tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-62793430647792055232024-03-13T15:21:39.191-07:00It Might Be Cinemabilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.comBlogger103125tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-48666522233515959852011-11-14T20:09:00.001-08:002011-11-14T20:09:49.999-08:00<a href="http://"></a>billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-5135457362943156552011-09-10T16:20:00.000-07:002011-09-12T18:44:27.492-07:00Mama<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LiqEvxXdXbo/Tm61cz4nJNI/AAAAAAAAAdc/iw1QjsvbER0/s1600/070516_193803.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 256px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-LiqEvxXdXbo/Tm61cz4nJNI/AAAAAAAAAdc/iw1QjsvbER0/s320/070516_193803.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5651654088965170386" /></a><br />My Dearest Mama, <br /><br />On your birthday, while reminding of your stunningly youthful looks, I would like to tell you about (remind you of) what I've loved, learned and continue to understand about you, after having known you for 31 years. Let's see: Ice cream is a necessity, not a luxury, and can be incorporated into ANY healthy diet. Self preservation is not selfishness, period. Baths don't have to happen only on the weekends. Routines are helpful, and you can schedule spontaneity. Broccoli is a super food. Having time to put your feet up at night is the perfect way to say thanks you to your body. Reading is fun. Dusk is the best time of the day, I wish it lasted longer too. Always brush your teeth after coffee. Always wear your seat belt. Traveling with snacks is simply smart.Beautiful architecture should be appreciated, often. Having cheerleaders helps play the game (of life). Drink water, plenty of it. Use Retin-A, it's a face lift in a tube - you are proof positive. Write down questions for your doctor and insist you get answers and a copy of the super-bill. Let people love and admire you. Have manners - say thank you and bring a loaf of banana bread whenever possible (like I did to a recent Banana Republic shoot). Wear colors that don't die on you. Good is a dead word. Use the "show me technique" when telling a story. Share. Going out in groups is fun!!<br /><br />Most of all my dear Mama, you have really raised a daughter who knows that she is loved, will always be loved - unconditionally and without exception by her family. YOU have imparted upon me such tremendous values and manners and gratitude that my friends and family notice. Thank you for the past 31 years. I so hope that you know the value of your 65ish years and what you mean to me, to Awa, to Dad, your sister, your friends and even perfect strangers. Here's to you sweet Pamela on your very special day! Keep it up, kid. Happy Birthday. <br /><br />Love You, <br />tootsbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-21464672941579933812011-05-21T11:28:00.000-07:002011-05-21T11:56:54.595-07:00And so they say<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KQiKNZcwlsE/TdgK3U49k6I/AAAAAAAAAdQ/0t8RHMHMNlE/s1600/Picture%2B12.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 264px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/-KQiKNZcwlsE/TdgK3U49k6I/AAAAAAAAAdQ/0t8RHMHMNlE/s320/Picture%2B12.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5609245281506661282" /></a><br />I once thought that writing would save my life. I think it still just might. With all the happenings that keep happening in my life, the only way to sort them out, is to ride, ahem write them out. Real life events, and then the possibility and probability of such events playing out in my life, are getting trapped in my head and proceeding to tape loop over and over and over and over again. It is becoming toxic, this internal revolution. They say stress is responsible for some crazy percentage of disease, like 80. I don't know who they are, but I believe them. The stresses, any anxieties that sit within or upon my skin are beginning to show their true colors and tarnish me from the inside out. But what's the remedy, how does it reverse? On it's own, doubtful. With the help of outsiders, not likely. It comes down to me, little timid, seldom strong me. I need to cultivate more strength and establish better boundaries. I need to say "no" more often to others and "yes" more often to moi. True. But it's frightening. Who wants to start a conversation and be the bad guy? I know a few who easily confuse my offerings as an invitation to take and take. I am a giver, yes, but do not wish to be sucked dry and never refilled. Nevertheless, it appears as though there is something about me that attracts -with a mysterious magnitude- people who exhaust me. One of those people is me, ps. So beginning sooner than later, I am taking a big old fashioned break. Buckling down, paring down, and hunkering down. I will try to heal, I have to heal. I will carve out the time to do the things I used to love to do, and still love to do, but have become rusty at doing. Like writing. Where is my usual voice, here? Rusted, in need of some literal form of WD40. And perhaps I will conjure up some analog days, free of web related minutia that locks people in and often becomes a stand in for real life experiences. It's a good thing that I enjoy my own company, because while they say stress kills, they also say "if you're not good company for yourself, you're no good company for others." I like being alone. As a Gemini, it's as if I never really am. So here's to a pre-Gemini birthdate that is quickly approaching . . . Here's to a fresh start a little later in the game, where I actually begin to act and feel like a grownup as opposed to a doormat and a pushover who often feels as though entitled, mannerless folks take advantage of. It may not be easy, but I simply don't have the time not to find out. No time to waste time. Don't they also say "there's no time like the present?" Or my favorite, "yesterday is history, tomorrow is a mystery and today is a gift, that's why it's called the present." Clever, real clever. And on a final note, of self affirmation and my attempt to listen to and trust a doctor's poignant prescription for once, "be who you are and say what you feel, because those who mind don't matter, and those who matter don't mind." Dr. Seuss, he's the perfect combination of what I need in my life, advice and solutions from a doctor and motivational lyrical goodness from a writer. And here I go, living for today, while mending the past and fine tuning what still ticks and what may even work better with just a little bit of attention.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-81035357346159197352011-03-05T12:06:00.001-08:002011-03-05T12:54:33.080-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_DE98sN73qc/TXKgDq6gYII/AAAAAAAAAdE/BZGBNxtWKic/s1600/Picture%2B3.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/-_DE98sN73qc/TXKgDq6gYII/AAAAAAAAAdE/BZGBNxtWKic/s320/Picture%2B3.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580698873185198210" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y4BmTm_ql5U/TXKf-Fj_8xI/AAAAAAAAAc8/NLCheSngtco/s1600/Picture%2B2.