoughts, in discovery, in healing, in reform, in progress, I realized that life is so utterly amazing and heartbreaking and so absolutely brilliant.

To end this little blog about reflections and new hopes for the future, I will post my most important resolution for the new year and a new decade: I want to be more goal oriented. Something that I have put on the back-burner. Something I used to be. So in admiration of my old self, I am starting a little notebook filled with goals. Goal #1, achieved.

Happy New Year!!

Christmas

2009-12-25T22:38:00.003-06:00

I feel guilty for not being here,

even when I am here

and for the road I have kept between us

and for the steps that have kept us apart.

Home

2009-12-22T09:32:00.003-06:00

I become an empath here. Right here. Right where I am sitting. Right where I laid down last night and overlooked the town from my window. The house that sits on a hill. All I could hear was the buzzing, the humming, the soft melodic song that the grain elevators used to sing. I sing along, the Siren song of this small village. I feel lured back in, back where I didn't belong.

I become an empath here. Watching you move about the house in your pajamas. Tucking the children in bed. Waiting up for him until 4 am, while you pretend to be silent in your sleep. Your only reprieve, a child's toy, forgotten in your bed. You trace the outline of its form, and move your mind back to the silence, the loneliness.

And I become an empath here. The snow 2 feet deep. The sky only 12 feet long, grey and stark. Limited by its nature. An isolation so deadly, so lifeless. Confining in its bubble, in its soldered shell.

I become an empath here. The children who bring the elderly woman across the street Christmas gifts. She invites them in, feeds the cookies. She asks each who they are, who their parents are, familiarity warms. The snow covering the walkway to her home, gives way, melting.

I become an empath here. Anything that has been tucked away. Anything that has been hidden. Anything I deemed useless has been recovered. I become an empath.

Mittens

2009-12-18T10:30:00.004-06:00

I still wear those mittens, the tattered ones I took from your Mom two Christmas's ago and never gave back. The purple dye bleeds onto my fingers and my thumb has begun to peek through, bearing my skin to the cold. I don't think about her when I put them on, anymore. Just annoyance at the loose threads and the inability to keep the warmth spread out on my hands. I'm sure she didn't mean for me to keep them. I loved her more than you did. I stayed longer than I should have. I stayed long enough to watch your Father sit in his car, passed out over the steering wheel. I stayed long enough to watch your Mother try to coax him back into the house, into a warm bed. I stayed long enough to watch you curl up inside of yourself. I stayed long enough to feel the satisfaction in that. I stayed much too long. The mittens your Mom sent me last Christmas, the grey fuzzy ones, are buried or lost. I much prefer these tattered ones. I much prefer the broken ones. The ones that make me forget about her.

2009-12-17T19:14:00.002-06:00

Walking home, underneath the streetlights, underneath this nightmarish sky, I saw you playing violin on your balcony, you thought I didn't notice, I felt what you felt, soft and loyal, I love that part.

This is for you...

2009-12-03T20:28:00.004-06:00

I always come to a blog post with nothing to say. I stare at the blank page and it feels awfully painful to write anything, somedays it feels like nothing but a chore. It shouldn't, because I'll switch over to another screen, a word document, and write something amazing, something truthful, something you'd really want to read. I pull away from it, move back to the blog post and wish I could write something profound. Instead, I write this, little randoms of nothing. Little paragraphs of insecure moments. I write about writing and make up excuses for it.

So if I was honest here, if I wasn't so fearful of the masses I'd probably...

Post poetry. Mine. This is funny because I've had things published, I've received accolades. I'm still scared of you.

Un-filter myself. I'd tell you all about two summers ago and the moment my life changed. I've allowed you in, but not that far.

Alter my writing style. I write in stream of consciousness, with little disregard to proper use of commas and semi-colons. I let sentences end where I want them to. I'm afraid you won't comprehend it.

Tell stories that will make you cry. I love having the ability to alter a mood with mere words that are strung together. I liken them to marionette strings. I'm nervous you will resent me for it in the end.

Redesign my blog with my own artwork. I'll make up excuses, eventually, not to draw in the end, leave the space blank and attach my name to it. I'm fearful you will judge the crap out of me.

Write about my family. I'd write more about the dynamics, the differences, and the discomforts. I'm not afraid of you in this case, I'm afraid of my family stumbling upon it and of me hurting them.

Share some of my goals. I have them. I don't share them out of fear, just out of respect for myself and my own sense of privacy.

Be less narcissistic. I write my blog like a diary entry. I'm afraid to use this as a platform for my staunch beliefs, which are many, because, if I am being honest here... I'm afraid of your judgement.

Be more vulnerable. Here it is. This is it. This is what holds me back from connecting with you. I want you to fall in love with me. I want you to fall in love with the way I lace and intertwine words. I want you to fall in love with the way I make you feel. But here I am, afraid of you, so you won't.

Sometimes there are these moments, hidden in each entry, I'll let you in. Moments where I'll tell you how it felt and where I came from, where I'll share more than I should. I'll tell you how it hurt when she left. I will tell you about the connections, memories traced out like spider webs. You will know how happy I am that he's not here or the resentment I cling to watching how he interacts with her, who shares the same bloodline. I'll put together words that make less sense to you, but speak metaphorically to me. It will be subtle, but it will be there, encoded in surface talk, in ramblings and randomness.

To My Niece

2009-11-30T17:00:00.007-06:00

My niece, Hunter, went hunting with my Dad over Thanksgiving break, living up to her given name. She was excited about it, couldn't wait for her first kill, a pheasant, who gave up it's life in a small cornfield outside of my Dad's acreage so that she could have the taste of her hunt. She never ceases to amaze me, a ten year old little girl, who has an insatiable curiosity about nearly everything.

Hunter has always been like me, but slightly more edgy and definitely more assertive. She puts on plays, she instructs the actors, she has a massive amount of journals, she is an avid reader, she is artistic, she is a tomboy, she is a girly girl, she is easily embarrassed, she is a prankster, she is funny, she loves popcorn, she is independent, she doesn't understand authority, she is a "social butterfly"... all traits that I share.

There is a slight difference in our personalities; she is more defiant and more assertive than I ever was. She has always been strong willed. The kind of child that never wanted anything to do with affection, while I longed for it. She never wanted to be held or cuddled, would find herself restless on my lap, as a baby. To entice her to stay, to keep her from crying, I would lay her across my legs and play peek-a-boo or pretend that I was going to eat her small feet. She would laugh so hard, that little tiny screams burst from her little lungs. I could do this for hours and would never tire of hearing her giggle.

I'm watching her grow so quickly, and it sounds so cliche, but you really understand how time moves by watching a child, who you once cradled in your arms, become a young girl who hunts with her father and grandfather. It scares me, and not because I become aware of my own mortality, but because I am aware of the initiations that life will require her to endure.

I wish she could stay a child forever, be ten years old for an eternity. As an adult, as the Aunt, the unconditional provider of love, I want to protect her. I want her to stay curious about life, to read, to go on hunting and fishing trips with her Grandpa. I want her to tease boys endlessly and to never get her heart broken. I want her to think of her little brother as her buddy, and to nurture that relationship. I want her to enjoy the limited time she has with her grandparents and develop deep loving memories of them. I want her to continue to have her own goofy sense of style and cling to her own identity, her own personality. I want her to have a strong sense of who she is, I want her to remain defiant. I want her to remain fearless in adulthood.

If there is one thing I wish for her, more than anything, it is to just be happy. I had a dream at 20, about my Grandpa who recently had passed away. This dream occurred during a very difficult point in my life. Standing in a turquoise blue sweater and khaki pants, while smiling, he simply said, "don't take life so seriously, it will be over before you know it". I want Hunter to realize the same thing, enjoy it for everything that it is and not to take every moment, every second, too seriously. Life is ephemeral, it is fleeting, and it moves quickly, enjoy it while it lasts.

Year at a Glance

2009-11-14T10:36:00.004-06:00

I've officially lived in Chicago for over a year now. Last year at this time I was counting down the days until I could move back home, closer to my family. I promised my Mom that I would give it a full year. I look back now, and couldn't imagine living anywhere else.

A year ago, I never thought I would have recovered from my breakup. A year of healing and staying single did me good.

A year ago, I thought I would be in school getting my engineering degree. A year of thinking made me realize that I was in it for the wrong reasons.

