beautymarkmyword

Onesipkim!

2009-05-03T21:34:00.000-07:00

Onesipkim is your one stop shop for all things adorable and fashionably delicious. Located on Green St. in Pasadena, this intimately situated gem is sure to carry something that will have you saying, "Hellooo Loverrrr!" Take for example the designs of Rachel Pally. Uh, can you say absolutely adorable? Light, airy, comfy, dress 'em up, dress 'em down, and (my personal favorite) flattering for all kinds of body types is how Rachel Pally's designs roll. If you think it's time to bring out your summertime sexy (trust me it is!) I recommend the slinky one sleeve a line dress in sea foam green. Pair it with some strappy sandals and a matching clutch, and go get yourself a night out with the girls! Stop by Onesipkim Monday thru Saturday 11-7 and Sunday from 12-5. We'll keep the light on in the dressing room for you ;-.)

Good Answer, Good Answer!!!

2008-09-03T20:23:00.000-07:00

I watched Family Feud tonight. It's one of those mindless game shows that I like to play along with. Tonight I realized a peculiar phenomenon about Family Feud. When the host asks each family member a question, the family member has three seconds to answer. Sometimes the pressure of the game is too much for the contestant and they end up saying the first dumb thing that comes to their minds regardless of how horribly nonsensical it is. Tonight for example, the host asked on of the members of the Johnson family (actual name changed to protect the idiotic) "Top 5 answers on the board, name something a bald person doesn't need." Suzi Johnson, nervous and under a lot of pressure considering her family already had two strikes, answers..."Hair." Really Suzy? You think that one thing a bald person doesn't need is hair?

What makes this even more hysterical, or pathetic depending on how you look at it, is that after Suzy said "hair" her family clapped for her and kindly said, "Good answer, good answer" the way all families do when another family member on family feud gives a dumb answer. In order to say that a dumb answer is a "good answer" the supportive family members must temporarily suspend everything they know about logic, reason, language, culture, history, and reality in order to sincerely say "Good answer" and actually mean it!

A few hours later, I listened to the Rudy Giuliani speech at the Republican National Convention. I don't really know why I do this to myself. Maybe I needed a blog topic, or maybe I needed to abuse myself for 15 minutes, I don't know. Either way, I felt like I was watching the Family Feud all over again. Except this time Rudy took Suzy's place, and 70,000 Republicans became the all accepting family members who proverbially, and literally said, "GOOD ANSWER, GOOD ANSWER" to every dumb thing that came out of Giuliani's stupid mouth. Between his support of trickle down economics to his fear based critique of ISLAMIC terrorists (thanks for the Islamic emphasis Rude) the whole fam damily cheered in support, because they temporarily suspended everything they knew about logic, reason, language, culture, history, AND reality all in the name of politics.

All I kept thinking to myself is, "Are these people for real????" Are they seriously clapping because Rudy Giuliani AGAIN inserted the phrase "NINE ELEVEN"??? I swear this is the stuff Family Guy is made of.

People of America, stop saying "GOOD ANSWER, GOOD ANSWER!" to politicians who don't make any sense! Trickle down economics has never worked, and 9-11 has nothing to do with the war in Iraq. These are the only two issues I remember from Giuliani's speech because my brain will not allow me to recall any thing else. I believe it is a defense mechanism that prevents me from going into convulsions over this madness.

2008-07-31T00:03:00.000-07:00

It's not every day that something comes along that makes me second guess my decision to remain childless. Designer, Emily Johnson Spinozzi, creator of "Dolce Bambino" managed to do just that by launching a line of crocheted, family friendly MUST HAVES in the midst of raising 3 boys under the age of 4. Emily Johnson Spinozzi is her name, and making mommy and baby stuff fashionable and chic is her game. If you have any baby showers, new arrivals or a need to pamper yourself, a girlfriend/sister/aunt/mother/cousin or baby, check out her website.

www.dolcebambino.etsy.com

Tell her Danielle sent you! (It won't get you a discount or anything, the stuff is SO reasonably priced as it is!!)

My personal favorite is the diaper clutch. I just ordered two of them.

How do you like YOUR Coffey??? Black or in denial?