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 264px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/-y4BmTm_ql5U/TXKf-Fj_8xI/AAAAAAAAAc8/NLCheSngtco/s320/Picture%2B2.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5580698777259340562" /></a><br />I just picked up my Senior Thesis after I read a friend's blog this morning. The quote she posted reminded me of one of my favorites. And so I dug up my work. Brushing off some dusty residue, from having rested untouched, atop books crammed into a space too small, I opened the booklet to the page I needed and then shared. Ralph Ellison, the author of my favorite book ever - Invisible Man - is quite simply put, a genius. His large work inspired my petite work. His words became the architecture to the small building of words and images that became my thesis. The quote that raised my brow and continues to tape loop my brain is this: "The end is in the beginning and lies far ahead." I think it is perfect. It's kind of like how the universe never ends - we all know this, but don't really <span style="font-style:italic;">know</span> this . . . right? It's simplicity only becomes more profoundly evident via it's complexity. Seriously. <br /><br />So, after unearthing the quote that I wanted to ensure not to <span style="font-style:italic;">mis</span>quote, I began to peruse the body of work I assembled almost a decade ago. Did I really write this? Peppered with quotes and cited works throughout, the bulk of the text, however, is my own voice on paper. My narrative, my dialogue, my edited and a more legible version of my very own stream of consciousness. Wow, I sound like I know what I'm talking about, all the while maintaining a curious and investigatory tone. This morning I impressed myself. And trust you me, this is rare. I believe I was meant for the world of academia. A world chalk full of chalk. An environment that thrives on thought and theory and wonder and malleable answers to positively uncertain solutions. A place of hypothesis and opinion - educated, political and personal - which in my mind are rather inextricable. The political, as I learned long ago, is the personal. I suppose that's why life becomes a struggle for a gal like me, who so strives to be authentic, but who is also required to play a game and wear myriad hats on a regular basis. It's a sense of invisibility indeed, this struggle. Which brings me to another poignant idea from Ralph Ellison. <br /><br />"Invisibility, let me explain, gives one a slightly different sense of time, you're never quite on the beat. Sometimes you're ahead and sometimes you're behind. Instead of the swift, imperceptible flowing of time, you are aware of its nodes, those pints where time stands still or from which it leaps ahead. And you slip into the breaks and look around." <br /><br />Invisibility has pros and it has cons. For now, however, I will hold the pros as paramount concern and be inspired by this ghostly notion of the outsider, the observer. I will slip into the breaks, off beat, and look around.<br /><br />Images: After 'Invisible Man' by Ralph Ellison, the Prologue 1999–2000<br />Transparency in lightbox 1740 x 2505 mm by Jeff Wall<br />(I got to see this work in real life at SFMOMA. The lightbox element could not have been more relevant nor visually sublime. The postcard on my fridge does Wall's work little justice).<br />Ralph Ellisonbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-55394887583206528872011-01-14T20:41:00.000-08:002011-01-14T20:56:56.314-08:00From Gary and Beyond: To New Beginnings, Or Not<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TTEovlyIdJI/AAAAAAAAAcw/hRngAOu0UVU/s1600/Picture%2B3.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 246px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TTEovlyIdJI/AAAAAAAAAcw/hRngAOu0UVU/s320/Picture%2B3.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5562271812840617106" /></a><br />Gary: "Have you seen "Eat, Pray, Love" yet? If not, watch it . . . "<br /><br />Me: "Read parts, still haven't seen it."<br /><br />Gary: "Well . . . the movie is Gary* approved, if that says anything . . "<br /><br />Note: the * is present due to real names being withheld, nevertheless, this was a real text from a real person to me. This is my life in dating. <br /><br />Regrets and regards, <br />small fish, unfishable pondbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-26887307454338167132010-11-21T22:12:00.000-08:002010-11-21T22:14:42.571-08:00Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros - Home (JVTP)<iframe width="425" height="344" src="http://www.youtube.com/embed/3HNY0rx2fw4?fs=1" frameborder="0"></iframe><br /><br />I wish my life was like this very road trip. I love everything from the hot hot heat, the beat-up airstream, the old silky nightgowns worn as dresses, ripe red parasols, and most of all the sun setting - all of it makes me die a little, really, I do . . . This song has been heard SO much (true story), but guess what? I love it! It is an anthem, a reminder, a transformation and a lil dream, and I love it - unabashedly, love it. With that, please enjoy, and hopefully some day you will say, "wow, (sar) you really are living like that movie, like life actually might just be - cinema" . . . xxbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-60105664684631170912010-11-20T22:58:00.000-08:002010-11-20T23:20:27.866-08:00Me: a few moons ago . . . Still true. Again: Argh<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TOjG4FJS2SI/AAAAAAAAAck/7dk9s0nhkxw/s1600/HEAL.jpg"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 81px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TOjG4FJS2SI/AAAAAAAAAck/7dk9s0nhkxw/s320/HEAL.jpg" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541898008235530530" /></a><br />The following words hail from my journal. They are newly found, post heartbreak, after hope left the room, and yet still they speak to me. I must follow my own lead from time to time . . . Maybe you'll like? Nevertheless, here's where I try to to harness hope, more like strangle it . . . <br /><br />Learning French may help,<br />breathing will help too.<br />Not inventing dragons is really good, same as <br />not being too hopeful nor too pessimistic.<br />Getting a new haircut is fun also:<br />(recall Frenchie friend Jean Paul's proverb: "new haircut, new lover") - I hope so.<br />Corresponding genuinely with those you love - that's good - real good.<br />Be a lady, you're an alight version - try more.<br />And remember - you are the boss of you. He didn't even pay rent.<br /><br />try try try try try try and maybe cut cut too?<br /><br />xxoobilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-28884856206536581722010-11-10T10:07:00.000-08:002010-11-20T22:57:43.124-08:00Duldroms: Volume 1<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TOjCsmhbnzI/AAAAAAAAAcc/yMDGY7aQDWA/s1600/lettuce%2Blady.