A Hotel Cafe Christmas-

There's something about the grit behind someone grabbing a mic and wailing on it as if it were a part of their soul they're rejoining that I thrill to like nothing else. The closer, the better. The louder, the happier. Hard, intense, soulful or sexy- I like it every which way around. And when it's from the heart, it feels so much better to hear.
Thanks again for the very merry Christmas, Hotel Cafe. I love you.
Sara Bareilles sings Christmas from Jersey Shore
Gosh, how I love you guys:

Dear Santa,

Well, FINE. If THAT's how you're gonna be, next year, I'm just going to be naughty.
Hope you like the cookies.
Bastard.
with love,
-f.

Jambo!

One of the most significant experiences of my life was spending several weeks in Africa. Kenya was unlike anywhere I had ever been. The poverty was striking- but I'd been to poor countries plenty of times before. What stuck me so deeply about Kenya was the realization that it is a country of orphaned children. With extreme poverty and illness and rampant AIDS, there are scores of children left parentless, often cared for by neighbours or distant relatives. The sheer number of children who are abandoned, orphaned and HIV positive or "undesirable" in some way means the streets and cities are littered with children caring for children. Babies with so much soul and depth and sadness in their eyes that their eyes belie their age. At the same time, their capacity for kindess, selflessness and joy was incredibly humbling.

For my journal entries and experiences on Kenya, click HERE.

As an update from several years ago, when I was there, I have randomly met volunteers who have completed the third story of the school we began in 2005. I have seen pictures of street children I fell in love with who are now transformed by the joy and pride of an education and food (including Little Green Dress and the mischievous and impish Michael)!

Like a stone rippling the pond, one small act can continue to affect it's surroundings long after you've left the water's edge.

My Reflection-

In light of my recent travels, I've been reflecting a lot on places I've been and people I've met and how these experiences have moved me, shaped me, humbled and inspired me to do and be more to those around me. I wish everyone had the opportunity to experience the things I've seen and done. I truly believe that if every person in the United States had the chance to spend a significant amount of time working alongside someone else in a developing country, as a people, our culture would be more giving, more understanding, more dilligant, more forgiving, more grateful and more caring.

All material advantages aside, we are all humans and we are all in need of recognition, love and acceptance. The key to this intrinsic need for validation can be found in service; in putting some part of ourselves and offering it unto the world, thereby proving our existance improves and influences someone else's life and thereby changes the world in some small way. If we could all have this kind of experience, I believe we would have greater self-respect when we find respect for others. I believe we would do more and be more for the sake of others in a way that is more fulfilling than simply for our own satisfaction. And by reaching out to others, we offer them the opportuntity to reach back to us. We form a connection, an embrace of cultures, souls, friendship and kindness that translates into a mutally beneficial relationship.

By strengthening one another's weaknesses we form a bond that strenthens us all.

I'm going to post a lot of old stuff, because, let's be honest- Blogg had fallen off the wagon a good two years ago. And it used to be really funny. So. For the three people left who occasionally check, I apologize. I am resolving to do better. And until I do, I may dip into the history books for a while. Hope you're having good thoughts and good feelings as this Christmas season approaches.

Baby Fever.

I have never been a baby person.
That doesn't mean I kick puppies or shoot small, woodland animals on the weekend. I've just never imagined myself as the cooing baby sort of gal. Give me a difficult teen in angst or an 8 year old with worldly opinions; just don't ask me how great babies smell.
Over the last couple of months, several very close friends gave birth. This time, though, they were actually close enough for me to witness it all. Not the birth- please- I'm not that close to anyone!- but the progressive growth of her belly, the firmness of her stomach, pressed tight with new life and daily changes. I've never had a friend close enough to visit weekly, to have her push my hands onto her stomach to feel the flutter inside or watch the movement of his tiny kicks change the shape of her abdomen. With as skirmish as I get around the medical community or anything that has to do with occurrences beneath the skin, I never imagined being intrigued or even interested in learning (let alone watching) such personal, intimate moments.
I was so ignorant.

I'm Delicious.

Well. Would you look at that.

I'm not entirely the failure in the kitchen I thought I was. Thanks, Amy. You are the mad scientist in the kitchen I could only dream to be. Thank you for showing me how to double a recipe and not have it explode.Caroline's Bakeshop is a place I'd like to live.

Hairflip!

I'm maybe a step away from being THIS GUY:
I seriously just am FASCINATED by people who are THIS into something. Something they didn't even DO themselves.
He's a hairstylist in Long Beach. Anyone wanna go make a new friend?

Cute. Not Dumb.