2008-07-28T21:00:00.000-07:00

On Monday nights there is nothing good on tv. Case in point the country version of American Idol called Nashville Star hosted by Billy Ray Cyrus. I am not a country fan, but occasionally I can bear it. I can get into artists like Johnny Cash, Patsy Cline, and the Dixie Chicks. For the most part though,
country music strikes me as too twangy, pseudo Christian, or nauseatingly patriotic. So in a way I don't really have the background or right to critique country music, but I am going to anyway.

Tonight I saw a contestant who certainly challenged the stereotypical look of a country singer. Coffey, (pronounced coff-AY, emphasis on the second syllable)is the first young black man to sing country music that I have ever seen. He is very attractive and by appearance fits that younger, hot, country music scene. I mean who wouldn't get a little weak in the knees over any strapping young buck in a pair of wrangler jeans and a cowboy hat...HAWT DAMN! Anyway, a black man singing country music, as you can imagine, is rare. Intrigued, I continued to watch, in hopes of being wooed, pleasantly surprised, or at the very least, entertained.

Wow. Not only did Coffey shatter my hopes of what could be, he sang an original song that almost made my dinner come up.

His entire song sounded like a mixture of rap and country, and he didn't seem to do either genre justice. The timing was forced, and the words were cliche'. The worst part was that he was asserting himself as a "country boy" by denouncing things often associated with hip-hop. Now let me clarify, some of my favorite artists criticize (constructively and creatively so) hip-hop: The Roots, Common, Lauryn Hill, and Kanye West for example, but the thing is, they are GOOD at it, and they are not just throwing some bandwagon rhetoric around in order to degrade an art form that is often misunderstood or downright disregarded most of the time. On the contrary, I think that their critique, paired with their music strives to preserve lyricism, creativity, and beats that inspire a range of emotion, thus validating a true American art form.

Part of the reason they pull off their critique, besides the quality and brilliance behind their craft, is because they ARE hip-hop artists. But Coffey was not good at criticizing the more materialistic side of rap culture because he has not "earned the right to be heard." I suspect that Coffey has probably spent the better part of his life fighting off prejudice and stereotypes that he felt did not relate to him which is understandable, but it doesn't excuse crappy country rap.

To make matters worse, this song was an effort for Coffey to express who he is as a "Southern Man." He criticizes "bling," & "Escalades," and proudly boasted of his "pick up truck with the horns on the hood."

I too am turned off by "bling, Tims, and Rims" kind of stuff, but Coffey singing about it like he did reminded me of how when I was little I could fight my brother all I wanted, but if someone not related to us picked on him, oh hell no, I was not having that. In the same regard, Common, The Roots, etc have a more legitimate point of departure that gives them license to criticize hip hop/rap culture that doesn't have much depth. Coffey? Hmmm, I don't think so.

I think it is great when people get to a place where they realize that he or she is not bound by a stereotype. But it really seemed that Coffey not only wanted to battle the stereotype, he wanted to blast those who fit it, and associate with those who more likely than not, want nothing to do with him.

Honestly, I feel for this guy, I really do. If he makes it in this competition (which I don't think he will because he just isn't that great of a singer) what audience does he plan to reach? What radio station is going to play his music? Are there black people out there who are interested in joining in on the black bashing? Or does Coffey hope to attract country folk looking for a black country singer who will make them feel justified in their prejudice mindsets. I guess time will tell.

Maybe this whole experience will be a good lesson for Coffey, which I prefer black, with a little sugar ;-.)

Why? WHY? WHYYYY? on the 4th of July

2008-07-13T02:17:00.000-07:00

I know it's been over a week since the 4th of July (and even much longer since I blogged here) but I seriously had to get my thoughts together before writing this post.

On the 4th of July, my best friend and I went to the Rose Bowl in Pasadena to watch the fireworks, eat some roasted corn dipped in mayonnaise, and celebrate the end of colonial rule, because that's what good Americans do on the 4th of July. I always look forward to this day, not because of the hokey blind patriotism bullshit, but more because I like the idea of freedom, and I LOVE fireworks. My friend and I got there in time to check out the various vendors, food trucks, and entertainment. Lots of people were milling around, tailgating, eating, having a good time. Kids were lined up to get funnel cakes, balloons, ice cream, face painting, and deadly assault weapons. (Insert loud screeching brakes for affect here). Yes, I said deadly assault weapons. The army set up a booth at the fairgrounds with deadly assault weapons for people to "try out." Granted they were not loaded or functional by any means (I hope) but they were the real deal.

