Edward Sharpe & the Magnetic Zeros - Home (JVTP)

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" . . . xx

Me: a few moons ago . . . Still true. Again: Argh

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 . . .

Learning French may help,
breathing will help too.
Not inventing dragons is really good, same as
not being too hopeful nor too pessimistic.
Getting a new haircut is fun also:
(recall Frenchie friend Jean Paul's proverb: "new haircut, new lover") - I hope so.
Corresponding genuinely with those you love - that's good - real good.
Be a lady, you're an alight version - try more.
And remember - you are the boss of you. He didn't even pay rent.

try try try try try try and maybe cut cut too?

xxoo

Duldroms: Volume 1

* 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.

* 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).

* 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.

Eat some lettuce; it helps the pain a lot.

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.

xoxo hack cough sniffle ughhhhhhhhh

Saddest Day Yet

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.

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.

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.

Dear 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.

Dear Writing,

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.

S.O.S

YURTY THIRTY!

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.

Big Sur Love!

hello again. or resuscitation.

Today.
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.

Tonight.
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.

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: kime

And then this evening.
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.

Good night and adieu.
xo

saturday's eve?

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.

Here I go, again, on my own. bye

With Grace

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."

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:

"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?"

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.

"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 . . ."

And yes, Adam, right about now, more than ever.

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.

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.

xo

wave of love

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.

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.

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.

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.

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.

I hope your weekend is peppered with, if not soaked by a downpour, tsunami grade level of contentment, of pure happiness.

saturdate

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.

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.

Heart (made of) Felt

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.

May your heart be open and loved and held near and dear.

The profound as the practical

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.

Thank you Pema
Pema Chodron - Five Slogans of Machig Labdron (my link didn't work, do see this specific clip on youtube)

Home for the Holidays

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 . . . xox