Kory asked this morning how it is that, despite all evidence to the contrary, she likes Rachel McAdams even though she has repeatedly chosen to be in movies that make women look like idiots. She asks, "Can her awesomeness in Mean Girls outweigh the terribleness of The Notebook, the Family Stone and now, The Time Traveler's Wife?" I think it's because she's cute, but not dumb. This does not help the dilemma of one after terrible-nother chick-flick being barfed out onto the public screens and theater posters everywhere.

The problem with Romantic Comedies or the Romance Film collection in general is that they make women look like idiots and they treat women who SEE them like morons, with little expectation for plot beyond seeing good hair and home decor. It's our own fault that Hollywood continues to churn out such trash, really, since most of the people paying to see these movies are women who are stupid for not having higher expectations. Forget boycotting the film industry with it's salacious sensuality and profane humor- Please: refuse to see yet ANOTHER movie that makes women look incapable of reasonable action. Put your foot down and put it down NOW.

Sorry, Rachel McAdams. You're cute and not-dumb, but a movie about a woman who sits around waiting for the man of her dreams to appear here and there throughout her life only to abandon her during her REAL life? And she STAYS with him?!? That's not romantic. That's just real life.

Holding On.

Sometimes you see friends who would be SO PERFECT together and you wonder, "HOW is this not happening?!?"

After 3 months of casual, sporadic dating, she has given up that he will ever really make anything happen, and doesn't really mind. She likes spending time with him when he does ask her out, has a great time every time, and really enjoys his company and isn't about to stop dating him if he asks again. But she's not about to get hung up on someone who is so clearly not hung up enough to ask her out more frequently.

He's got a myriad of excuses for his time pulling him in multiple directions, but ultimately, we all know that if he wanted to make it happen, the man would MAKE IT HAPPEN.

When I suggested she give him a hand in the process, since he's really shy and maybe needs a little encouragement that he's moving in the right direction, she turned to me and said, "I gave up on that a month ago. But that's sweet of you to keep hope."

Normally, I agree with her. If he's not making it happen, let it go, because he's not GONNA. And I would have never considered myself a romantic. And surely, my sympathy for manboys can't be emerging. But I'm wondering if maybe, if he only knew that she would be receptive to his advances, if maybe he would get a move on?

Or am I just dreaming up hope for a relationship I'm not even party to?

One Fine Day.

I can't wait for the day when we're married with kids and the biggest problem of the day is, "O no, Joey put the turtle in the toilet again!" and not, "My boyfriend is addicted to porn and is guilt tripping me because I won't have sex with him."
sigh.
I know problems don't go away. They just become different ones. As our lives evolve and grow, so do the challenges that emerge to form us into stronger, better, more interesting human beings. I can't wait until we all move forward and get to have new ones. Because these ones suck ass.

Grandma Is Hip.

Who knew grandmas even knew how to email, let alone blog? And apparently, this one can crump pretty hard, too. This is a real letter from a real friend, so if you know the man in question, let's hook this sister up. Do it. Grandma would want you to.

Sweet pea, you who are the angel of my eye. We got a new stake presidency today at conference. I was so impressed with one of the brothers from the first presidency of the 70's. Unfortunately I can't remember his name (senior moment) but he was good, talked for 45 minutes without notes of any kind. But that is not why I writing. I have been catching up on the Mormon Times (which I love.) Orson Scott Card talked about dancing not being like it use to be. This is such a great article. I remember so well when I was still in High School that we had Stake dances where every one who wanted to dance could dance. They held a class for an hour before the dance started. That was where your grandpa and I learned to dance with each other and keep time to the music. Those classes stood me in such good steed for the rest of my life. I have never been afraid to dance with anyone, even the hurky, jerky kind. And of course when I lived in Washington, there was a group of singles that loved square dancing, and I took classes to participate with them. I really met so many nice, nice people. Some of them were not church members so I got to share a little about the gospel with them. But this is not why I am writing to you!!! It just takes me along time to get around the bend anymore. There is a young man who writes articles about single wards, I know you would say amen to him and right on brother. His name is Don Osmond. He would be perfect for you girl. He's 29 (right age), been on a mission to somewhere and last but not least he's Donny Osmond's son. You can e-mail him at MormonTimes.org. I know he's dying to meet you. He has that look in his eye (the one that says WHERE IS MOLLY*, I'M LOOKING FOR MY MOLLY*.) I love you tootsie roll. grandma (P.S. this is in the June 13th issue.)
*not her real name. Because, apparently, grandma blogs, too.

I'm Starting With the Man in the Mirror.

Don't forget your roots. Especially if they were blond.