When I first caught sight of the booth I saw only adults "trying them out." But then I noticed parents taking their small children to the weapons, and then taking snapshots of their children holding the weapons.

Number one, this is crazy.

Number two, this is CRAZZZZYYY!

Number three, this is as sad as it crazy.

We live in a culture that has no reservation whatsoever over killing people in the name of "freedom." We have no reservation whatsoever in establishing the worth of one's life (an American's) over any other who we (however erroneous) deem to be a threat to us. And worst of all, we have little to no reservation in passing on our violent, barbaric, ways to our children. This photo was taken at the Rose Bowl. After I took it, I desperately wanted to make eye contact with someone who understood or saw the scenario the way I did. I wanted validation from someone that I wasn't crazy. But there was no one to reassure me, only people who kept asking if I was "next" in line to hold a gun.

I wanted to yell at the soldier standing there. I wanted to ask him if he's ever killed a person like my friend who was sent to Iraq who estimates killing 47 men all under or around the age of 18. Even though my friend held to a "kill or be killed" philosophy, he has never rejoiced over those deaths, and I greatly respect him for that. In the moment he faced a life or death situation and he did what he could to survive, and that meant killing other human beings who likely got caught up in a complicated web of nationalism and their own version of "protecting one's own."

Killing is never easy. Sometimes it is necessary or better yet, instinctual for self preservation, but it should never be seen as something recreational. The kids I saw handling these weapons were too young to understand the implications of holding such weapons. They seemed to be awestruck by what they were looking at, which disturbed me a great deal. You know, I hear people talk all the time about the stuff kids face today like drugs, violence in school, and a host of other things that negatively impact youth. But what about the violent messages that are taught through our foreign policies, as well as our wartime propaganda? Why don't we ever talk about the powerful forces of THOSE influences? Why, WHY WHHHHYYY do we do this to our kids and then wonder why they are so screwed up??

Cravin Game Night in L.A.

2008-05-26T21:58:00.000-07:00

Today I went over a friend's house for a Memorial day BBQ. It was actually my friends boyfriend who hosted the party. At first it was the usual, burgers, beer, chips, sitting in the sun, chatting with new friends, an overall real good time. Then as the sun went down it started getting chilly so we moved the party inside. Now mind you, my friend's friends are a bunch of techy minded filmmakers in the making so most of the conversation centered around new lenses, digital blah bitty blah, video games, and avatars. In other words, the convo was kind-a-boring.

When we moved into the living room it ended up that we all sat around the room, almost in a circle chiming in intermittently with awkward small talk while the guys tried to out wit each other. It was so strange! I ended up suggesting that we play a game. One guy curiously asked, "What kind of game?" To which I replied, "I don't know like catch phrase, or taboo or something." The group of people sitting in that room looked at me as if I recommended we eat each other's poop. Then the same guy asked me if I was serious. I said, "Yes I am serious, my family plays games all the time. They can be fun." I don't know if I became uncool when I suggested we play a game or when I admitted to having fun with my family, but the room literally became quiet and awkward. A group of people looked at me simultaneously with expressions that read, "Oh GAWD, please don't make us play some lame game of baldershash!!!" I couldn't help but respond in frustration by saying, "SERIOUSLY??? Are you all sooooooo cool that a good old fashioned group game is beneath you?" Gosh, sometimes I really can't stand L.A. The same guy was still expressing a strange sense of confusion that I would even suggest such a thing let alone be serious about it. Frankly I knew the host of the party likely did not have any of the games I was talking about, but at this point the topic was a matter of principal.

Then it got me thinking, has my generation forgotten how to have good ol' communal fun? What do we do for fun anymore? How wrapped up are we in cynicism and coolness that we can't be seen playing a board game? It's just so sad.

My family is about as crazy and dysfunctional as they come, but somehow, they taught me well how to have a smashing good time on a small budget and without a lot of fluff. Whether it was playing "pick up stix" with my grandma, spades with my uncle, to homemade pictionary with a crew of aunts, uncles, cousins, and friends, we always seemed to have a great time doing things that a lot of people outside of my family don't do anymore. What will these people do when they have kids???? Oy vei!