A year ago, I wouldn't pick up a pen to write anything. A year spent writing in notebooks got me back into doing what I love.

A year ago, I would lose my keys on a monthly basis. A year of staying present has allowed me to focus on the moment. I haven't lost a set yet.

A year ago, I was still holding out hope that it would still work out with him. A year without him made me happy it didn't.

A year ago, I would have been devastated by nearly anything. A year of re-reading "Nothing Special" has taught me some powerful lessons in happiness and peace.

A year ago, I was fearful of the future. A year of just being, helped me to realize there is no future, just what's occurring now.

A year ago, I would become attached to anything and everyone. A year of losses, taught me that no one stays in your life forever and it's ok when someone leaves.

A year ago, I thought you had to work overtime to be happy. A year of loving life made me realize how simple it is to be content and I often wonder why others can't see this.

A year ago, I had dreams of being highly successful. A year of working in a cut-throat industry allowed me to see that it's not everything.

What am I hoping for or to accomplish this year? Being completely fearless in life.

Teabaggers Scare Me

2009-11-11T13:55:00.005-06:00

I read this article this last week that shocked me to my core. I found it so deeply disturbing, that I decided to write about it.

The article was written in response to a group of teabaggers who had retaliated against writer, professor, activist, and Holocaust survivor, Elie Wiesel. Wiesel had apparently criticized a group of health care reform protestors for holding up a sign showing the dead bodies of Holocaust victims and comparing it to the Democrats' health care plan. The teabagging attack on the Nobel Laureate, was laced with profound ignorance.

Wiesel's book "Night" is a book that will forever haunt me. I find it so difficult to believe that so many, like these protesters, still feel that the Holocaust was exaggerated, or use it as propaganda to further their own agenda. There is so much injustice in having a story, like Wiesel's, be discredited based on nothing, based on absolutely nothing. It diminishes everything the victims and the survivors went through, and to me this is terrifying.

In terms of diminishment and terrifying behavior, my favorite poem, written by W.H. Auden, called Musee des Beux Arts, touches on the subject. It was written a year before Germany invaded Poland. A tribute to how our world turned a blind eye to what had been occurring across Europe at that time. It's powerful.

About suffering they were never wrong,
The Old Masters; how well, they understood
Its human position; how it takes place
While someone else is eating or opening a window or just walking dully along;
How, when the aged are reverently, passionately waiting
For the miraculous birth, there always must be
Children who did not specially want it to happen, skating
On a pond at the edge of the wood:
They never forgot
That even the dreadful martyrdom must run its course
Anyhow in a corner, some untidy spot
Where the dogs go on with their doggy life and the torturer's horse
Scratches its innocent behind on a tree.
In Breughel's Icarus, for instance: how everything turns away
Quite leisurely from the disaster; the ploughman may
Have heard the splash, the forsaken cry,
But for him it was not an important failure; the sun shone
As it had to on the white legs disappearing into the green
Water; and the expensive delicate ship that must have seen
Something amazing, a boy falling out of the sky,
had somewhere to get to and sailed calmly on.

Facts and Animal Killing Machines

2009-11-10T11:10:00.005-06:00

Well known fact about me, I don't tighten or shut lids on anything. I have a compulsive fear that I will not be able get lids off if they are shut tight. It's a serious OCD thing. It drives people crazy.

Another fear, I have a serious frog/toad phobia. My family thinks this is funny. They use this to their advantage. For example... hey, let me put this dead toad underneath this garden shovel and then yell at my daughter for not helping her Mom weed the garden so she feels incredibly guilty and picks up said shovel only to find a warted and large toad carcass lying underneath. We'll watch her scream and cry a little, but then we'll all laugh at her expense. If you wonder where my dark sense of humor comes from, you will find it lying in the genes that my Dad distributed to me twenty some years ago.

A little known fact about me, that even my closest friends don't know.... I can ride horses. I know, it's kind of lame, but I keep the country girl part of me a deep dark secret. Funny thing about this, my Dad doesn't know that I hate riding horses. He stuck me on my first horse at 3, I loved it. I was fearless at 9, while racing my farm boy buddies and riding bareback in the pastures. I was bucked off at 15, watched my Dad get kicked in the leg and decided I hate all things horse related.

To humor my dear old Dad, I ride when I go home. Before I get on, me and my 5 ton horse buddy have a little come to Jesus moment. We look each other in the eye and get a few things straight, which basically means, I will kick the shit out of you with the heals of my boots if you think for a second you are in charge. Now, I'm all animal activist and all about not hurting the creatures, but if you are a 115 lb girl getting on an equestrian killing machine, you will feel no qualms about wanting to dig spurs in the rib cage, kidneys, butt of a large animal.

Here's a little how this goes... Out of our three horses, I pick the most mild. This would be "Pet". Yes, his name is Pet, no he is not friendly towards adults, but he is good with children and I am small. He gets confused. Pet is a biter, so you have to watch your back, literally. Once Pet is saddled and ready to go, I hold the reins real tight and look deep into those cold dark black evil eyes of his and whisper in his ears, "You buck me off, I will kill you". I can see that he knows I mean business. Really, again, hurting this monster is no problem for me.

So, I get on and our ride goes like this... Nice little steady pace. Suddenly, I feel a little confident, so I pick it up a little. We start to trot, then we go to a steady run. Then, oh my god, shiny objects! Pet loses all focus on reality, sees fields of grass and barrels up the steepest hill he can find. So I get control, do some forceful kicking and we are back to the steady walk.

This repeats its self over and over again, until I wonder what the real pleasure in riding horses is? I end up walking silly for three days, my ass hurts, I feel smelly, my dignity is nearly destroyed by an over sized beast. I don't get it.

What was that all about?

2009-11-05T13:49:00.003-06:00

Wow. I'm really thinking about deleting that last post. It kind of reminds me of when my bestie goes to the bar, find some random guy, and picks a fight with him over insurance or parking tickets. I felt the same way, only decided to use my own blog as a platform to vent my own beliefs. I'm feeling icky about it, because that's exactly how I felt at the time, when I was writing it.

I need to peel myself away from the internet, specifically Twitter and FB. I've been sick the last few days, so guess what I've been doing... laying in bed and plastering messages all over the www. This is what happens when you have too much time on your hands and looking to reach out to people because you've been quarantined by your friends. I'm glad to be feeling better today. I'm going to go cause some trouble tonight.

God, I love my life.

Me on Meds and Hatin' on Materialism

2009-11-04T00:24:00.006-06:00

Last night, at 1 am I wrote this after being hopped up on allergy meds and a couple beers. It may not make sense, be really meaningful, or well written, but I think it sums up my life and why sometimes I look like a poor homeless girl with a broken cell phone. I have little, if any, desire to impress people, especially with material objects.

I was 22 when I bought my first home. I was another person at that time, another human being wrapped up in materialism. Objects ruled my life. I was fueled by them. I outfitted this little cottage of mine, tucked away in a small town, with any and all objects I could find.

I was obsessed with newness, there was a savory shine to it. A two car garage, where I stuffed my new car into. A new computer for my freshly updated office space that overlooked a backyard full of obscure plants. New gadgets, a PDA that I blew hundreds of dollars on because I felt that I needed it. A new cell phone that had to be the best at that time. My closet had to be stuffed with new shoes and clothes. I would only buy new expensive hair products and makeup. New, new, new, expensive, expensive, expensive. The more I had, the more I wanted.

By 26, things had changed. I watched as people entered and exited my life. The death of my Grandparents, the instability of my father's health, the wavering of an unfulfilled relationship had taken a toll. The home, the property that I had built, that I had put everything into seemed pointless. I had sat in that shell, I had put all my energy, all of this wasted energy into these things, these objects and I watched the people exit, leaving behind useless items. I watched them move on, quickly and suddenly, leaving a mess of wasted objects behind.

My grandparents passed away a few years after the purchase of my home. I remember going into their abandoned house. Their remnants, their belongings, were divided into rooms. My family and I were allowed to come in and take whatever we wanted as little mementos of what they once were, things they had once coveted. Things that they felt defined them. Things that we felt defined them. Dishes strewn about the kitchen, linens on the dining room floor, an old couch I spent much of my childhood sleeping on. Little trinkets and treasures were stuffed into boxes, which were packed away only to be sold at an auction the next day. What did it mean?