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 318px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TOjCsmhbnzI/AAAAAAAAAcc/yMDGY7aQDWA/s320/lettuce%2Blady.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541893412990197554" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TOjCsQNVEpI/AAAAAAAAAcU/AfdiTuHJnpI/s1600/Sniffle%2BCIty.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 246px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TOjCsQNVEpI/AAAAAAAAAcU/AfdiTuHJnpI/s320/Sniffle%2BCIty.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5541893407000302226" /></a><br /> * Gargling with salt water will kill the bacteria. The best way to treat a sore throat is to gargle with warm salt water 6-8 times a day.<br /><br /> * Of course, the best solution is to eliminate the cause instead of treating the symptoms. Eating half a leaf of fresh sage, combined with 1/8 teaspoon of turmeric, will greatly reduce the drainage and congestion. This works at least as well as the pharmaceutical medications (and without their side-effects).<br /><br /> * You should make your body alkaline to boost its uptake of oxygen. Drinking homemade lemonade with a pinch of baking soda periodically is a fast, safe, and effective way of doing this. Lemon juice is an acid, but it makes the body more alkaline because of the way it gets processed. The baking soda will add buffering bicarbonates to make the body resistive to becoming acidic again, which is the normal state during sickness. None of these things will provide immediate relief for the throat pain. That requires time. <br /><br />Eat some lettuce; it helps the pain a lot.<br /><br />This was from last week, it's old, like my gross hacking. but I love the photo too much not to post. And I love Canada, where lettuce lass is from. <br /><br />xoxo hack cough sniffle ughhhhhhhhhbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-88736086123290518802010-08-12T22:15:00.000-07:002010-08-13T15:16:05.893-07:00Saddest Day Yet<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TGXEGIo1MqI/AAAAAAAAAcE/vmYwEHoOM7A/s1600/IMG_3108.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 240px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TGXEGIo1MqI/AAAAAAAAAcE/vmYwEHoOM7A/s320/IMG_3108.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5505021729207300770" /></a><br />Tonight will be the loneliest night ever. My main man, my Gris Gris, is not going to accompany me to bed. To use the word sad, is just, well, sad. Why can't I find a better word to adequately describe what it is I am feeling? Today i sat in a sterile office, with the love of my life, attempting to comfort him while the outside world carried on. Shame them, yes. We sat and snuggled, for a long while. His right arm got fixed to a little IV that was to later be used to administer a lethal feline injection. My heart broke and does still. Truth be told, I write because I don't want to make this bed, one without me, one with sheets that need laundering due to his late in life bladder, and also, because I don't like white sheets, I like the turquoise ones we used, for OUR bed. I do not know how I'll get through this. Period.<br /><br />I have yet to "get rid of" his box, or clean up his many food options or sweep up the lingering and plentiful Gris Gris influenced dust bunnies. This weekend will be the kind of apartment cleaning that gets a bit too deep. <br /><br />Where do I go today, the next day, Friday? I did not go to work, and slept on the couch, not my bed until almost 2 o'clock. It's as if my loneliness weren't evident in other areas of my life, the one constant companion who gave me truly unconditional love, has gone. I rescued Gris almost 7 years ago, and he rescued me right back each day. I hope he knows that true be the truth.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-18398843228838951702010-07-28T20:16:00.000-07:002010-07-28T20:19:09.902-07:00Dear Adam,I think of you far more than I ever correspond with you. A shame indeed. My heartfelt apologies. Every time I step upon that darn treadmill, it's your heart rate I wonder about, you hitting the target? Me too . . . 152 they say. I nail it! This is a simple note to remind you that heartbeats are vital. I so look forward to our next walk on West Cliff. In the meantime, be good to yourself and I will try to channel all of your inspirational words and do the same.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-2967402262810554992010-07-13T18:09:00.000-07:002010-07-13T18:12:10.662-07:00Dear Writing,<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TD0O3UwDFgI/AAAAAAAAAb0/efLxXG1LjIA/s1600/IMG_7563.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TD0O3UwDFgI/AAAAAAAAAb0/efLxXG1LjIA/s320/IMG_7563.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5493563464087705090" /></a><br />Please come and pick me up and carry me away and save my life. This ship is sinking and I need to become a prolific pirate if I'm ever to reach the island.<br /><br />S.O.Sbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-75465921039947277472010-06-04T13:23:00.000-07:002010-06-04T13:36:36.492-07:00YURTY THIRTY!<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TAljtPR9zkI/AAAAAAAAAbs/viVJtzkcV84/s1600/Picture+18.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 208px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TAljtPR9zkI/AAAAAAAAAbs/viVJtzkcV84/s320/Picture+18.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479020050520067650" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TAljQAE8AgI/AAAAAAAAAbk/W28fzfzjs3M/s1600/IMG_7563.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TAljQAE8AgI/AAAAAAAAAbk/W28fzfzjs3M/s320/IMG_7563.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479019548222685698" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TAljPrsnhOI/AAAAAAAAAbc/yY10BQ0HLQE/s1600/IMG_7420.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/TAljPrsnhOI/AAAAAAAAAbc/yY10BQ0HLQE/s320/IMG_7420.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5479019542751970530" /></a><br />As of this Monday, yours truly will finally be a grown up. Or so I hope. I told my Dad, however, the day that I turned thirteen that I was a "real woman." He chuckled and then agreed whole heartedly, and continues to remind me of my profound telling on that day . . . I wonder, though, when it will ever ring true. Sometimes when I get carded buying a bottle of wine, I pause and quiver thinking "holy hell, I'm like 17," before I realize that I'm of age, and far beyond. Often I still feel like that little girl in high school who marched to the beat of her own tambourine sometimes, but got swept away by the currents of the changing tides of popularity. Since high school, the ebbing and flowing has taken on a new wave, nevertheless, my twenties were churned up with Saturn returning and me feeling sucked down and out by the undertow. And so now, almost thirty, will these troubled waters float me to a more steady and calm shore? I don't know, but I feel the current now and it feels great. Warm like the waters of Sayulita that just caresses my skin and soothing like the hot mineral bath that welcomed and released me with not a pruned finger to speak of. These waters, the kind I imbibe, swim in and cry, have proven to change recently, a shifting tide indeed. I hope the cold waters of Big Sur help shock me into this new third decade of mine where I may finally be able to say with truth and pride that I am a real woman, a real version of me.