And I'm maybe two steps away from being THIS GUY. And how many people can say they were named after an episode called, "HellRide."* Let's see ALIAS do THAT.

And where you're going...If you're a transsexual prisoner in the Philippines.

Morning Routine.

People ask me how I'm in such incredible shape. This happens, like, ALL the time.
The answer is simple:
Excercise.

Validation.

I need a new passport photo.

Boss.

Your shoulderpads are really boss.
Your perm is totally boss.
Your shoulderpads and perm are really boss.

Readers:
You are so very boss.

Hot Button.

My computer is dead-dead-deadsville and I've been leeching off of the kindness of those who are well-endowed with MACs the last few months. I know it's necessary to get a new computer, but this is an agonizing and utterly confusing situation for someone who can barely even turn the damned thing ON, let alone make choices involving gigs, killahbites, REM, RAM or external hard-drives (isn't that why we have INternal ones?)

In any case, considering how painful a shopping experience for something like shoes or price comparison shopping my blueberries (Costco vs Farmer's Market vs Trader Joes? WHO KNOWS?!?) and minor details like running shorts (if I have one pair I got 10 years ago for $8 and they still work- even if there's paint stains and holes in them- do I really NEED a new set?), choosing a computer is like asking me to perform brain surgery when I'm already hyperventilating into a paper bag due to the smells and sounds of the O.R.
PAINFUL.

And controversial.
Who knew?
People are IN TENSE about their computers. Maybe that is why they are referred to as "PCs." (Personal Computers, for those of you like me. Wait- that is what it means, right?) Anyway. You can imagine my brain is about as shredded as my computer's failed hard-drive. Although, apparently, it's not the hard-drive but some other component that has been chock full of viruses- not from downloading mind you (I only just learned how to shop on iTunes last year), but just from being on the internet. I'm not looking at things beyond my bank and google and gmail, so where are these little bastards coming from and why are they infiltrating my sweet, harmless, aging computer system? WHY?!?!

And who ARE these losers making up new viruses anyway? Seriously? THIS is what you're doing with your time? Not stealing from me, or spying on the blog I'm already publishing anyway, but just ruining a computer that you will not make any gains for when I purchase a replacement part? Get out of your mom's basement and get an f*ing TAN, you loser. I'm rather fond of nerds, but YOU, sir, are crapsville. YOU are mean, spiteful, and don't even have a purpose for doing the work that you do. Good grief! WHY?!?! You could probably disassemble all the nuclear bombs in the world and create world peace through increased communications throughout the world. And what are you doing with your brilliance? Freakin' creating wormholes in MY computer that maybe can upload pictures when I hit the right combinations of buttons by accident.
Jerk.

In any case. I need a new computer now. I've made my peace over the dearly departed. Whom, I should mention, was mostly useless anyway, seeing as I used to have to turn it on, walk away and brush my teeth, load a page and then do my hair, return to send an email, get dressed while it's sent...and so on. Maybe it was Miss Dell that was the problem to begin with. Maybe I SHOULD hook up with hipster-in-cords-MAC. All of my friends think so. But what kind of girl would I be, just hooking up with MAC because everyone ELSE likes him? He can do way more than I'll ever be able to figure out. I know Dell. I know the way it works. Load up and walk away. He just needs some space in our relationship. I get that. I'm independent. I get it. I mean, isn't it enough that I'm willing to upgrade to a laptop so I can take my computer out once and a while? I'll be just like Sandra Bullock on The Net. Laying out and getting a laptop-tanline. It'll be dreamy.

You're Killin' Me, Ho.

In keeping with National Poetry Month, I've taken down to writing poetry. It's awful, so you worry, you won't be getting any here, but I will say this:

Why is the music at the gym so f*ing bad?!!? All the music played in all of the classes pretty much makes me want to have a brain hemmorage. I swear. All I can think is what the f*ing hell are these instructors thinking? I mean, is it not enough for you that you have our undivided attention and a roomful of people who are doing all they can do to follow your lead, but then you have to force us to listen to awful and unnecessarily re-mixed and up-tempo'd club music? How can anyone feel okay about forcing that many people to listen to re-mixed Britney Spears, songs about ho's, hittin' it, and being Fergalicious? Every. Single. Week.

So while I may be an awful poet, maybe the inspiration for all this expression is coming from the torrid world of bad pop music. Maybe this just means I'll become a pop star. Instead of just a really trite excuse for a poet.

My instructors have been asking for suggestions. I believe this is in reference to what areas of the body we should work on. I'm at the point where my primary request is to work on my ears. Any suggestions on what you like to sweat to?

Out to Get Me.