Inside one of the boxes filled with my Grandma's china, I found a white ceramic cup labeled "50th Anniversary", written in silver. It sat on one of the shelves on my dining room hutch. It just sat there. It didn't bring me closer to my Grandma, it didn't house her spirit, and no matter how many times my fingers graced the rim of that cup, she did not come back.

I can't find myself in objects. I can't find others in objects. I can't be someone through something. Maybe it's the buddhist, the hippie, the spiritual part of me that believes you can't define yourself through what you have. I have learned that each possession that I own at this point in my life has a purpose to serve, anything beyond that is wasteful. My car needs to get me from point A to Z. My clothes need to keep me either warm or cool. My hair looks pretty good natural and not dyed or relaxed. My shoes need to protect my feet. My home needs to protect me from the elements. I could probably survive on one cup, one dish, and a fork.

20SB Blog Swap

2009-10-27T18:55:00.003-05:00

Hi my fellow blog readers. 20SB is hosting another blog swap, and Ms. Smiley is my partner! Um, I love this little tid-bit of great info for women. Please check out her blogs, fantastical. You can read mine on her blog as well. Thanks and much love to you all!

Hello to Lindy’s readers. This is Ms. Smiley here, of A Panther Smiles and SAFSHOPS. I am a new fan of Lindy’s blog and can only hope to be as thought provoking as she for this blog swap courtesy of 20SB. Thanks for reading my 2 cents and check out my two blogs at www.apanthersmiles.blogspot.com andwww.seekandfindshops.blogspot.com.

For a minute there, I was gonna keep it really real, but I’m not ready for that and neither are you. Keeping in the vain of Lindy’s blog I am going to touch on the recent randomness of my life. I have recently discovered the ultimate man magnet and it doesn’t cost me a penny.

Wanna know what it is? Well, for a little background about me: I recently ended a relationship with an utter douche that may have provided me with many a life skill, he also showed me the things I do not like in men and hope to never desire in a man again.

Now, on to my newest discovery, the ultimate man magnet…

One night, several months ago I was watch television on the internet or on TV, not so sure, but either way, I caught an episode of 20/20 that blew my mind! There was a study done about the attractiveness of women to men based on the time of the month in their ovulation cycle and all the physical and internal changes a woman experiences on this wonderful rollercoaster ride of hormones. Why would this interest, me you ask? I mean, I just got out of a relationship, so I’m obviously attractive to somebody, correct? Well, duh!

The problem I had recently been having was that I wasn’t attracting anyone new and 20/20 helped me to discover why: birth control! Basically, men are able to sense women who are “off-limits’ per se because of pregnancy and unless that’s just their thing (check out creepy Craigslist personal ads) they are also not attracted to women on the pill or some form of birth control such as the Nuvaring, et al and she’s just not doing it for them.

Well, since Elizabeth Vargas and John Stossel told me to, I have been off BC for several months and the mandscape has changed my friends. I’m still pretty creeped out that only older men seem to want to approach me, I’m just getting warmed up and am about to begin some serious speed dating and other trials in my little experiment.

Has any one else out there notices a difference in their attraction rate when off BC or even when you are on it? Please share!

Admiration

2009-10-27T14:15:00.002-05:00

I love William Carlos Williams.

The Young Housewife

At ten AM the young housewife
moves about in negligee behind
the wooden walls of her husband’s house
I pass solitary in my car.

Then again she comes to the curb
to call the ice-man, fish-man, and stands
shy, uncorseted, tucking in
stray ends of hair, and I compare her
to a fallen leaf.

The noiseless wheels of my car
rush with a crackling sound over
dried leaves as I bow and pass smiling.

Week

2009-10-26T10:49:00.005-05:00

I had another great week/weekend. Got plenty of sleep. Worked a lot. Stayed up late to write and drink wine. Started a book. Thought about Bali. Hung out with people I love. Cooked amazing foodages. Saw The Get Up Kids and felt nostalgic. Pit stops at DeVille. Saw Lucero at Bottom Lounge. Ran into a few friends. Listened to Mori say more random crazy shit. Went to a private party at Manor for a group of UFC fighters. Danced hard at AK. Another early morning pizza run. Watched a movie I barely remembered from 1998. Found Devon Sawa on Twitter. Chocolate chip pancakes at Sunrise Cafe early in the afternoon. Laughed an insane amount. I love my life.

I have the most fantastic friends. Most of them (pretty much all of them) are dudes, and they are all pretty amazing in their own right. Insanely fun. I have good peeps in my life.

I'm catching up on a few things. Sorry this blog is so boring and lacking of any effort at all. I'll make up for it next time around.

Writing and the Death of a Friend

2009-10-24T09:59:00.006-05:00

I've been hovering over this computer for two days now, writing a couple of pieces for an online magazine and doing some creative work as well. I've been rewriting an article, rhetoric is so completely difficult for me. I can't help but slip into the creative realm when I write.

Last night, I was thinking about my past, something I try to avoid. In a moment of self deprivation, I questioned my writing abilities and tried to decipher if I had any real talent. I think everyone with any sort of passion eventually questions this. We try to avoid it, but it sneaks up at the most inappropriate times, this was one of them. Me, trying to be Hemingway, Fitzgerald, Poe, trying to use wine as a way to lessen the self conflict, staying up until 3 am forcing myself into a moment of creative fury that never seemed to arrive.

My mother always wanted to me to be some sort of artist. While teachers, since I was in second grade, advised her to nurture my writing ability, she felt that it was my minimal talent in drawing that should be pursued. The perfectionist in me hates to paint, despises drawing. It frustrates me to no end. She, however, stuck me in art classes, all the while my teachers were reading my papers aloud to classrooms full of my peers.

I would love to start doing some art projects, but free time is few and far between lately. University art classes probably ruined me for life, in that, I hate the intensity and the lack of freedom I felt in these classes. What do you mean my apple doesn't look like an apple? It's called cubism. Asshole. I think I got burned from the intense criticism from professors.

It's October. It's the anniversary of the death of my friend, Nick. Two years without him, it's difficult to fathom a world existing with him gone. The earth still spins, it still moves and that is a so hard for me to believe. It's a concept my soul wants to deny.

I think about his family often. I think about how tragic it is to lose someone, a victim of their own hands, of their own pain. A family who will always be left with questions. I want to go to them and tell them that he is still here, he is still tethered to this line of memories that will never end, memories that connect us. It's a web, it's entanglement at its finest.

I miss him.

He Leaves

2009-10-19T08:23:00.007-05:00

I woke up and felt the need to write. It's 8 am, and I'm slightly hungover from only a few beers last night. I tried to shake off this feeling. This is the feeling of sadness and relief all mixed up together, all these things that have made me doubt myself in the last couple of weeks. Mr. S. Korea Teacher is leaving today. The realization that I will probably never see him again has sunk in. It's 8 am, and I'm writing, trying to see through this mess I've created.

I don't even know what this is. I don't even know what I'm completely feeling or felt about him. I didn't know him. I shoved my ideals onto this image, onto this guy who was completely too good looking for his own good, for my own good. I wanted him to be perfect. I wanted him to be perfection in his tall, thin, dark eyed, olive skinned body suit, and he's not. So, I sit here at 8 am and wonder who he really was, and if he'll ever appear in my life again.

I feel deceived. I feel deceived by my own memories, my own beliefs. So, I sit here with the clock ticking, with it creeping towards 9 am, towards takeoff, and I let myself in on a little secret. The secret of denial, it was lust, it was lust, it was lust.

Last night I belly up to the bar with Mori at DeVille as we watch one of my old flames kiss another girl. I watch him touch her leg and how he desperately wants to take her home. I smile and inside I want her to go home with him. I feel little if anything. Indifference.

The indifference has plagued me up until this point, up until today, with my heart sinking, with my heart beating. It's 9:18, 18 minutes past takeoff, and it's over. It's gone.

2009-10-18T18:16:00.006-05:00

Last night, my buddies and I went to see "Rain Machine", Kyp Malone's little side project. We're sitting there out in the crowd, during intermission, trying to come up with words to describe the show thus far. You can't capture things in certain words. We settled on a few, which, were "good", "awesome" and "orgasmic". That does nothing to really summarize how great Malone was.