<br /><br />Big Sur Love!billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-65258231195330741762010-04-29T21:07:00.000-07:002010-04-29T21:32:43.217-07:00hello again. or resuscitation.<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9parvp6PeI/AAAAAAAAAbI/Acw3YZaEHtE/s1600/IMG_6969.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9parvp6PeI/AAAAAAAAAbI/Acw3YZaEHtE/s320/IMG_6969.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465780805340642786" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9parSb3yKI/AAAAAAAAAbA/UyMQ7vdF7Oo/s1600/IMG_6970.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 190px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9parSb3yKI/AAAAAAAAAbA/UyMQ7vdF7Oo/s320/IMG_6970.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465780797497133218" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9paqr741zI/AAAAAAAAAa4/SBRVhhwoLZY/s1600/Picture+7.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 242px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9paqr741zI/AAAAAAAAAa4/SBRVhhwoLZY/s320/Picture+7.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465780787162437426" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9papwe6M9I/AAAAAAAAAaw/Yd-G9_fjVp0/s1600/Picture+38.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 240px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S9papwe6M9I/AAAAAAAAAaw/Yd-G9_fjVp0/s320/Picture+38.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5465780771203199954" /></a><br />Today.<br />Passport: $220 . . . $100.00 for renewed passport / $60.00 to expedite / $60.00 (incorrect Birth certificate penalty fee) = $220.00 Priceless, since I'll be on the beach in Sayulita with Wendy come May 23rd. Although can I say this? The Birth Certificate had an embossed stamp from the hospital where my mother birthed lil old me. It also had a sweet baby footprint, mine. It's the same document my Dad said he almost didn't trust me to have, yes, it's that important - but apparently didn't count? Just saying, really? Oh well, I'm past that. And soon, I'll be passing through Mexican security headed towards my palapa and 30th birthday, so there.<br /><br />Tonight.<br />Pilates, kicked my big old butt. Then I met Mikey and we headed to an art show. And me, wearing my yoga pants, almost apologized to the artist herself, but pretended they were just bell bottom leggings - which would also garner an apology?! That said, I purchased the top two prints you see above, so beautiful - so dirty sweet I say. (AND they are prints, but each was hand painted and embellished, to this I think I own two half originals, which may equal one original - although either way, it's not the paints' relief nor re-sale value that intrigues me, it's the imagery, period). I love the last image, her heart isn't quite on her sleeve, almost falling off . . . wow, moi. <br /><br />Kime Buzzelli is my sister's favorite artist, and I know why. Her gritty feminine portraits expose the feminine flower child-esque girls who also double as sexy sirens and fans of rock n' roll. It's a dichotomy of the fairer gender that many don't understand. Some people think you gotta be one or the other (Madonna / Whore ring a bell?). But her women are so sublime. The text she occasionally includes, their words unspoken, really suits me, as a woman. A damsel I am, from time to time, and an outspoken, mascara smeared pot of confusion, well that's me too. I just adore her work. See them here: <a href="http://themoldydoily.typepad.com">kime</a><br /><br />And then this evening.<br />Well, it's devoted to you, and to writing. I still believe that writing will save my life. One thought and then one sentence and then one post at a time. It's therapy for me, and not like the kind I get on Mondays at 5:30. This one is free, and just me, and only here because of you.<br /><br />Good night and adieu.<br />xobilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-9746876872793827652010-04-17T19:23:00.000-07:002010-04-17T19:26:54.145-07:00saturday's eve?<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S8ptzMaCUDI/AAAAAAAAAao/kv99woSGoeA/s1600/IMG_6483.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S8ptzMaCUDI/AAAAAAAAAao/kv99woSGoeA/s320/IMG_6483.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5461298224411332658" /></a><br />Am headed out to meet "new" dude. Hmmm, please -with your heart of hearts wish me luck and remind me via telepathy that I am a woman who should take up space (enough, not too much, nor too little) and let me be me. He likes it? great. No like, no biggs, yes? Yes.<br /><br />Here I go, again, on my own. byebilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com4tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-66393793739192600392010-03-10T17:18:00.001-08:002010-03-11T19:45:46.280-08:00With Grace<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S5m20JzWmJI/AAAAAAAAAaY/JlTFY4feC8U/s1600-h/Picture+37.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 222px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S5m20JzWmJI/AAAAAAAAAaY/JlTFY4feC8U/s320/Picture+37.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447586231382087826" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S5m2zc5S9qI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/iZHM8Qw8cpY/s1600-h/Picture+36.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 231px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S5m2zc5S9qI/AAAAAAAAAaQ/iZHM8Qw8cpY/s320/Picture+36.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447586219327420066" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S5m2yeYOREI/AAAAAAAAAaI/29NamvTUc7A/s1600-h/Picture+35.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 183px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S5m2yeYOREI/AAAAAAAAAaI/29NamvTUc7A/s320/Picture+35.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5447586202545701954" /></a><br />Last night I watched The September Issue. Wow, so good, so enjoyable to watch, a true feast for the eyes. And while Anna Wintour was as cold as expected, what I was not prepared for was to fall in love with one Grace Coddington, Vogue's Creative Director. She is my hero, I want to live like she lives and see things through her elder eyes and be thoroughly, unabashedly enamored and lost within the vivid confines of the aesthetic world. Grace doesn't view fashion as throw away, or transparent, but rather as fantasy, as art - an escape perhaps. To describe her in simple words, doesn't really work. When you see the movie, I imagine you too will delightfully shudder beneath her spell of creativity, whimsy and sassy presence. She is a woman who knows what she likes, what she wants and whose high expectations are not ever apologized for. I want to possess so many of her qualities, in life and yes, you guessed it, in love. Will I make compromises? Surely. Will I cower, with wavering identity? No thanks, no more. Like Grace, I too "think I got left behind somewhere, because I'm still a romantic."