Those times shaped me in so many ways. They built my confidence, taught me how to be a world class smack talker, and helped me learn some social skills, which these techy nerds could use a few of. I remember going to the coffee shop back home with my best friend in high school and playing cards in the storefront seats for hours. Those were some really cool times in our friendship. Do people ever make time for that kind of stuff anymore? What is wrong with us?

This has all made me realize that for the first time in a long time, I miss home, the unanimous willingness to find fun and humor in less "cool" things, and the type of people who know how to "make a night" of a good game of spoons.

If you can relate to any of this, and you are in the L.A. area, hit me up. I have a deck of cards burning a hole in my pocket.

Be Your Own BFF

2008-05-21T13:06:00.000-07:00

Two days ago I sought the help of a trusted friend as I struggled with a decision to contact my ex. I had a seemingly legitimate reason I swear! Earlier that day I received a stupid chain text message on my phone from a number I didn't recognize. I sent a reply text and asked who it was. Turns out it was my ex's daughter. Great. Not only did the the text inform me that it was national "make out" week, it also warned me that if I did not send it to everyone in my contacts list that I would remain single for four years. I REALLY did not need to receive this message from my ex boyfriend's tween-age daughter. After I realized it was her I froze with uncertainty, not having a clue how to respond. What the heck? Should I text her back? Ignore her? What??? I ended up sending her a message that said "oh hey, didn't recognize the number, hope you are well!" To which she replied, "Ya." I left it at that. Afterwards, I contemplated letting my ex know that the whole exchange took place. I worried that somewhere down the road he'd hear that I texted her, and I really didn't want him to think that I was a crazy stalker trying to get to him through his daughter. As I began drafting the email, I made the call to my friend to get a second opinion about my plans. She emphatically insisted that I not send the email. She reminded me that I did not owe him an explanation and challenged me to think about why I was really contacting him. Her advice was very helpful and right on the money, so I ended up deleting the email, confidently knowing that whatever happens on my ex's end is of no concern to me.

Two days later, that same friend called to tell me that not only had she contacted her lowlife, scum of the earth, loser, two timing, sexist, manipulative, ex lover who she dated while he had a girlfriend, she also went out to lunch with him. This piece of crap literally asked her if she would be okay being the "other woman" again because he missed having her in his life yet did not want to hurt the current girlfriend who he plans on marrying. -Again, pig. My friend, despite being beautiful, kind, thoughtful, funny, and just plain wonderful, sincerely struggles to cut this guy off, because lets face it, being single in this oft cruel world is hard. It is so easy to fall back into the most destructive relationships because the are familiar, and they feel good in some (albeit sick and dysfunctional) ways.

After she told me, I made sure not to judge her because I have been in that boat. We usually judge ourselves harshly enough when we do stupid shit like that. I knew she was sharing her actions with me because she was unhappy about them. She didn't need me telling her how stupid she was being. She was beating herself up enough. I tried my best to encourage her to stay strong and to not get side tracked by this slight digression. But most importantly, I reminded her of the valuable advice she gave me two measely days before!

We both kind of chuckled over the whole thing because in my weak moments of stupidity I too have simultaneously given friends kick ass advice that for some reason or another I could not follow myself. WHY IS THAT? Why do we know what others should do, hell we even know what we should do, yet we can never take our own advice? I know that saying, "It's easier said than done" but that explanation doesn't cut it for me. There has to be something far deeper that is to blame for this phenomenon.

Is it possible that we can't follow our own advice because if we could we would be less inclined to depend on one another (in a good way?) Imagine if everyone followed their own advice all the time. Can you imagine how many cell phone bills would drastically go down, how many "Dear Abby" columns would cease, and how many relationship experts would be out of jobs? It would be mayhem! I think it is possible that our dependence on supportive networks, friends, family, etc is a necessary component of a healthy life, BUT where is the balance? I wonder sometimes what it would take to achieve a healthy balance between knowing when to take the advice of others, when to take our own advice, and realizing we are sabotaging ourselves when we choose "none of the above."