We had such a great time. The entire crowd of people were trashed. They were dancing to music that Malone wasn't even putting out, somewhere in their heads they were at a club downtown grinding against some dude. I was amused, but wish they could have fully enjoyed what was being pulsated through their ears. It was pornographic and it was intense. (I obviously, tossed in the word "orgasmic" to size "Rain Machine" up.)

I was also able to work my first media pass for this show. This is a whole other blog in itself. But I did it, and I'm pretty out of my mind excited about doing it again.

This is completely random, but my bff, Mori is very funny. She won't let me post this on twitter, she won't let me post this on Facebook, so it's going here, right on my blog.

She says the most completely random things. She does not have a filter. I like this.

It's Friday. We go to a little coffee shop, pull out our laptops. She's photoshopping some of her designs, while I write my little heart out and listen to some music. I'm staring behind the counter, watching the three young barista girls who all look very pretty. I watch them tend to the customers and work their barista magic. I pull off my headphones, tap her on the shoulder and ask simply, with my head in the clouds, "I wonder how many of these girls were madly in love with him?" Mori stares at me for a second, glares and says "They are all lesbians, you moron." She puts back on her headphones and continues photoshopping. Just like that my reality shifts.

I Love This City

2009-10-15T10:38:00.007-05:00

It's cold in my "second" office. I wish the heat would kick on. I also wish I could spend a Chicago winter elsewhere and then come back to the city I love sometime around March. I'd return more infatuated than I was before. No other city inspires me, no other town makes me feel like this. Thinking about moving West makes me numb, I'm over San Diego. What little I had left to covet, is long gone, out of my system.

This city is maddening. It's a trove of pleasure. It's my city.

I'm parked along Michigan Ave., the other day. I'm watching a drove of tourists march down the street, stopping to see the sidewalk entertainers and peer their eyes through the shop windows. I watch them drink their lattes and carry leftovers from the little sidewalk cafes they stopped to eat at. I'm listening to my ipod and it's as if their footsteps beat to the sound of my music. I want to tell them to move here. I want to stop each one, with their amazed looks, their picture taking, and tell them my stories, my little love notes written out all over the city.

It's not the lake, it's not the architecture, it's not the endless amounts of things to do that I love, it's the grime, it's the grittiness that I desire. It's the scenes of the homeless and the noise their cups make when they jingle the coins around and around. I love this city. It's the endless amounts of debris that line the pavement one day, and then disappear the next. I love this city. It's the sound of the "L, the honking of the cabs and the constant screaming of various sirens. I love this city. It's the failure to connect with anyone, but needing to connect with someone. I love this city. It's the reckless ways that people come together and fall apart. I love this city.

Yesterday, I'm driving down Chicago Ave. and pull up to a stop sign, take a brief pause while a biker darts out in front of my car. Simultaneously we move in a steady motion towards each other, seconds away from a collision. We look at each other and our eyes lock, I yell something like, "what the fuck are you doing dude?", he yells something back about me being a "fucking bitch" and just like that we are on our separate ways. That's how it is, the rawness of the city, the truth of it all. I love it.

2009-10-14T20:09:00.008-05:00

Just a few little whatevers about this week. A bunch of randoms....

I was over at a buddy's house tonight and watched a little documentary called "Food Inc.". I'm desperate to see the rest of it. I had to leave. It made me want to be a vegetarian again. Mori and I got in the car, scared out of our minds, looked at each other and repeated simultaneously, "I'm never eating meat again". Easy. Done. Simple.

I want a little garden somewhere, growing my own food, my own little source of metabolic wealth. I can't stand to see the way people butcher animals, they sacrifice them without any thought, without any remorse. It's sad to me, especially when we live in the country full of obesity. Indulgence and waste.

This week I went to see a band play at The Whistler. We were in the mood for something low key, a small little venue, with good drinks and to hear some good music. Unfortunately, I was disappointed. I want to see my bands have passion. I want to see the lead singer make love to the microphone, I want the drummer to look like the crowd doesn't exist, I want my guitarist to seem like he is in some trance. I want my musicians to connect with their instruments, their music. Be passionate, we can sense when you are passionate, we will love you if you are passionate. You're not, so I left early. Bored.

I fell deeply madly in love with the "Shout Out Louds" this week. Orgasmic.

I picked up a copy of "Lolita". I have read a few pages, and I'm sure I'll have it finished by the day's end tomorrow. The words just drip poetry. I love it. Why I haven't read it yet, is beyond me. I think I'm scared. Nabokov has an incredible way of making you feel like less of a writer. Ridiculous.

I got tickets to see Lucero, in a couple of weeks. I need tickets to see Cobra Starship. I do not need to see them enough to pay $65 a piece on StubHub. Looking into media passes.

I want to see Art & Copy. If my broadband didn't suck so much I would torrent it. Trying to download something for three days straight is impossible.

Happiness

2009-10-10T12:46:00.004-05:00

It's strange, I can always tell the energy that someone gives off. I can feel it seep out from their skin, hover around their body.

Last night I was approached by a guy who offered to buy me a drink. I relented, and let him buy me a Steel Blonde, a great little beer that I have never had before. We chat for awhile about life, our careers, our home base and then he asks me the question that many guys ask me. It's the question about being happy here in Chicago, which leads to the question of being happy in general. Am I happy... in general?

Maybe it does sound condescending when I reply I have THE best life. I love my life. What's not to love? So, the boy, the man, the whatever, in the blue sweater looks at me disgruntled, he looks at me angry, and asks, "what makes your life so great, you are kidding right?" It's as if I have a secret, which I don't. It's as if he hates me for this, as if I'm hiding or lying, I'm not. I just choose to work with my life, not against it.

Why would I hate my life, this life? Yes, there are things that I would tweak, things I would adjust. I would have my dream career up and running, I would have an amazing artistic loft, or a little cottage by the lake, and most recently, maybe a love, but these are things that I look forward to pursuing. These are just the little added benefits to "life", things that make it fun.

The biggest lesson I have learned this year, the most powerful lesson that I was taught, is two part: One is that all the tremendous amount of pain that a person goes through, at different periods in their life, is just a part of it; you can't avoid it. It will happen. Someone will break your heart, someone will leave you, you may get sick, you may hit rock bottom; no one is immune. We can't protect ourselves, but that is the brilliance of it all. There is prolific joy in that.

The second is that everyone will leave you at some point. You will be abandoned whether through your choice or not. People will move on with their lives to something else, or they will simply pass away. This little reality taught me to just be happy with the moment, not the past or the future, but this moment. Enjoy the time you have with the people in your life right now.

Dude in blue sweater needs a little epiphany. Dude in the blue sweater needs to not get so angry with "rosy peachy girl". Whatever. There is nothing special about my life, it is what it is and I love it.

Effacing

2009-10-04T14:32:00.002-05:00

There is something in the air. It’s the harvest moon. It’s been an odd last few weeks. Things are changing, and I’m really digging it.

Last night, the loft party I had intended to go to was cut short by me being really fucking tired and crabby from the night before. I decided to load up on french fries and go to bed. I slept through the entire night. I slept so hard that Mori screaming and my dog barking didn’t even wake me up. A centipede had apparently crawled across her stomach at some point in the night. My dog attempted to save her from it.

I’m sitting here on the floor doing an open house, my other part time job. I’m watching the clouds; these ominous looking clouds that float by the widow. They are heading east where they will dump their weight somewhere over Lake Michigan, letting go of miles of excess baggage they have been carrying around for way too long. They will spend a day, or so, releasing the stored mess, and return to another image, another self, constantly effacing the other version of what they once were.

It seems that there is always something pushing them along, keeping them moving, a silent energy. I’d like to imagine that instead of being pushed, however, they are being beckoned. Someone on the other end of the earth entices them and moves them to change, pulling them closer. Their journey being a combination of ups and downs, heavy points and light points, and in the end they just dissipate.

This to me is almost a metaphor to how I feel about our lives and/or about spirituality (I hate that word for what it connotes, but I have nothing else to use). We are constantly changing and redefining ourselves; we are always changing form, in a figurative sense. It seems as if some internal force is pushing us, we may not realize that we are also being delicately pulled by something stronger. We have moments where we release much needed baggage, we unload it upon others in a storm of fury and bottled up emotions. We become still for a brief period where we let go only to be filled again by unneeded drama. So around and around we go, in circles. We repeat and repeat and repeat. Such a vicious cycle.