The other night I was at a friend's house rather late at night. When I returned to my car, I saw pawprints on my windshield. Let me preface my next statement by saying that I love cats. LOVE them. If it weren't such a cliche I'd have 3 of them. Easily. But getting into a mist-covered car with cat-prints smeared down the front of the windshield was hella creepy. All of a sudden I realized why some people hate cats so much.
CREEPY.
But there's one more thing that's worse.
The next morning I got into my car and there was toilet paper on my windshield. WTF, man?!? I mean, maybe it was just a shred of someone's kleenex or something, but, dude. How much weirdness IS that?!?!
So what's creepier? Kitty paws smeared down the front of your windshield, or someone's toilet paper?
Either way, looks like Dionne is gonna get sterilized.

Call me for random sex.

So there's this guy who comes into work on occasion; fairly attractive, nicely mannered, funny and has an interesting job. He skyrockets up on my chart because
a) he's from Boston (hot)
b) he's a regular-type guy (humble and low-maintenance- see "a")
c) he works for Mtv (my dream job!)
and
d) while I meet a lot of men who might try to be charming and end up being really gross and weird, he's genuinely sweet and charming.

A few weeks later:
Boston stops by and tries getting my attention, but I'm already running all over like a madman, helping 3 other clients. He waves from a distance a few times and hangs around, but later I notice him talking to a friend who works nearby. I run over to her when I have a moment and gush, "Boston is SOOOO cute! Did he ask you out? Please- o- Please! You have GOT to go out with him and let me live vicariously because he is sooo cute! Don't you think he's cute?" She didn't, but she indulges me and says that she'll entertain the idea, even though she thinks he's a player. I respond incredulously, "how could a guy like THAT be a player? He's so sweet. And so down-to-earth. He's such a GUY. He's GROUNDED. It's because he's sooo BOSTON."
She rolls her eyes.

Two weeks later:
me: So? Did you go out with Boston yet?!?!
she: No.
me: Did he call? Have you talked?
she: uhhh...I'm not interested.
me: But how do you know that?!? He's so NICE. He is soooo nice!
she: eh. He's a player. He's not interested in a relationship. He's just in it for sex.
me: ! Wait...What? But why? He is? How do you know this?
she: He said so.
me: HE SAID SO!?!? (Is this how the gentile world communicates?!? Is it really all so clear-cut and simple to determine? And if so, isn't that an awkward first conversation?)
she: He said, "what are you looking for?" and I said, "A serious commitment," and he wasn't, so that's that.
me: Well...I mean, I would balk, too, if someone led with "a serious committed relationship, too!" Right? I mean...that's kind of intense of you. You're kind of intense. I mean- what did he say, EXACTLY?
she: He said, "I want to go out and have fun."
me: FUN!?!? FUN!?!? What's wrong with fun? I want to go out and have fun with someone!
she: "Fun," means, "sex."
me: (my world begins to crumble.) Wait. What? I'm confused. How does having fun mean "casual sex"? Do people still have casual sex? Isn't that sooo 80s? I mean, he's a nice guy. A NORMAL nice guy. Maybe he really does just want to go out and have fun. ew!- O my gosh!- Did he actually SAY to you that he just only wanted to have sex with you?
she: No. I mean. It was a text.
me: WHAT?!? He TEXTED that he wanted you for casual sex?!? (my little world is melting right about now.)
she: That's what it means, Farrah. You ask someone, "what are you looking for," and they either say they just want to have fun or a good time OR you're interested in a serious relationship. I'm too old to be playing games. I'm 37. He's 31. I'm just not interested in playing around. But maybe I should give him your number. I mean, YOU're fun! You think he's cute. You should totally go out with him.
me: (shocked.)...I don't even know how to respond to that.
she: Well, he thought you were cute and he said he wanted to get your number.
me: (descending from shock into utter speechlessly baffled.) Wait. WHAT?!? You two TALKED about me? About ME?!?! Having casual sex. With him?!?! I'm MORMON. I don't DO THAT.
she: O! Yeah. I knew that. I didn't realize you were so strict.
me: Uh-ha- YEAH. I AM. I mean- yes! I mean...O my gosh- you thought I would have casual sex with a STRANGER?!!?
she: You thought he was cute!
me: O dear...This is so not what I thought we were going to be talking about...O my gosh. You think I would have sex with him...O my gosh...You told him I would have casual sex with him?!?! I need to know what you said, EXACTLY what was said- RIGHT NOW.
she: We were texting about doing something all weekend- just back and forth- and then he asked what I was looking for, and I said, "A serious relationship," and he said he just wanted to have fun, and I said, "You should ask Farrah." And he knew who you were and said you were really cute and I asked him if he wanted your number and he said, no, that he could get it himself.
me: Wait- so he says he's only interested in casual sex, and the first thing you say is, "You should call Farrah!"?!? I have just sunk below the depths of humiliation. And now he totally thinks I am the kind of person who would just sleep with him. Boy, is he in for a disappointment.