<br /><br />And then this morning, a package arrived from Adam. The newest chapter, presented in items and words, that will further populate the pages in my ever growing "Book of Adam." The timing this man has, with regards to my life events, is uncanny. How did he know that I needed words of encouragement specifically surrounding my desirability? How did he know that the generous donation he extended would be more appreciated than ever, since I lost my wallet and am still waiting, literally pinching pennies, until my replacement debit and credit cards arrive? Does he know that I have to use an expired passport as I.D . . . well, why wouldn't he? He knows this much for now:<br /><br />"where on our planet have you been lately? I have my theories, but now is not the time for utilizing logic and applied science. Perhaps you have been busy interacting with a more metaphysical world lately - where dreams come true? I can kind of see that - maybe you have even been taken away for a spell?"<br /><br />I think Adam might be optimistic here, thinking I am pleasantly drowning under the spell of the protagonist of my last post. Sadly, not so. Nevertheless, his tone, much like that of a horoscope, often allows me to interpret it so that his words fit, perfectly, even if my understanding strays from his intended sentences.<br /><br />"Regardless," he continues, "know that I am thinking of you today. It's so much easier to be a pretty girl than a pretty boy, so take this money and go make yourself pretty. In some ways I think that it just might be really important to you to feel that way right about now . . ."<br /><br />And yes, Adam, right about now, more than ever.<br /><br />After having the excitement of new romance course through me in an entirely novel, non-judgemental, expectation-free way, I learned that I do have expectations and simple wishes and still like manners, a lot. And for once, I would so enjoy feeling desireable and not just because I can man the wheel for field trips and grocery store runs. To feel wanted, for me, is something I've never felt. I convinced myself that my ex liked me, not loved, but liked me well enough. It took him a year and a half, after our break up to give me a complement. He told me I smelled nice as we parted, and then finished with "but you always smell nice." Wish he'd mentioned that on a Tuesday in May, or in passing down the hallway. Just butterfly reciprocation, that's all I ask for with a new interest. Sigh.<br /><br />While I can rest easy and assure myself that I did nothing wrong this time - I'm also telling myself that he just fell off the planet, same place Adam thought I had not been for a while. I know this because I'm here, he is not. And why? I wish I knew. Black holes, gravitational pulls, the Bermuda Triangle? Or perhaps that yep, he's just not that into moi. Hmm, what I do know, however, is that I like love. And to look at pretty things. I like palindromes and rice crackers too. I like coffee and company. I also know that this week I will wear lipstick everyday like a painted bird and fly North through my days without thinking of the painted (tattooed) man who continues to head South, and farther away from my own grace. I also know that I got left behind somewhere, because I'm still a romantic.<br /><br />xobilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com5tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-78884596472134967502010-02-27T19:08:00.000-08:002010-02-27T19:44:07.482-08:00wave of love<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S4nlTbWM7gI/AAAAAAAAAaA/olOnqkhf9-Q/s1600-h/Picture+28.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 187px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S4nlTbWM7gI/AAAAAAAAAaA/olOnqkhf9-Q/s320/Picture+28.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5443133746575109634" /></a><br />So, I just want to write, that's all really. Writing is like therapy for me, it makes me feel like I matter, like I have my own niche in this big, little world. I have a lot to say, and sometimes, just a lot to think about. Today I woke up to sun in my neighborhood, yet as I walked up to get my weekend dose of caffeine and buddies, I was sun soaked and misted upon. The rain seems to elude my little neighborhood for as long as possible most days. Yet, due to sisterly weather conditions, in streets with numbers both higher and lower than my own, mist was what the temperate gods ordered. The clouds in the far Western, Southern and Eastern directions were ominous and deep lavender; full of rain and stormy seduction. I couldn't see North, due to the high rises and simple geography, nevertheless, I imagined that way was holding some future wetness as well. <br /><br />I drove out to my friend Joanne's house on 47th Avenue, just blocks from the beach. Creeping closer towards the Pacific seashore I saw monstrous waves, yes, tsunami style breaks. Wow. Would we hear the warning sirens if need be? If the water wanted to break it's waves on Nevada's borders instead of upon this Gold Coast? Hmmm, no idea. Instead of worrying, my girlfriends and I had a lovely crafternoon. Making and creating streamers and table settings out of silver metallic and pink matte paper for our dear friend's impending nuptials, we sipped champagne and forgot about the tumultuous sea to our left. We talked of Hawaii's current state and then about headpieces and veils, or lack there of. <br /><br />The sun broke through the windows, warming our working backs and hands, reflecting magnificently off of the shiny supplies; we were content. I read and then saved a fortune that reads: "happiness is contentment." According to said proverb, I was and am quite Happy today, right now.<br /><br />After not having heard from the man I mentioned in my previous post, for just two days, I began to think and then fret. Nevertheless, as my dearest Mikey often reminds me, when it comes to relationships, both new and comfortably established - I just need to go about my business, living my lovely little life and viewing him, or any man crush, as an addition to, and not defining presence of my days. True story. I thought of M's words and wisdom, stowed my phone and put scissors to paper and enjoyed lady company. A few hours passed, caught up in streamers and glitter, it was only a question of the hour that brought me to my purse and then my phone. A blinking red light. Nice, regardless of who it's from, I am guaranteed to be excited, because it means someone thought of me. Business or pleasure, it glows for me and me only. And while I convinced myself it was not him and not to worry, it was indeed a message from my male interest sent two hours prior, wondering if a champagne Sunday breakfast was possible. Lovely. A Sunday soiree, however, isn't possible, because I will yet again be surrounded by wonderful women and all their estrogen based energy for my best friends' baby shower. I am headed to Santa Cruz for just a few brief hours to celebrate the addition to Jessica's family. She and Matt are expecting. And I cannot wait. They will be moving to New Zealand before the end of next month, where months from now, I will meet said baby. Wow, again.