The Streets on Fire

2009-10-03T16:42:00.006-05:00

Last night I went to Riptide, a nice little 4 am bar in the Bucktown vicinity. It seems to be the place I run into random friends. We all take whatever is left of ourselves after a night of drinking, stuff our bodies into the a small area and try to hold a conversation. It's also the place where I met Mr. S Korea teacher. (On a sidenote)

I happened to run into the guys from "The Streets on Fire"at Debonair, earlier in the night, and we met up again at Riptide. Only today, after sleeping for six hours, I decided to do my usual research and listen to some of their music. I was invited to watch one of their shows this month. I figured I should check them out before I go.

I have to admit, I'm pretty impressed. They describe their music as a product of "relentless raw energy", and it is raw and I loved it.

Voted as one of the top ten bands in Chicago by Metromix, I'm looking forward to seeing them play. I want to see if this "raw energy" in all it's full glory. Also, ask frontman, Chadwick, how he got the "wings" that are impeccably pinned on his navy suit blazer... hint, it wasn't because it was recently his first time flying.

On a whole other note.... I have a little side project I'm working on. Very very excited for it and hope that it actually pans out. Wish me luck, please... even if you don't know what it is! :)

Moving Continents

2009-10-02T15:04:00.010-05:00

I found him at one of those sleazy 4 am bars. He walked by me and I thought to myself, I want this guy. He had these dark eyes, the kind of eyes I later learn, occurs when you smoke too much pot. Whatever, I tell my best friend. He rolled a cigarette for me, smiled, and I thought, I'm done.

I’m sure he never thought he would be part of my blog, I didn’t either. I didn’t bother to call, or text after the last time I saw him. Sometimes, I can be an asshole like that. I get the feeling he is as well. It could be the entire moving thing, but I would like to take the tough girl role in this one.

He’s moving to South Korea to teach in the next month. A fact that I learned the first night I met him, a fact that I dismissed. So, I have reluctantly avoided him. This last week I have thought about him a little too much. Although, I’ve almost completely forgot some subtle details about him, the way he parts his hair or what the smell of his skin was like. These are details I cared less about, I want the part where we closed down the bar one night, not even realizing it. The fact that each time I saw him, I smiled just a little more.

He could not fathom that I hated The Flaming Lips, like most people do. I think I’ve come to say it because it really makes people irate. He was amused by it. I pushed it too far, because the smile I could get from him made me jump to other great bands. I’ll throw in a little bit of Beatles and let him know that they did not really alter the course of music as we know it. I’ll argue for other bands, like The Rolling Stones.

Nirvana, we agreed upon. In my head I remember thinking he was such a child when Kurt Cobain died. He told me that Nirvana altered the way he thought about music. I told him about my brother sending me Pearl Jam CD’s from California, advising me to stop listening to big hair bands.

I didn’t get to tell him, Frightened Rabbit was in fact a band I had downloaded at some point, but never got around to fully listening to them. He had played them while we shot pool that night, all the while bullshitting about life and his move. I also forgot to tell him, that night, as I stared at the poster above his bed, so many other things. I couldn't focus, I couldn't breathe. I didn’t pay attention to how his fingers wrapped into mine. I was busy watching the continents, mapped out on his wall. I moved them together and moved them apart. I dissected Asia away and pushed it towards me. S. Korea seemed to float, such a lonely little country. So I willed it’s way over to me, across an entire continent and landed it safely in Lake Michigan. He didn’t notice my eyes, even when he pushed the hair away from them, he couldn’t see they were unyielding. They were stationary and set on an Asian jungle, only steps away from North Ave beach.

Things I learned this last year....

2009-09-30T21:19:00.004-05:00

Some things I've learned in the last year of being single and living in Chicago.

Art in any form is what sustains my life.

It isn't who you know that makes you who you are.

Getting your heart broken, does not mean you won't survive.

All goals are attainable.

Friends are family you choose.

Never follow your fears, they will lead you astray.

Never follow your love, he will lead you astray.

Erica's Venn Diagram, was on target. You are the center of your world. Never orbit around another.

Being a Mac snob is ok.

Nothing is permanent.

Permeance is a illusion.

Everyone has their own reality.

People really hate that I hate The Flaming Lips.

What I need, is inside of me. I can't gain that from others.

Life is amazing. It really is.

All we have is what's occurring right now.

Fall in love with yourself.

Never leave your purse on your car seat.

Focus on where you put your keys.

Three Floyd's makes an amazing beer.

I'm pretty f'ing good at research.

The past does not make me who I am right now.

I no longer want to be an architect.

Mice like to eat dog food.

2009-09-29T20:44:00.003-05:00

I got this writing gig for a website that focuses on Chicago events. I seem to be the youngster there, and so I offered to write about the things I love: music, art, fashion, and food. I'm really excited about it. I'm hoping this will add some credibility to my resume/portfolio, since all my writing has been strictly "creative" thus far. It's hard for me not to think in metaphors and try to stick to logic, but all I can think about is rhetoric=blech. I feel like things, like life, are starting to come together and come together nicely.

I'm also trying to write a poem for a lit publication. This is the easiest form of writing for me. Poetry is nothing but one big metaphor usually, unless your William Carlos Williams, and then you just string beautiful simple words together.

I've wanted to write about my Grandmother for so long, which I think will be the theme of this poem. She had this vast strawberry patch, which was actually more like a field than a small patch. If I taste, smell or even see a strawberry I think of her. I can't eat them anymore, the mere sight of one brings tears to my eyes. I think this will be interesting because when you think of this berry, the average person thinks of something sensual or sexual, but in my case it reminds me of loss and heartache. A fruit, shaped like a heart, the color of blood, her blood which rests in my blood.... I think I have something. I'll doodle something out tonight.

And... I want love lately. I've gone over a year without it. I'm ready to fall into something again. I even want the heart-break that accompanies it. I'm ready to feel something again. I'm ready to be vulnerable... I think. I think. I think. Maybe.

Quantum Waste

2009-09-29T12:10:00.008-05:00

Last night my friends and I were hanging out at Bar DeVille, shooting pool, dreaming about opening up a bar across the street called "Lived Devil" and talking usual nonsense. We started taking photos and after reviewing the pics, we noticed tiny little orbs all over. I think Bar DeVille has some ghosts up in there.

These are two separate pics. Focus on the orbs. Stay with me here....

Now, I'm not one to really believe in ghosts, but this was a little creepy. Especially when I asked the aforementioned "ghost" to go in the corner, so I could take a photo of it. What do ya know? Who showed up? A small little orb, hanging out in the corner. Huh.

This also sparked a little conversation between Mori and I; the one thing we actually agree on. There is no such thing as ghosts, just pockets of energy. After some light reading on quantum physics and watching a documentary on a leading scientific parapsychologist, I've come away with the understanding that if an energy is strong enough, it can linger around. I'm not really talking about the energy of dead people and this idea that they can interact with us, more like the energy of memories. If intense enough, those memories sort of linger around, like quantum waste.

Apparently, there is a whole lot of good times and quantum waste that must be lingering around in the pool room.

2009-09-27T21:15:00.002-05:00

Today was one of the most beautiful days, and was topped off by a storm rolling in. I love these kind of days. I'm incredibly anxious for Fall to roll through and get down to business. I want to see some leaves on the ground already. I want to pull out my jacket. I want to bury myself under blankets, struggle to get out of bed in the morning, or drink some apple cider. Awwww, nostalgia.

I found out today that I write better in my car. Who woulda thunk? I pulled over, pulled out my MacBook, put the top down and started writing. I've been trying to write an article for this women's lit website for nearly three months now and have come up with nothing. Actually, I always come up with something but I'm always driving, or showering, or walking my dog... kind of inconvenient places to write. This time, I took advantage of the moment. I knew it would be awhile for those kind of ideas to creep into my brain again.

I came home and reread what I had written. I have decided I will always write in the car, always. Screw the coffee shops, screw my writing room, screw every single place that I have forced myself to write in. The car has won, hands down. Hands. Down.

Where the hell did I pull this article out of? In a half hour straight of writing, with a little tweaking now, I think I did well. Usually how this all happens. I remember the poems, I won a scholarship for, were written in ten minutes, tops. I look back now remembering that I asked my advisor (after I won and beat out the competition) "are you sure you want to give this to me?". That's self confidence right there.