I am calling the next segment an anthropological experiment. If I ever see him again I will agree to go out and ask him exactly what does he think he means by asking out random women to only have sex with him and what does he think those women think? My mind is still a bit boggly by the thought that one could actually- WOULD actually- pick up a phone and say, "I'd like to go out with you, but not because I'm interested in getting to know you and not because I want to actually spend any real time with you. I just want to only have sex with you (random stranger)."
I can't believe people are actually buying into this kind of crap. And while I'm utterly humiliated that I was the first person named when the question, "If you're not open for it, who else could I call for random sex be?" I am also absolutely fascinated this kind of conversation even happens. And I'm genuinely curious at what is going through this dude's head. I mean, how does a proposition like this go? Over the salad portion of dinner? "I'm not interested in talking to you, but how about you take your pants off when we finish the salmon?" Or, "I don't really care that you're educated and accomplished, but how about you make sure you pick up all your things off my floor before I send you home in a cab?" and, "What was your last name again?- how about we just take our clothes off and have at it?"

Fascinating. I'm horrified.

Of course, now I'll be totally humiliated if he never gets my number.

You Did This.

For quite some time now I've had a social question on my brain that has been seriously bugging me. What do you do when you see your ex? So far, I only have two answers:
1) Smile and be warm, because maybe he'll be different this time.
2) Punch him in the face, like I should have the first time.

I've been without a computer for several months and was seriously lacking in internet access anyway. Tonight I put off doing some very important things because I got caught up in catching up on my friend's lovely blogs and facepicturebooks. And I do not regret it. Not one bit. Because I saw in their lives what I have only wondered about for myself. I saw amazing husbands who go out of their way to do things -little things that show how much they care and how well they know her- like making a mix of songs she would have liked or sending emails of pictures that would make her happy or youtube videos that would make her laugh. I would love to have a man who would randomly make me mix tapes of new music he knows I would like. Or someone who thinks I'm funny even when I'm not. Or who loves you and admires you even though you maybe thought "Twilight" wasn't entirely stupid (even though it is). Or who loves and adores your children and will do whatever it takes to spend whatever moments of time he might have to be with them so they know he cares- even if that means watching cartoons they dvr'd so everyone could sit down and watch them together. Who admires you for going back to school and goes hiking through mud with you in the rain. Or who thinks you're beautiful even though you're throwing up because you're pregnant or who thinks you're beautiful with that 15lbs of baby weight that just isn't going away. Or who would draw you a picture or let you take pictures of him and who likes you in all your silly, giddy girlness even when you are usually an uptight, gun-toting right-wing Republican (I love you anyway, too).

So this is all I have left to say:
I'm so sorry for you, Buster. I am sorry because I still think you're talented and brilliant and I still wish I could be there to love you and support you for everything that you are and for everything you want to be. And I wanted so much for you to know that I would have done anything in my power to help you get there, because I wanted it all for you and that would have made me so happy just to see you happy. But you know what, Buster? You were too self-focused and insecure and selfish to have even noticed all that. And you had the chance to be just as caring and as loving to me as I was for you and you chose not to. You chose to let fear and insecurity and sin lead your actions and you chickened out and you left and you- YOU- will always, always and forever have to live with knowing that you could have had everything you ever dreamed of and a happiness that would never ever give up on you and you didn't do anything to make it happen.
That is just so sad. You are pathetic. I really wish knowing it would make me stop crying for you.

But it is because of the rest of you that I can see there are people out there who do things for each other- all of the time- just because they love someone enough long enough to forget themselves. Or maybe, they are so focused on someone they love that they are doing everything they can to become the best part of themselves in order to be the best person for that someone they love.

Like on TV.

I think I just threw up in my mouth a little bit.

Doing It.