Through this tough love, heart to heart conversation with my friend we realized that in addition to sharing great advice with one another, we have come to understand that we really need to learn how to listen to ourselves more. I asked her last night to tell herself what to do as if she was talking to me. In other words, I told her to think of herself as her own best friend. You wouldn't make excuses for your best friend, you wouldn't overlook or minimize your best friends ignoramus of an ex, so why would you when it comes to yourself? If I could be my own BFF I would probably take much better care of myself, and I'd probably make much wiser decisions especially in regards to relationships. Just a thought.

Purses

2008-05-12T11:47:00.000-07:00

Can you ever have enough purses?

The answer...no, you cannot. They always fit, they are the best way to seal the deal on an outfit that ain't quite cuttin it, and if you buy one from me, you can guarantee that you'll have the only one of it's kind in the ENTIRE WORLD. Take a look at my recent designs.

http://www.facebook.com/album.php?aid=21118&l=2648e&id=655071543

If you like what you see, let mama make you one special. I am like the d.j. of purses, I take requests. Also, send me your torn, your worn out, your clothing in need of a makeover and I will rebirth it into an accessory that you can carry your crap in.

email me at daniellegraham75@hotmail.com

Mother

2008-05-07T11:25:00.000-07:00

It’s that time of year again. The one day where people across the country are manipulated by greeting card giants to profess undying, unconditional, obligatory love for mothers all over the land. And good thing they do! How else would the most thankless, draining, life consuming role/occupation in the history of humankind be recognized?? Don’t get me wrong, the idea of Mother’s Day itself is certainly not a bad one. Showing gratitude and appreciation for the people in our lives, who birthed, shaped, cared, nurtured and taught us right from wrong should be an enjoyable and frequent practice for all of us! But what do you do if you are like many of us whose mothers were not the Donna Reed, Mrs. Cleaver, Carol Brady, OR Claire Huxtable, kind of moms? What do you say or what gift do you give to the moms that just plain hurt some of us through their poor decisions, lack of skills, and overburdened lives? Sometimes, finding the right words to say to our mothers on Mother’s Day can be one of the most difficult and painful experiences for people who have less than perfect relationships with their moms, or less than perfect moms! I remember countless situations, where I’d flip through card after card to find sentiments like…”Mom, you were always there for me…” “Mom, where would I be without you…” “Mom, you are the wind beneath my wings,” “Mother, you are the greatest person on the face of the earth and I worship the ground you walk on and if I ever become half the person you are I still won’t be worthy to sit in your presence…” –you get the picture. It always seemed like Mother’s Day cards were a great reminder of what my mother was not! I always hoped to find a greeting card that said, “Mom, even though your erratic behavior over the years is likely the source of my abandonment issues and low self esteem, I still love you and hope you have a great day,” but I never found a card that said that. Despite the fact that I do love and appreciate my mother very much, I could never find a card that expressed the journey of our relationship, the ups and downs, the struggles we overcame together, and the healing that has yet to take place. If I opted for one of the flowery “I worship you Mom” cards, not only would it be insincere on my part, but I feared it would be insulting to my mother who knew that such was not the case. Over the years I’ve had to be very intentional about looking at the positive things about my mom and our relationship and I have enjoyed finding creative, sincere ways to express those things to her. As a result I think it is fair to say that I am an expert in the art of finding the right words to say on that special card for Mother’s Day. Here are some suggestions:

1. Peruse through the prewritten cards first. Some card companies have come around to idea that not everyone has a picture perfect mother/daughter, mother/son relationship.
2. Don’t pick a card that contains a message that you blatantly do not agree with. Ex: If your mom left when you were six to join the circus and reappeared 20 years later, don’t get a card that says, “Mom, you were always there for me…” That has the potential to sound downright cruel to the free spirit woman who gave you life, so try to avoid it (unless of course you are trying to even the score.)
3. If you find a prewritten card that totally clicks with you but you want to write something personable inside too, might I suggest my “past, present, future” guide. Think of one thing positive about your mom from the past, something you notice about today, and something you hope for in the future.
a. Ex: Dear Mom, I am so thankful for the times you’ve given me [words of wisdom]. I am so happy that today you and I [are understanding each other more and more]. I hope that we continue to [grow and learn together]. Take out the stuff in brackets and fill in the blanks with words that apply to your mom.
4. If you find a prewritten Mother’s Day card that really feels like a good fit and you just don’t know what else to say inside, it’s okay to just write “Love, [your name]” and that’s it. Keep it simple. You can’t go wrong with that option.