<br /><br />I foresee a sunny trip to the quaint, nostalgic city that hugs Steamer's Lane. There, I am indeed content, and there I always find happiness thanks to those loves of my life who populate it's lush landscape. Two women, their husbands, a mentor, one baby already here and known, and another form the others on its way - sigh.<br /><br />I hope your weekend is peppered with, if not soaked by a downpour, tsunami grade level of contentment, of pure happiness.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-9705029302554067422010-02-21T15:15:00.000-08:002010-02-21T15:39:31.234-08:00saturdate<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S4HEHG98fgI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/mCP2btq5_PE/s1600-h/Picture+25.png"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 230px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S4HEHG98fgI/AAAAAAAAAZ4/mCP2btq5_PE/s320/Picture+25.png" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5440845451248827906" /></a><br />I met someone on Valentine's Day. Too soon to know much, except that he is rather dreamy and sweet. He likes hammocks as much as I do, has many tattoos and a somewhat self deprecating sense of humor. He likes a substantial breakfast and is currently in the market for a grown up coffee table. He grilled steak and asparagus for me at the Sunday BBQ where we met. It was a set-up of sorts, our meeting. I had no expectations, truly, for the first time maybe . . . ever? The day after we met, he did some research and got a hold of my phone number to make a date. We went out yesterday, after being in touch sporadically throughout the week. Originally, he'd thought a picnic would be nice, but the forecast was slated to rain on our parade. Instead, we found ourselves at a diner in the Mission, chatting and smiling over juevos rancheros. Then it was off to the Pirate Store for our very own private screening of the fish tank. Seated in the front row's two movie theatre seats, we watched the blow fish flirt with the hermit crab, and followed their lead. <br /><br />Off to peruse the Valencia corridor and point out my residence, we landed at a little bar to partake in a lovely Saturday cocktail. A bloody Mary with sunshine and perfectly pickled green beans and his company, proved to be the recipe for a perfect late afternoon. I love an early date, and the fact that he scheduled it that way. No nighttime darkness to cloud any potential connection. A punctual fellow, he reminded me about the cable guy coming to his house sometime between 4 and 6 pm. We headed back to wait for said technician and play a game of scrabble. Champagne bubbles and scrabble on the floor in his living room. Just delightful. The first word he scored was appropriate, "soiree." I left after we reaped some of the benefits of cable, having watched a few Iron Chef competitions. So, Saturday from the hours of 1 - 7 pm, I remembered what it felt like to be listened to, admired and at ease in my very own skin. I do indeed hope that Ryan and I get to spend more time together, but if not, I'm so grateful to have been reminded to participate in life and punctuate the fleeting hours of my day with a little more light, leisure and laughter.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-75740107310794164632010-02-14T13:46:00.000-08:002010-02-14T13:49:32.886-08:00Heart (made of) Felt<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S3hv1aNEypI/AAAAAAAAAZw/HDJnPyEmHaM/s1600-h/IMG_6152.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S3hv1aNEypI/AAAAAAAAAZw/HDJnPyEmHaM/s320/IMG_6152.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5438219513407785618" /></a><br />Here's to hearts on sleeves and chests and open hearts and bruised hearts and hearts in need of resuscitation. Here's to my heart, to your heart and to all hearts on this and every other day.<br /><br />May your heart be open and loved and held near and dear.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-40564619324248694062010-02-07T11:42:00.000-08:002010-02-08T07:42:39.216-08:00The profound as the practical<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S28Y7onjbrI/AAAAAAAAAZo/35oD_PmYpFI/s1600-h/IMG_6090.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S28Y7onjbrI/AAAAAAAAAZo/35oD_PmYpFI/s320/IMG_6090.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5435590688054144690" /></a><br /><br /><br /><br />I so hope to get down to the nitty gritty of my days, each and every one that presents itself to me. And really look close enough to see the real rainbow illuminated beyond the chaos of telephone wires and ominous, heavily saturated rainclouds. <br /><br />Thank you <a href="http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=CleetlSjwvg">Pema</a><br />Pema Chodron - Five Slogans of Machig Labdron (my link didn't work, do see this specific clip on youtube)billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-63387496841182499352010-01-17T13:43:00.000-08:002010-01-17T13:57:13.010-08:00Home for the Holidays<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGzBPh1ZI/AAAAAAAAAYs/7Xl-B1MmjVI/s1600-h/IMG_5878.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGzBPh1ZI/AAAAAAAAAYs/7Xl-B1MmjVI/s320/IMG_5878.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427830186976597394" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGy2JFIlI/AAAAAAAAAYk/I6mRPgCF5KI/s1600-h/IMG_5852.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGy2JFIlI/AAAAAAAAAYk/I6mRPgCF5KI/s320/IMG_5852.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427830183996760658" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGyWwf-7I/AAAAAAAAAYc/fQX5FiudjAk/s1600-h/IMG_5848.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGyWwf-7I/AAAAAAAAAYc/fQX5FiudjAk/s320/IMG_5848.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427830175572163506" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGxq7KORI/AAAAAAAAAYU/NO_k5J94hJI/s1600-h/IMG_5843.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGxq7KORI/AAAAAAAAAYU/NO_k5J94hJI/s320/IMG_5843.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427830163805714706" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGxd5pjjI/AAAAAAAAAYM/UKoDMP-phnA/s1600-h/IMG_5846.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 252px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/S1OGxd5pjjI/AAAAAAAAAYM/UKoDMP-phnA/s320/IMG_5846.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5427830160309718578" /></a><br /><br />Where do I get my sense of style? Sense of humor? My cheeks? See above. Here's to my family, the best around. Home was full of laughter, love, records playing and pure merriment. I miss them daily . . . xoxbilly girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com0tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-74613114280217970042009-12-22T20:12:00.000-08:002009-12-22T20:27:53.349-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SzGZBsrYezI/AAAAAAAAAYE/O5L93FcgH7Y/s1600-h/IMG_5714.