Looks like I'm going Vegan.
Moby-PLAY, I'm SERIOUS.
A dear friend of mine has been struggling with her ovaries in a multitude of ways, and now her mother-in-law has offered to cure her endometriosis through vegan-ism.
me: Are you serious?
she: Yup. And I've committed to it.
me: "Committed to it." How do you mean?
she: I met with a healer.
me: Of course you did.
she: And the Healer asked if I wanted to have surgery again. And I said, "no." And the healer asked if I would commit to getting better. Whatever it takes. So. Whatever it takes. But nothing I make can have more than 5 ingredients, because I just won't do it. And I told her that if I was going to do this, I needed to have an end point. So 3 months is it. I'm doing it for 3 months.
Keep in mind, she is not in the habit of doing more than ordering from a menu or pouring instant pancakes, so this is a daunting task. Aren't you glad you have such a thing as mother-in-laws and healers? It warms me just to think they really do exist. And as any good friend would do, I offered to pony up with her and vegan it myself for the next 3 months. In response to this, another friend asked, "So she's doing this why?" Because she can't conceive. "Are you trying to conceive?" I'm doing my damnedest!
So yeah. Fellas. I'm taking my prenatals AND now I'm vegan. This body is PREPPED. Plus, there's that sign I left up of my number in the boy's bathroom. So. Any minute now...

update:
It's only been two days since I committed to becoming vegan. So far, I've thrown out the melon that's been sitting in my fridge for 3 weeks and the cucumber that's gone soft over the last week along with the spinach that's now sort of yellowing around the edges. But the frozen atomic blueberry muffins from Costco that keep making me sick are on their way out. I had one yesterday and another for breakfast. And once I plow through the rest of my frozen chicken, pork dumplings and spinach ravioli, it's all veggies and Cheerios with soy milk from here!
Are you with me?

Second Chances.

Recently my dear friend and incredible writer, K8, invited me to participate in a group project she's creating where we write a letter to our 16-year old selves. Whether that's advice on the boy who just broke your heart or an assurance that getting a "c" in math will not destroy your chances for college, so please for the love, child, stop beating yourself up already; write it down to yourself.

In under-related news, I just saw the movie "17 Again," which, shocking as it is, I did NOT see because of the Zac Efron poster. The title reminded me of the show which began my Matthew Perry obsession in the early 80s called something like, Sixteen Again. And when I realized Matthew Perry would be IN 17 Again- YES, I knew had to see it.

Let's just say, I laughed so hard, my stomach still hurt the next morning.

TummyAche.

A great part of my joy in traveling to strange, exotic, underdeveloped countries is likely due to the fact that I can pretty much eat anything and not have it affect me. I have intestines of steel.
Lately- not so much.
Let's just say that, as much as I abhor the concept of a "diet" or food restrictions of any kind (mostly as my upheld fist against the idealist-establishment of modern beauty), I think I am going to have to stop forcing myself to eat all the goodies and treats at all these events and parties and girl's nights out because IT IS MAKING ME SICK.
I'm not kidding.
And I'm absolutely horrified at the reality, but, lately, whenever I have a bit of cake or a few cookies or maybe a night of Charlie's Angels accompanied by chips, salsa, queso and a pazookie (par example) has me doubled over the next 24 hours- at some point I need to admit that the joke of little me eating an entire pizza for show just isn't funny anymore.
sigh.
Goodbye old me.
I guess I really AM just cut out to be a lot healthier than I'd like to be.
My condolences to those of you who looked to me to break the first cookie, eat more than you so you wouldn't feel bad, or tell you it's okay to break your diet and have a little cheese on your quesadilla already. You were what drove me, much of the time, to eat in order to liberate you from your own guilt. Unfortunately, my stomach can no longer carry your food-esteem. But let me leave you with this note:

• You are still beautiful. And interesting. And intelligent. And accomplished. Regardless of if you have that piece of cake or not.
• You are lucky to be part of the 10% of the world that is not starving, let alone have the luxury (for it IS a luxury) to have dessert with your dinner. Or have it count AS dinner.
• Your body is strong. Regardless of that 5 or 10lbs you're stressing over. The numbers on the scale are not your identity. You can run. You can walk uphill. You can carry your own bags and not fall over from exhaustion. See an anorexic do THAT.
• You can respect yourself without feeling guilty. Whether that means having a cookie because, hey! Cookie!, or not- because you just don't feel like it today and you know you can always have one tomorrow if you like. Your choices are your own. Your actions are your own. And this body of yours loves you just as much as you love it.
• You are one of the elite. You have a computer. You are literate. You can get a job and earn money if you want it. You have food on the table if you want it. You are incredibly lucky, by the world's standards. What you choose to do with that gratitude is up to you, but please, don't waste it by starving yourself or making yourself feel guilty because you're not. You are so much more than what you're putting into your mouth.
• Finally, please. Please. Stop whining at the table in front of others. (If you're that one.) When you talk about how fat you are or about how you're breaking your diet or how guilty you feel, you unconciously imply that those who DO choose to eat are somehow doing something wrong. Which is odd, considering you both chose to sit down at the same dinner table together. Please. If you can't be considerate to yourself, at least be concious enough to be considerate to others.
  