Now what if NO prewritten card works?

1. Don’t fret! The amount and quality of blank cards these days should bring comfort to all of us who can’t find prewritten cards that meet our needs! Find an image of something your mom likes. Flowers, stars, landscapes, famous art, etc. If your mom has no interests (which probably means you don’t know her very well) pick a card with an image that might be encouraging, strengthening, or peaceful.
2. Write a message on the inside and consider the “past, present, future” guide mentioned above.
3. Finding famous quotes, or verses from your particular faith text, also works wonderfully here too. Just Google “famous quotes” or “quotes by women” etc, and pick something that fits your mom. My favorite women to quote in cards are, Helen Keller, Maya Angelou, Frida Kahlo, Mother Theresa, Eleanor Roosevelt, and Sojourner Truth. I have relied on the words and life experiences of these fine women to speak words of strength, encouragement, and life to both my mother and me! Why stress yourself out trying to find the right words to say when great thinkers, poets, and saints have already done the work???
4. Last but certainly not least there are a few words that no matter what the situation, never go out of style, and never seem to be unwelcomed. Plain, simple, tried and true, are these four words, “Mom, I love you.”

Okay, so you may be thinking, DUH??!! What if I don’t love my mother? I applaud you for having the strength to admit that. We live in a society that has elevated the role of mother in a way that perpetuates a sexist ideal that women are naturally nurturing types. This presents a problem for women who are not such, and presents an even further problem to those who assert such realities. Being a mother is a job that comes with rewards, responsibilities, and one that certainly requires skills. Some are better at being mothers than others, so I see no reason at all whatsoever to feel obligated to profess unconditional love to our mothers just because they gave birth to us. I will challenge those who say they don’t love their mothers to consider why that is so. Do you have valid reasons for your feelings, or are there some things you could stand to learn about your mother in an effort to get to know her journey, her life struggles, and the reasons she made some of the decisions she’s made (both good and bad)? I encourage you to really think about the possibility of the latter. The more I learn about my mother, the more I grow in compassion toward her, and the more I realize my own selfishness over the years. If your mother truly lacks any shred of human decency to the degree that sharing any appreciation, gratitude, or kind word on her behalf would be an injustice in and of itself, consider sending a Mother’s Day card to someone who has given you life in ways other than biological. I have many “Mother’s” who have nurtured me, given me wisdom, strengthened me, and encouraged me over the years. I love sending them Mother’s Day sentiments!

No matter what your situation is, I hope that Mother’s Day brings opportunities for healing, restoration, gratitude, and warmth. Peace to your soul!

Crappy Computer

2008-05-05T03:25:00.000-07:00

Tonight I had moment of weakness. I was as close as two horny teenagers at a slow dance to sending my "ex" (I hate calling him that) an email telling him I miss him. Here's the deal, I really do miss him. I am not just being sappy and nostalgic. He is a great person to talk politics with and lately I don't feel like I can talk with many people about politics. I often engage in dialogue where I have to defend my political leanings which is great, but every once in a while it's nice to have someone who thinks similarly. With all the Barack Obama/Rev. Jeremiah Wright drama going on, it is KILLING me that I can't find anyone who thinks that RJW is a grossly misunderstood voice of truth in a country that is blinded by its own racist denial. I know my ex is probably thinking the same thing, which certainly intensifies the ex-boyfriend shaped hole in my heart. (I think that has to be the worst sentence I have ever written, but it makes a point."

Anywho, tonight I started to write an email to him explaining how much I missed our political talks. I was about to finish the last line of the message and my piece of crap computer shut down for no good reason, subsequently saving me from making a HUUUUUUUUUUGE mistake. For once, I have a reason to be thankful for this hunk of junk. Thank you, my unpredictable, undependable Compaq Presario. Seriously, thank you for sparing me from making an ass of myself. I owe you one.

Self Portrait

2008-05-05T01:34:00.000-07:00

Why Pinkberry, WHY????

2008-04-30T23:29:00.000-07:00

Why does a small size frozen tart and tangy Pinkberry yogurt with 3 toppings cost more than a medium with three toppings? Why am I punished financially when I want to eat less? Someone please explain this to me.