2009-09-26T10:51:00.003-05:00

I have to have this book.

The mysterious "red book" written by Carl Jung. Awesome.

I love that someone has actually shed light on the idea that some of the greatest minds (artists, writers, scientists, etc.) put themselves into a unconscious state and then something brilliant takes over and they are able to produce ideas that seem to come out of no where. The filter is removed.

This got me thinking about my own writing ability. Some of the best things I have written are when I turn off the filter, when I silence the little voice in my head that chatters away.

I need this book.

2009-09-24T20:38:00.003-05:00

Something about this song, it will become my theme song for this last summer. The lyrics, the sound, it's haunting.

New Magazine Idea

2009-09-06T18:00:00.004-05:00

I have an addiction to magazines. Along with my usual girly mags, I was sent a Playboy magazine by accident. I was really excited about it too. I do actually read the articles and enjoy them. I'll skip the nudey pics of what's her face from "The Hills", not because I think she's ugly, but because I think she's dumb.

Why are there not more women's magazines geared towards people like me: girls who enjoy reading articles about the so-called coming apocalypse, crude jokes, movie reviews that are not devoted to chick flicks and advice columns that are not completely focused on how to bag a man.

I want to create this new women's magazine.

Here are some features that I have included in my first issue of this imaginary magazine:

Recipe: Jeppson Malort Cocktail- Yes, a shitty schnapps can be made to taste good

Fashion: Finding Your Own Inner Style and Embracing It

Home: How to Pimp out Your Apartment on a Budget

Movie Review: Inglorious Bastards

Music Review: Insert great indie band here

Interview: The hot guy from Mashable, Pete Cashmore

Technology: How the Snow Leopard Upgrade Changed My Life

Gadgets: To Dual Screen or Not to Dual Screen, I say yes.

So, This is My Life? (Think "Texts from Last Night")

Politics: Is Obama the New Anti-Christ? One Crazy Conservative's View.

Work: How to Do What You Love and Succeed at It, Entrepreneurial Style.

I'd also add in some really great art features and amateur photographers.

Fashion would be street style only. It's not about keeping up with the Jones's, or Rachel's, or Lindsey's....

I will refrain from anything having to do with bagging a dude, because let me tell ya ladies, I've skimmed through a few men's magazines and there isn't a scent of desperation on those pages. There will be an advice column, and this is the only time females are allowed to ask questions regarding their relationships.

Wonder if anyone would buy it?

To Vegan or not to vegan....

2009-09-02T20:22:00.005-05:00

Six years ago I became a vegan (and then subsequently failed at it) after being inspired by shazzie.com. She was writing blogs about her transition into veganism, before blogging became the thing to do. She was brutally honest, documenting how her body dramatically changed as she began eating nothing but non-cooked fruits and vegetables. Years of struggling with acne and bloating seemed to vanish after only weeks; along with a series of health issues and obesity.

In one blog she actually describes the sludge and interesting looking things that she found in her poo while detoxing, or a zit she had for years finally erupted spewing years of goo out. It was so fascinating and disgusting all at once, and I jumped on the vegan bandwagon.

The lifestyle lasted almost a year. It's difficult to explain to your Iowan meat eating farming family that you no longer eat animals or their bi-products. You would think you killed someone's mother. Oh wait, you kind of do when you are a carnivore.

I long for the days when I was that disciplined, that healthy. When my skin glowed, when I slept well, when I could easily meditate for a half hour straight.

So tonight, guess what I did? A little research. A little health research. I have a friend who is trying to shove the benefits of swigging some apple cider vinegar on a daily basis. I also decided to gorge myself on some stawberries, baby steps, baby steps. I have not been taking the best care of myself lately (please see blog about eating lots of cheeseburgers....with fried eggs on them and drinking lots of Jameson, and beers). So, I'm starting up my yoga routine again. I'm still on the fence about going straight vegan again. Do I go for it?

Things I will not do on FB

2009-08-30T11:49:00.005-05:00

August 30, 2009

Things I will never do on Facebook:

Post my relationship status: no one needs to know about my breakups and hookups.

Post my birthdate: I'm a child of the 80's. That's all you need to know.

Be a status whiner: Posting how someone did me wrong or how I hate this or that will. never. happen.

Be a poetic status song writer: I won't write really touchy feely status updates, nor will I quote song lyrics.

Tell you my life story in my "About Me": Some things should remain a mystery. You don't need to know how often I poo.

Market my life: You know who you are. You want everyone to know how freaking cool you are. You want everyone to think you are a princess. You take professional pics of your life, no, really, you do. You constantly market your product, which is you and the really boring things you do. We don't care. Don't shove it down our throats.

Post pics of myself being awkward, in the social sense: I recently skimmed through photos of a girl who made her profile public, only to find she has pics of herself kissing lots of girls, playfully posing in sexual positions with lots of men and lots of women, and drinking large quantities of alcohol. I'll avoid trashy, thanks.

Take Quizzes: Enough with the quizzes already, seriously. Seriously, I don't want to know that some stupid quiz did not realize your favorite color was purple. Seriously.

Pass someone a drink: If it's not real, I'm not accepting it.

Write 25 things you should know about me: I'll give you 25 things you wish you didn't know about me.

Add my Grandmother, Aunts, Uncles, Parents, etc. as "Friends": Sorry, you aren't my friends, you are my relatives. I love you, but I don't want you to see that closely into my life. I want you to think of me as your sweet little angel, and not would rather not tarnish that image.

I'm so F'ing Needy Right Now

2009-08-24T23:05:00.004-05:00

Jesus, I'm so vulnerable right now that I'm writing yet again and reaching out to anything and everyone. Tragic events make me just want to curl up in bed with someone and cry. I hate that, because that's not usually me. I'm craving it though.

We have a house full of guests right now and I'm waiting to use the only bathroom available in this three bedroom insanely hot old farmhouse, and I'm the only one without a significant other. Just thought I'd throw that out there. I'm the only one without someone to say, "hey, this really sucks. let me just hold you tonight." So, I'll sit here and love on my mac for awhile. Write out all this neediness that is going on inside of me right now. I'll write about random shit, just plain ol' random stuff....

I changed my blog layout. I'm lazy and have yet to set up the date and archiving, adding widgets and stuff. Eh, is pretty much how I feel about it. I'm just proud of myself for changing the template. Fuck, I'm lazy.

My niece left me a note on my suitcase this morning. It says "Welcome to Hotel Olivia". Made my friggin' morning. She's letting me have her room for the next few days. I feel like a pretty princess.

I wish my writing was more raw. I wish that I had time to focus on writing about important things, or things I'm passionate about.

I kind of hope that I would just let myself fall for this dude. I'm almost there, but I still act tough.

It's so quiet here, all I can hear are the toads croaking. It literally sounds like there are thousands of them out there. I have a serious toad/frog phobia. This is not good.

My nephew told me that he no longer eats pencil erasers... I'm so proud.

My mac sometimes makes this sound, like the aliens from "Signs", freaks me out.

I'm really anxious to get back to Chicago, but not so anxious to take the train back. I think this time I'll have some beers.

Okeeee, I think I'm struggling here with stuff to come up with. I'm afraid to lay down and sleep. I'm afraid of the memories my brain conjures up. I'm afraid of how much I may cry tonight. I'm afraid of tomorrow.

Back Home

2009-08-24T18:23:00.005-05:00

I'm back in Iowa. I'm sitting here in this old farmhouse, watching my sister-in-law cook chicken noodle soup. I think our stomachs cannot handle any sort of solid food right now. I'm exhausted. I attempted to sleep in past 9 am, but my niece and nephew woke me out of a really great dream by running up and down the hallway. The hardwood floors echo their tiny little footsteps throughout the house. There is no sleeping in here; not with a six and nine year old living amongst us.

I wanted to take a few pics of the countryside, here. To few people's surprise, I have lost my new camera already. I am desperate to capture the tree covered bluffs off to the west, the large Iowa river to the south, and the horse pasture to the east. I love it here. I really miss Chicago though, the quiet here is haunting. It leaves me with too much to think about. It leaves me with too much to consider. I really want to take some photos, though. I almost feel like I'm on another planet, or in a movie. I wish I had my damn camera.

I don't understand.

2009-08-22T21:08:00.004-05:00

I found out my uncle passed away this afternoon. I'm devastated. I'm sitting here absolutely devastated.