You are young. You are strong. And you are living a great adventure.
Live it up.

Broken.

It has been determined (through a very scientific and analytical process using lots of fancy chemistry lab tools and electric currents) that I have a superpower.
My superpower?
I obliterate machinery operating off of electricity.
It's true.
If I'm near a computer, it shuts down. Anything electric is pretty much at risk. They are considering flying me over enemy airspace just so my "highly vibrating aura" (as described by several psychics) can wipe out weapons of destruction and violence.
I WILL BRING PEACE TO THIS LAND.

Which is such a relief of career opportunities, considering these economic times serving the military as The Ultimate Peacemaker makes me feel much more useful than simply being, "The Person Who Ruins Electronic Equipment."

Thanks for letting me borrow your equipment this weekend, Whits. I can't believe it's still operating. The force runs strong with you, MAC. I think I might love you.

Better than LudaChristmas!

I generally don't watch Martha Stewart, but some of you may know of my slight fascination with Ludacris. So- much to my delight- Ludacris showed up to cook with Martha today and the result- let's just say it couldn't have been more awkward/surreal/hilarious. I have tried finding the opening clip on youtube because, I'm not kidding you, having Martha tell Ludacris about how she feels for the Asian berries- I mean...Wow. At least she's there to tell him how soothing oragami is.
Mostly I love his under-reaction to her forced phonieness and attempts to repeatedly talk over him after she asks him a question. Just watch it.

And for those of you in and around the LA area, Ludacris and Common are performing AND hosting a dance off (DANCE OFF!!!) this Saturday. If I didn't already have tickets for this, I'd be there. And Martha's right. "It's so silly to call you Ludacris!"

ps-

Thanks, Snoop. Thank you.

Happy V-D!

Happy Valentine's Day, Ladies. Of course, the one which warms up MY little heart is still:

O, I wish it were true, Jake-pants. But thank you for saying so. I love you right back.

And your ass looks good in those jeans.

Plan B.

As some of you may know, my dream backup career (right after backup career Plan A: Kareoke Superstar) is hand and foot model.
Well, I DO live in LA now.

Sooo...
Guess what has two thumbs and just submitted her photo to be the hand model for a new ipod demo?

THIS GIRL.

If Apple only knew of the hot, torrid and mutually beneficial relationship iPod and I share.

If only.

She's Got Legs-

Still, I think this may work better if I were the type of girl to wear miniskirts. Or skinny jeans.
But they DO work.

And I don't care how juvenile people may think it looks.

They feel damn good like this.

What a Feeling.

So I did it.
I scoured the city for the right ones.
And I think I finally did it.
Of course, everyone has their opinions of legwarmers. I had someone tell me he would break up with me if I actually wore them (bye-bye!) And considering the random chill in the air lately, today would be the perfect day to warm my legs with my favourite ski-lodge appropriate knitwear!
Now that they're on, I must say- my legs are warm. But the fashion? Well. I must admit. I feel the same way about them as I did in the 80's. I love them. But they're rather complicated to wear for something that LOOKS so easy.
It's okay if you're embarrassed to be seen with me. I figure the 80's were humiliating enough. My legs deserve a toasty treat.

Moving On-

I was going to post an apology for my slackeredlyness and proffer indecent explainations as to why I haven't been able to give you what you want and (indubitably) what you need and deserve from me.
Let's just cut the crap and acknowledge that I suck.

Onward and upward!

One of my goals is to remember to write a little more frequently.
And while you know my preferences are videos, music and playlists for iPod, I know you're only checking in because you want controversy and conversation regarding the sexes. For you, I only have six little words:

He's Just Not That Into You.

Amen.

January 20 is the New Christmas Morning.

8am.
Last night I went to bed with a little shiver in my soul. As I thought about the significance of what today would bring, of how proud and excited I am for our country and for what President Obama will do to unify us as a people on behalf of the greater good, and for what electing an African-American president means historically for our country as a whole.

This morning as I listen to it all on the radio and I consider all the advances President Obama has already been making to discuss policy with both Republicans and Democrats, those who support and who disagree with his perspective and even consulting John McCain and President Bush in regards to the economic crisis and war.

10am.
Begin again the work.