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SzGZBsrYezI/AAAAAAAAAYE/O5L93FcgH7Y/s320/IMG_5714.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418280081155455794" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SzGZBBO8FnI/AAAAAAAAAX8/8v9cm28Nrcc/s1600-h/IMG_5712.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SzGZBBO8FnI/AAAAAAAAAX8/8v9cm28Nrcc/s320/IMG_5712.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5418280069493429874" /></a><br /><br /><br />Dear You, <br /><br />You don't read this blog, thank the Heavens, but I will still say this: "Happy 41st Birthday." Sure it's not until the 27th, but really, enjoy. <br /><br />RCL is someone who has been an inconsistant constant in my life for six years. I so adore him. He has seen me at my highest and has sadly had to endure my lowests. That said, I just love him. We had the perfect night the other eve. A dinner at my pal's restaraunt and then a most sublime concert, collectively serenaded by Robert Francis, my new favorite.<br /><br />I really wanted to share him with you, because he's good, but maybe not quite good enough? He told me once that I possessed the "trump card." I questioned what that meant and he replied that it was my wit, charm and sense of humor, I had it all. Such a compliment, right? But alas, I still don't quite make the cut for this bloke. Attraction plays a big part in life and relationships and maybe that's where we, ahem, I fall short. Nevertheless, I so appreciate this man, about to be 41 years wise, for having dealt with and even enjoyed my silly company. If you know him, please don't tip him off to this post . . . if you don't, know that he is great. He helped me conquer heartache, even though he plows mine more than occasionally. He is a good soul. If only he would give himself a great gift this year . . . perhaps me? Or at least my companionship.<br /><br />(weird post, eh)<br /><br />Sorry, but this cyber template often doubles as my processing platform . . .billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com3tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-6814953418673288422009-12-21T19:00:00.001-08:002009-12-21T19:01:24.237-08:00Reminders from Pema Chodron<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SzA2edtxz9I/AAAAAAAAAX0/O7qPk2H03Ns/s1600-h/IMG_5583.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SzA2edtxz9I/AAAAAAAAAX0/O7qPk2H03Ns/s320/IMG_5583.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417890248727318482" /></a><br />1. No more struggle<br />Whatever arises, train again and again in seeing it for what it is. The innermost essence of mind is without bias. Things arise and things dissolve forever and ever. Whatever happens, we can look at it with a nonjudgmental attitude. This is the primary method for working with painful situations.<br /><br />2. Using poison as medicine<br />When suffering arises, we breathe it in for everybody. This poison is not just our personal misfortune. It's our kinship with all living things, the seed of compassion and openness. Instead of pushing it away or running from it, we breathe in and connect with it fully. We do this with the wish that all of us could be free of suffering.<br /><br />3. Regarding whatever arises as awakened energy<br />This reverses our habitual pattern of trying to avoid conflict, trying to smooth things out, trying to prove that pain is a mistake that would not exist in our lives if only we did the right things. This view encourages us to look at the charnel ground of our lives as the working basis for attaining enlightenment.<br /><br /><br /><br />Excerpted from Three Methods for Working with Uncertainty, Pema Chödrön, Shambhala Sun, March 1997billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-76619812761745931702009-12-19T19:57:00.000-08:002009-12-19T21:19:55.508-08:00the speed of life<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/Sy2nt3N8eeI/AAAAAAAAAXs/vWG4Q9SrKIM/s1600-h/IMG_5642.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://3.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/Sy2nt3N8eeI/AAAAAAAAAXs/vWG4Q9SrKIM/s320/IMG_5642.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5417170333154965986" /></a><br />Today, like many other days, I felt baffled and perhaps even sad. But sadness has no place in my life, at least I would like to think that. I have people who love and adore me, who respect me, who enrich my daily presence and who simply move me; every day, each day. So why the frown, right? Yeah, I'm trying to wrap my brain around that too. Today I saw Mikey, as I have the pleasure most Saturdays. The menu for this morning's fast breaking was turkey bacon, a Fuji apple the size of a small child's head, and two hard boiled eggs, salted. The cuppa coffee Mikey presented me could not have tasted any better, and temperately sublime. So far, so good, yes? Yes<br /><br />A man I consider to be a love of my life, on many complicated levels, left 2 compact discs for me to pick up from Fayes. Dated and titled, I couldn't wait to get home and download the music. One disc, a hand crafted mix appropriately titled "mixed bag." The other, a disc of many, many albums. One I already have, others all new. I love new music, old too, but new to me . . . it does feel like Christmas. <br /><br />And then shopping, in my neighborhood. I found the very earring I was searching for for one of my best girlfriends. Score. Then, <a href="http://www.creativityexplored.org">Creativity Explored</a>. Wow, this place makes me want to be an artist, in whatever incarnation that might mean. I bought some art, some beautiful wrapping paper and cards so spectacular, they deserve frames. Check marks to the list.<br /><br />Then laundry, finally! And the sweet company of <a href="http://www.alittlehouseintheclouds.blogspot.com">Molly</a>. She always knows just what to say and when. Her effervescence, her wit, her candor and wisdom make me want to breathe deep breaths. And when I'm with her, I do. We scrolled through an old photo album I found for her at Urban Ore. About half of the pictures had handwriting on the back telling us, the audience, where and when each photo was snapped. The snowy hiking adventure, however, was a trip without a date. Maybe diligent chronological mastery came later for this photographer. Maybe he was scrap-booking when the last roll got developed. Maybe from that point on, all snapshots got a name, a title or at least a location. I can't wait to see and read the stories that Mol will create for these people. She is a story teller, a crafter of time lines and histories. She is an author in real time who gives voice to stories not yet told nor imagined.