A few years ago, my Grandmother passed away. I remember sitting at the funeral. I remember hating it. I remember looking around the crowd of seated people, mere acquaintances of my Grandma who I loved with a passion, and I remember feeling so angry. I remember looking at their faces staring blankly ahead, the small connections that they might of had with her. They were friendly neighbors or saw her in passing in the small Iowa town where she had lived. I wanted to sit next to them and not just tell them how much pain I was in but physically show them. I wanted to rip out my heart and lay it in their hands and say see this, see how much it hurts. Please feel how much this hurts, please fix this, please take this away. Instead, I sat there watching them, watching how they yawned, paid their respects and left, while I ached to have her hug me and tell me things were going to be ok, while I would have given up half of my life to have five more seconds with her.

I feel that now. I feel the same aching pain. I feel as if life should stop. I feel as if the world should stop spinning, now, this very second. I feel like the earth should not and cannot possibly continue on without him. How could it? How could this world possibly survive without him? How can these cars drive by my apartment, how can my upstairs neighbor's phone ring, how can I continue to breathe?

The constant message that my mind keeps going back to is, I don't understand. I don't understand. The logical part of my brain tells me that people die, it's a part of life. The child in me responds with, I don't understand. I can't wrap my mind around death. I can't fully contemplate how one ceases to exist. I don't understand. I don't understand.

How much awesomeness is this dog?

2009-08-20T16:47:00.006-05:00

"who's the sweetest baby, who is she? who's the bestest puppy in the world? you are. yes you are!" *clearing my throat* Oh hey... didn't see you reading this blog....

I have this fantastic dog. I got her from a shelter almost 9 years ago. She's a German Shepherd / Lab mix (with just a tad bit of pit). She's pretty much the best thing ever, but I find that most people say that about their own pets. In this case, it's true.

Pros:

Gracie (she was given that name by the shelter and it stuck) is lazy. Which equally matches my lazy behavior. She's pretty mellow. She looks scary, weighing a hefty 100 or so pounds. She's tough. When I walk her down my street, she picks and chooses who is allowed to look in our direction. I like that. And except for the recent string of accidents lately (a change in her dogfood and getting sick), she's never pooed or peed in my house. Nice work.

Cons:

The only beef I've had with her is the enormous amounts of fur that comes out of her skin and has layered my floor. I have tuffs of the white stuff on my carpet, daily. Black clothing, furniture, etc. is just not an option for me.

What makes her unique:

She has a war wound, a bullet lodged in one of her ginourmous ears. She took one for the team when she was on the lam one fateful evening, while roaming the hillsides of Iowa. A farmer (please picture clad in overalls, it's a must) decided she was a little to close to his flock of sheep (no joke). I like to imagine her in slow motion, dodging in front of the loaded bb gun, and preventing the tiny bullet from hitting my other dog, Spencer (RIP). What a trooper.

She's also recently lost a front tooth. Which has made her prominent overbite quite attractive.

She has huge ears. Big enough to become a shooting target.

Ok, excuse me while I resume sickening baby puppy talk.

While I was out....

2009-08-19T11:25:00.012-05:00

It’s 2:46 in the afternoon. I’ve parked myself outside this neighborhood pub to catch up on some much-needed blogging. I’ve been MIA. I have been slightly distracted by some meaningless diversions lately, creating a slight bump in the road. I’ve spent too much time at my local hang out and forgetting about the thing that I love doing the most. This.

What has been happening since the short time I’ve been gone?

My bestie moved back to Iowa.

My bestie moved back to Chicago.

I went mildly crazy.

I went on a lot of dates.

I drank a lot of Jameson.

I fell in love.

I fell out of love.

I hurt someone.

I became a complete asshole.

I ate at McDonald’s. A lot.

I drank a significant amount of Red Bull.

I drank a significant amount of Root Beer.

I dyed my hair and got an awkward haircut.

I bought a mac and an ipod touch and a new camera.

My dog pooed on my rug out of spite.

My dog got into my garbage out of pure hatred.

The funny thing about this, it happened a week. Just a week. I’m still in recovery. I really really wanted to see how much trouble I could get into on my own, without my sidekick. Turns out, I get into a whole lot more when she’s gone.

Advice for people who want "great deals"

2009-08-01T16:07:00.004-05:00

I promise you that this will be the only industry related post that I will do…. I have a friend who recently decided to put in an offer on a great property out on an acreage, unfortunately because her realtor didn’t know a thing about foreclosures or short sale she was out bid. This is just a little piece of friendly advice for those out there wanting to get on those “great deals” on properties, since I do have some knowledge on the subject:

Come in with a strong offer. The property you want is already a “great deal”, usually listed at 50% more below the value of the home. Don’t expect to low ball and submit an offer below the asking price, because banks tend to find this insulting. My gf put an offer $10,000 below the listing price and asked them to pay for closing costs. She lost the property of her dreams to a better and stronger offer.

Be prepared to clean up the mess. With foreclosures and short sales, the previous owner’s thoughts are usually “we need to get out of dodge and quickly”. So the property is usually left in disarray, don’t be surprised if the house needs a little tlc after closing. What you see is usually what you get. If the drywall has fallen off the wall, that crumbly mess will still be there when you move in.

Don’t expect the bank to give you incentives to purchase. Recently a client submitted a counter offer asking the bank to give a credit for tuckpointing and to replace non-working appliances. The attorney for the bank’s reply was “are you insane?” Again, you are already getting the property for a bargain, why ask for extra $500 credit to replace appliances when you are basically getting thousands of dollars in credits.

Expect to play the waiting game. In today’s market, especially in Chicago, mortgage companies are dealing with hundreds to thousands of short sale applications and foreclosures. No matter how many times you have your agent call the bank, you are just a number in line. Patience is a virtue and you should develop it when waiting for the bank to accept your offer.

Finally, hire a good inspector. This is key because you need to know what’s going on with the property that you just made an offer on. Many times the people who go into foreclosure do not have the money to upkeep their property and have let certain things basically go to crap, ie. roofing, electrical work, plumbing, foundation issues. A really good inspector can be a wealth of information and help you know what you are getting into and also if you can afford the repairs. Best part, there are no surprises when you move in.

The Big Issue

2009-07-28T09:55:00.004-05:00

I tend to buy Glamour magazines when I’m having a boring lazy day. It’s those days when I want my brain to stay pretty numb, when I want to drink my machiatto in private, when I don’t really feel like venturing out in public. It’s my little guilty pleasure of sex articles and fashion photos.

Here I am curled up on the couch in my undies, my Starbucks next to me, the magazine thrown across the room as an “aha moment” sent me reeling in pure panic. I’m uncomfortable, I’m shaken, and I’m slightly awaken.

It’s this cartoon; this short little cartoonish article about a woman who had Daddy issues and how those issues have played out in each of her relationships. The story, the cartoon, and its captions are the story of my life.

All girls have Daddy issues, all girls. Some are more complicated than others. Some are just that no other guy can possibly compare to their amazing father. So, they end up searching endlessly for the most perfect guy and usually end up with that perfect guy. Some girls aren’t lucky enough to have that issue, they have my issue…

My Daddy issues, along with Laurie Sandies (from the Glamour issue), stems from a father who would briefly come into my life and exit just as quickly. He would be my buddy one day and the next he would just sort of disappear or find a reason to be angry with me and then subsequently stop speaking to me. When he was my amazing father, I was treated like the tom-boy daughter I had always wanted to be: fishing trips, manual transmission driving lessons, horseback riding, operating the tractor on the farm, kayaking, hiking to see old Indian burial grounds. When my Dad suddenly decided that I did something wrong, or if I made him angry, he would just sort of vanish and it would often be months, and in one case over a year, before I was spoken to again. This began my definition of what love is, a person who comes in and loves you for a brief time and then vanishes.

What kind of complicated mess does this create? For starters, I never get close, which sounds very cliché, but it’s true. I’ve been told, by the ex that crushed by soul, that I’m resistant, and hence I create resistance. So I try to solve that problem by pretending a guy is just my buddy or friend. If I do this, I am awesome. I will chat you up, I will joke around, I will be fun, I will throw down shots of Jameson all while calling you a big huge asshole, I will give you shit and let you shove it right back, I will make you feel like you are the most amazing guy in the world and any girl would be lucky to have you, it just won’t be me. The very second you tell me you like me or you want to kiss me… that fun loving naturally cool girl disappears, just like my Dad.