President Obama's inauguration speech will, undoubtably, be known as the catalyst for our CNN reports to turn from news into poetry. Even as excerpts of his speech are analyzed, the quoting of sentances within his speech are lyrical and loaded with meaning. What I look forward to most is the unification and collaboration of both parties. To have a leader whose process for change is based on asssessing both pros and cons, both Democrats and Republicans, both advocates and critics with the goal of inclusion, understanding and resolutions that will improve our nation and the world, is truly one of the most inspiring moments of our history. The way Obama directly addresses his cynics in the ways of the economy, war, healthcare and energy with an outstretched arm and open hands to suggest working together rather than having our own sides and our opposite fights is exactly the way I have, as an American, always wanted our contry to be represented. As for addressing our enemies at war, to offer a hand of peace rather than a threat of opposing violence by advising the wisdom of peace with the United States, rather than competing with a force that is more than immovable, but unstoppable. Additionally, his gentle acknowledgement of the historic nature of having an African-American in the White House when his own father "might not have been served a meal" in the same country merely 60 years ago, to have him take "the most sacred of oaths," on behalf of the United States stirs my soul and brings tears to my eyes.

Truly. Change has come.

The Cleanse.

A few weeks ago I had dinner with friends, and one described his cleanse diet. Now, I am traditionally and fundamentally opposed to all things resembling any sort of diet or constriction on food intake, however, he made this sound pretty good. No weird teas or food combinations, just fruit and vegetables (only) for 3 weeks, followed by an introduction of whole grains and later fish and poultry in moderate amounts. He reported that, not only did he feel amazing, but people would actually see a difference in his appearance. His face had a glow, he felt healthier and stronger and full of energy- "in fact," he mused, "maybe I should do a cleanse again this year."

Considering I don't really eat fruits or vegetables, I thought, "Maybe I should do a cleanse this year." Seems like a good start to the New Year. And rather than thinking of it as taking away foods that already aren't great for me and that I don't love, I am thinking of it as adding to what I already eat- adding good things to my body that will make me feel good.

So far, I've consumed peppermint jo-jo's on the daily, purchasing five boxes when I discovered they were running out quickly and were only seasonal. After voicing their shock (quite publicly) the various checkers and surrounding women in line at Trader Joe's advised that I purchase a case and sell them on the black market. If these cookies weren't so damn good, I may actually do that.

This cleanse is working out great.
Happy New Year.

To Communicate, Indeed.

This film affected my perspective as a child and I was forever altered to seeking a new view in all things set before me. Today I met a man who works on HOUSE; the first words out of my mouth were, "O my gosh! I LOVE Robert Sean Leonard! I've followed his career since I was eight! He is the most amazing actor! I am so impressed with everything he's done to make a real career of as a true actor. PLEASE tell him I said so!"
So I gush.
But...Wouldn't you?

How many of you wish you could do this?

I'm telling you; it's right up there with having your own unicorn.

Almost Famous.

Does anyone watch BYUtv? Because apparently, my friends and I are blowin' it up all over the place.

A New Year.

New Year's Eve has never been much of a big deal to me. Maybe it's because I never seem to get enough champagne to get to the part where counting down from 10 is exciting or the anticipated ride home with drunks on the road isn't quite what it used to be. Either way- I've come to filter all my excitement into New Year's Day.

The first day of the year. That day can set your tone for the entire year, if you'd like it to. I like to go to bed in time to wake up early and do as much as possible on that first day. Since I had to work New Year's Eve as well as New Year's morning, that limited my experience somewhat. So I spent Saturday as my First Day of the New Year by doing all the things I wanted to do.

1) Run on the beach. I usually plan on 3 miles and will sometimes go 5 if the music is really good. Somehow I ended up going 10 miles. This may mean three things:
1) I am in much better shape than I thought.
2) I have waaay too much energy.
3) It's time to strive a little harder. Because I am capeable of exceeding my own expectations.
2) Have a healthy meal. Take my time eating. Perhaps that 10 miles somehow affected my stomach, because I barely got through my chicken and only managed to chug a protien shake and some blueberry yogurt. Later that night I got so hungry I had to pull over and have my friend and I eat our Chinese take-out in my car. It may not be elegant, but DAMN, was it good!
3) Take time for the things that I love. The arts and my friends. Thankfully, I had both. The Getty has a new exhibit I've been wanting to see- I went alone and the silence and peace I felt- well, I've always compared the Getty to the Temple for me. And with the new Baroque Emotions on display, I felt my heart soar. Later, friends joined me for the Observatory, which, ironically, we could not see ANYWHERE, so later spent the evening catching up with good friends and Real Talk. That is, until I fell asleep talking- I believe I started giving directions and comparing relationships to purses. (Blog post to follow. I think I must've been onto something.)

In any case, I look at this New Year and believe that it's grace will have everything to do with how much effort I put into reaching out, looking in and pushing harder.
Happy New Year.