<br /><br />Then home. A rather soiled apartment can't house clean laundry. So, scrubbing, wiping, dusting and vacuuming only seemed fair. New sheets, a made bed, I could fall asleep now. But I won't. Tonight I get to see Kim and Ron. Tonight, the sadness that continues to shroud my head like a faint veil, will undoubtedly be lifted. We are going to see an old friend from high school. Past and present, I love when worlds and time lines collide.<br /><br />And then this sadness, before Kim is even here, has been dissipated yet again. Perhaps momentarily, like my other sweet distractions. Words from Adam. Adam had open heart surgery about a month ago. His humor and his heart are fully intact. It's Adam, who has successfully, for years now, pulled me out of ruts; be they boy based/heartache, career trials and tribulations and plain old self loathing. He is my mentor. That's the word I use to describe him to people, because he is more than my friend, more than a supporter. A mentor, by definition is: "a wise and trusted counselor or teacher." These words ring true, but barely scratch the surface. I am working on compiling a book of Adam. It will include all the letters he has sent me over the years, the decorative discs of theme songs and anthems he sends my way. It will boast newspaper clippings, a ticket stub, a receipt and other papered trails of his teachings, his inspirational text and his creativity. It is, in some ways a reference book and someways a bible. How else could I interpret "The Book of Adam?" I so look forward to completing it, and making sure there are many blank pages to fill, as I have one constant in my life; mail from Adam.<br /><br />So tonight, I will bid you adieu and say thank you. Thank you to those who showed up for me in more ways than one. Thank you for allowing me to show up and be with you too. Sadness comes and goes, and now it is gone . . . faster than the speed of . . . light.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-25207558572344696052009-11-27T19:54:00.000-08:002009-11-28T13:33:00.399-08:00and thank you too<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmPEb3b1I/AAAAAAAAAXg/7LnR_BpxUHI/s1600/IMG_5546.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://2.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmPEb3b1I/AAAAAAAAAXg/7LnR_BpxUHI/s320/IMG_5546.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409005930290835282" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmO4GLgiI/AAAAAAAAAXY/vDu_WtQPNjI/s1600/IMG_5510.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmO4GLgiI/AAAAAAAAAXY/vDu_WtQPNjI/s320/IMG_5510.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409005926978650658" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmORQ42ZI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/pXboWvxnm38/s1600/IMG_5503.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 320px; height: 179px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmORQ42ZI/AAAAAAAAAXQ/pXboWvxnm38/s320/IMG_5503.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409005916554582418" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmN6R_0QI/AAAAAAAAAXI/W6kW2XOuXD0/s1600/IMG_5485.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmN6R_0QI/AAAAAAAAAXI/W6kW2XOuXD0/s320/IMG_5485.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409005910385217794" /></a><br /><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmNZ8Q4_I/AAAAAAAAAXA/VD94nSw98go/s1600/IMG_5483.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://4.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SxCmNZ8Q4_I/AAAAAAAAAXA/VD94nSw98go/s320/IMG_5483.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5409005901704127474" /></a><br />This year Thanksgiving was so very meaningful. Adam, who you've heard me talk about, who I adore, had open heart surgery on Wednesday. It was yesterday, the day of Thanks, that I was truly able to appreciate so much love and living in my life. Adam is recovering and thanks to technology and his very own spirit, he is still here, still witty and still being sustained by his ever so big heart. Surrounded by true, porch light friends, (those folks I'll still know when I'm 81, sitting and sipping and story telling on my porch, preferably in a swinging bench, much like the one from Fayes, only levitating and back lit by a sunset), I was able to share what it is I'm thankful for. Before enjoying the beautiful bounty of food last night, each guest relayed something/someone they are grateful for. After Hans had us laughing and admiring his love of "rock music and the letter "a," it was time to also share more personal triumphs. Stu, the father of one of our hosts, recalled his thanks. He was grateful to be alive, after having heard from doctors that he wouldn't be around yesterday. He was supposed to be dead months prior to our celebration. But Stu was there, he was alive and well and cherished each breath. I was, and am, grateful for Adam's successful procedure and his never ending generosity. Mark was grateful for California, as am I. Mikey was thankful for Cinderella soup and not having to move furniture. Our gratitude ran the gamut, with each acknowledgement filled with love, laughter and longevity.<br /><br />As of late, I have been reminded of just how very dear people are to me. Of how supremely lucky I am to have such exuberant and honest love in my life. Life, but a brief moment on this simply complex planet of ours, is so precious. I can only hope that the people in my life who I am blessed enough to love, love me back. And so far, those who do, really do, they show up and let me be me, and love me for it, as much as I love them. I reconnected with my ex-boyfriend recently. I realized that he is not the one for me, but that he and I still deserve love and respect, coming from each other. No matter the hardship, the heartbreak nor hereafter, I wish to be, and am, filled with love. Thank you to each person who willingly and willfully receives it. For it is real and true as are you.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com2tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6279343064779205523.post-28632682821021827192009-11-11T16:14:00.000-08:002009-11-11T16:20:55.669-08:00<a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SvtU2shxuTI/AAAAAAAAAW4/SZj25DjweIA/s1600-h/IMG_4791.JPG"><img style="display:block; margin:0px auto 10px; text-align:center;cursor:pointer; cursor:hand;width: 179px; height: 320px;" src="http://1.bp.blogspot.com/_jpG76CDD2D4/SvtU2shxuTI/AAAAAAAAAW4/SZj25DjweIA/s320/IMG_4791.JPG" border="0" alt=""id="BLOGGER_PHOTO_ID_5403005476603541810" /></a><br />Guerrilla style graffiti that says it all. So simple, so true, the old "i love you."<br /><br />Each time I walk down Dearborn Street, I am greeted by this reminder. I love it. I seek to take this street each chance I get. It's this one way street that also invites me into the secret garden where I so desperately want to get a plot of land. I would try to grow chard, tomatoes, some flowers and maybe even cucumbers so I could make my very own spa water. A little oasis this sweet street is. I love it, and love that it loves me right back.billy girlhttp://www.blogger.com/profile/09742673444040651384noreply@blogger.com1