The big Dad issues also keep the really really good guys at bay, the ones that are so good it makes you sick. It’s the one guy (usually my male bff) who I picture myself living with. It’s guy that I want to be in love with. I’m afraid, however, that I will end up hurting them. So with this guy, I keep him in my life and I do all the great girlfriendy things, but just never commit to him. I realize that the second this happens, I will run so far you will only see the dust and the mess I’ve left behind.

It also keeps me from being myself. I have learned that guys think I’m the extra cool fun girl, but the second we start dating or become intimate, I change. It’s drastic and I become very not myself. This is where the Daddy issue nearly destroys me. This is the take down method created by my unknowing Father, who didn’t ever really want to be a Dad. This is where he created this girl who fears that anything she says will create hostility and the person will leave. So I pull back, and if it’s as if a muzzle is clamped across my face. I’m no longer witty, cute or sarcastic. I no longer have a voice. I no longer have a personality and that just plain sucks.

And for the biggest way that this plays out in my life, I end up choosing the most unavailable guy to be attracted to and fall for. They don’t want anything from me. They don’t want a commitment, and this I find very relieving because neither do I. This is the guy that I choose to chase over and over again because I can never really have them and they can never really fully have me. It’s safe, it’s secure, it’s so unstable and it’s something that I no longer want.

This stupid article left me in tears on the couch this morning with my dog looking at me like I’m out of my freaking mind. It’s a pivotal time. Weeks ago, I suddenly announced that it’s time I get serious about getting serious. It’s just a statement, and I don’t even know if I really mean it. The universe responded with, “alrighty, I throw one of your guy friends your way and we’ll see how this plays out. You’re his buddy, you’ve always been yourself around him, you are attracted to him and he is oh so attracted to you. Now I’ll just sit back and watch you destroy this one, just like you always manage to do.” Awww fuck and so I do.

The great thing about “aha moments” is that somehow the universe puts you back on track; usually. I hope it moves quickly.

A date is a fruit, right?

2009-07-24T09:56:00.005-05:00

Hey blog followers! I'm a member of a blogger community called 20 Something Bloggers. We are doing a blog swap and I'm lucky enough to have Kate as my partner! This is her blog post for you all to enjoy! Also, check out Kate's blog, she's a terrific writer! I'm hooked.

Hello there, friends of Lindy!

When I heard about this here blog swap, I got excited. But then, like so many do….I realized I had no idea what to write about. And of course, like me, Lindy chooses random insights over a theme, so…basically, I found myself with more options than I knew what to do with.

So, what did I do?

I just decided to write about what’s going on with me. Hope y’all don’t mind another post about dating…I realize they’re everywhere…

Here’s the thing about dating:

I suck at it.

Or, rather, I don’t get it.

I don’t know how it works. I seem to have a secret curse…so secret that even I wasn’t told of it.

But I know. Ohhhhh, I know.

It started obviously enough. When I was in high school, I didn’t do the partying – and subsequent hooking up – the other kids did. I did theatre, instead. Among the theatre crowd, I did all the wrong things:

Didn’t have enough self-confidence
Ended up in a “relationship” with someone I met at camp, who lived two states away.

And then,

Fell for a gay boy

College started similarly. I still didn’t have the confidence, and I was still hung up on the gay boy. But then I gradually started coming into my own a bit, and the dating disasters began.

I had two dates with guys who gave me their numbers, instead of getting mine. I am far too scaredy-cat for that business!

I had one date in which the guy left it up to me whether the check should be split. I didn’t have the guts to say “oh, he’ll take care of it”. I shoulda. Jerk…

I had one date that tried to make out with me even though he was incapable of having a conversation with me.

I had the most failed met-on-the-internet situation ever in the history of the world. Short of death/violence/etc, I guess.

I had two “dates” that were only dates in my brain.

I had one date with a Freshman…when I was a senior. Oy.

I had two one-night encounters that ended up being bad news for everyone.

I had way too many boys-I-liked-that-ended-up-being-gay situations.

So, then I graduated.

I’m not that long out of school – just a couple years – but I’ve changed a whole heck of a lot. I went on dating hiatus for a while, just taking time to build up that confidence, become smarter and more sure of what I want, and less scared of what the heck comes next in life.

So now here I am, on the other side of that hiatus, in a strange situation. I’m in my mid-twenties, in NYC, trying to figure out how dating actually works.

I started by trying to meet people through various friends and friend groups, fellow alumni of my (co-ed) honor fraternity, theatre people and very not theatre people. I met person after person after person and soon realized one of the following:

1. Every man ever, regardless of profession, is gay.

2. The three or four who aren’t have way too much drama surrounding them. And they’re probably in the closet anyway.

So now what?

Branching out hasn’t worked. I’m not a fan of the meeting-people-in-a-bar scene (I’m sure it works sometimes, but it’s not usually my ideal). No one tries to set me up with friends. I seem to be out of options, as far as I can tell.

Except one.

Oh yeah, that’s right,

Online Dating.

I am now a member of one of the many online dating websites that are so popular (and in my neck of the woods, not that sketchy) lately. I joined just a few days ago, and let me tell you:

It is overwhelming! And stressful!

Take these quizzes, answer these questions, decide if you want to reply to this message, describe yourself, define yourself, try to continue having a life!

I’m sure this is how people new to facebook, who haven’t been evolving along with it, usually feel.

Even more than that, though, I’m faced with the fact that I have really never known how it works. I hate the messages I get from some guy that just say “Hi, how are you?”. I think they should at least gimme a conversation starter, or a reason they’re striking one up in the first place. But then when it’s time to send one, I’m suddenly clueless as to what is best to write other than “Hi, how are you?” I don’t want to sound lame! Or stupid! I’m a good conversationalist, but I apparently suck at knowing how to start them!

When did this happen?

The crazy thing is, dating isn’t even that big a deal to me right now. I’m just doing it cause I’m bored. Cause I need a little excitement, and maybe even romance, in my life.

Too bad it’s all foreign to me. Is it this hard for everyone else?

What are your tips for dating? For online dating? For meeting people in general?

Or just for not getting so stressed out!

View Kate's Blog!

A Tale of the Crazy Boy...

2009-07-20T16:33:00.004-05:00

I started to date someone. We hit it off instantly. We have the same belief system, we like to have a good time over drinks, and have a similar sarcastic wit. I raved about this guy. I told my Mom about this guy. I told my gf's about this guy. This was the guy who could have changed my belief into thinking that I could possibly settle down and be faithful to one guy. The best part, this guy is absolutely head over heals I want to marry you tomorrow crazy about me (I mean, why wouldn't he be). Worst part, he may have actually turned out to be completely nuts.

Funny thing, I have learned when a guy likes me this much [and I'm talking over the top likeyness], he is 99.99% of the time bat shit crazy. That's really unfortunate.

I bet you are wondering exactly what qualifies this person as someone you don't want to date ever again... Well, you know those times when you are insanely attracted to someone. It's the person whose eyes you can't look into because it makes you feel all funny. It's the person who you will find any reason to touch or to kiss. You want them to notice you, you want them to really really like you back because you really really like them. The great thing about sanity is that you have a filter that keeps you from acting out on these emotions or saying any of those things out loud on let's say a third date. I'm guessing that all of those years of "the guy" dropping acid (which I was later informed of) really burned a hole through that filter and it's never coming back.

Last night was our final date... I was almost sure he would redeem himself, but after the 20th time of telling him to slow it down, no, there was no redeeming. I felt like he wanted to crawl inside my skin and live there just so he could be with me 24/7. That's just plain creepy.

So I came up with some [what you think would be obvious] signs that a girl isn't that into you, based on my crazy boy experience:

If a girl turns her head, she doesn't want to kiss you.
If a girl is looking for the closest exit, she is planning on ditching you.
If a girl is finding any excuse to talk to someone else, she is no longer interested.
If a girl tells you she has to go home early because she has to get up for work or go home to feed her dog. It's done, because there is no dog and great guys can often trump work.
If a girl says "I like me too" after you tell her how much you like her, you are in trouble.
Finally, if a girl runs out to hail you a cab, shoves you in it and then ventures back into the drinking establishment to make new friends. It is o-v-e-r.