The 412 on the 101

2008-04-27T01:47:00.000-07:00

Today I learned that there are benefits to the insane traffic in Los Angeles after all. While sitting in grid lock frustration, traveling at a speed of about three miles and hour (literally) I started looking around at the people in cars around me. I realized that at that particular time in the existence of our lives we all had something in common. We were all tired, (it was close to 1 am) frustrated, and unaware of what was causing the backup. When that sort of thing happens you can't help but get the urge to form alliances or fellowship of some kind. It's like you almost want to start up random converstations with people who are next to you picking their noses. At first I had my music on really loud and tried to dance my way through the traffic torture. Then I decided to to turn down the music to see what others around me were listening to. I was actually trying to see if anyone around me was listening to music I'd like, because maybe they would be people I like. As I was trying to listen, an attractive man pulls up next to me and there was a woman who I presume was either his wife or girlfriend sleeping in the passenger seat. The man began giving me the "eye." Not the evil eye, but the "I want to get in your pants" eye. I in turn gave him the "you're a disgusting pig, I would never give your old, disrespecting ass the time of day" eye and kept driving. I then resorted to my music for comfort once again. A little Lily Allen, then some Wyclef, then back to Lily Allen again. The music was good but I really wanted to call someone on the phone and complain about L.A. traffic. The only person I thought who might be up was my brother (and he's on the east coast!) so I called him. While I was trying to explaining the depth of traffic on the 101 to my brother who seemed more interested in his chicken salad with rasberry dresssing, another guy pulls up on my right in a little white sporty number and out of the corner of my eye I see and feel him looking at me. I look over to test my periphial vision, and this dude is blowing kisses at me. WTF? Who does that? He wasn't my type and the whole scenario kind of made me laugh so I just kept driving and shared with my brother what was going on. He insisted that I have some fun with it and suggested I traffic kiss him back. I wasn't into the idea so much. After hanging up with my brother, I went back to the music. This time it was Alicia Keys. The music was pumpin, I was getting my dance on at the steering wheel, and before you know it, along comes this hot black car, with this hot black man in the drivers seat. He pulled up next to me as far as he could and smiled. I couldn't totally see him because he was kind of behind my car so I was trying to look back to get a better view. Then he got a chance to pull up closer and we played this little cat and mouse game; looking, smiling, catching up to each other as the traffic moved at different speeds in each lane. So cute. Then at one point I got a good look into the car I realized there was a woman asleep in his car too!!! WWWWTTTTFFFF? I mean really guys. Is it not even safe for women to sleep anymore? Is that how determined you are to mow the grass in other pastures? Anyway, sorry to say that the guy was a little too cute for me to care, especially when he mouthed "WHAT IS YOUR PHONE NUMBER? To which I replied using my fingers 412-818.... As I "signed" my phone number he typed it into his phone while his date continued to sleep like a log in the passenger seat. Part of me justified it by considering that both of them were dressed like they just went out or were about to go out, and she was fast asleep. That's kind of rude, don't you think? After I gave the guy my phone number he mouthed, "I AM GOING TO CALL YOU." I just waved and smiled and as his lane started moving I watched him drive off into the sea of red tale lights wondering if he'd ever actually call, or if it was just a fun little party action among commuters. About 45 minutes later I get a call on my cell from a 310 area code. I knew it was him. I was so tempted to play that "I am not going to answer the phone game...followed by the "I am going to see if he leaves a message game," but I didn't. I picked up the phone and our conversation went a little something llike this:
me: "Hello"
him: "Um, hi, uh, this is the guy you gave your phone number to in the black infinity on the 101."
me: :"Hello guy I gave my phone number to in the black infinity on the 101, how are you?" (I am so witty.)
him: "So where are you?"
me: "I am at home."
him: "Can I come over and properly introduce myself?"
me: "Are you crazy?"
him: "No why?"
me: "It's 2 o'clock in the morning, and you're a stranger who asked for my number while you had a chick in your car.
him: "Oh she is a long story, and I don't normally do this!"
me: "If I had a nickel for every time I heard THAT!"
him: "hahaha. Well, what should I do, can I meet you sometime?"
me: "Sure"
him: "When"
me: "How about tomorrow?"
him: "Sounds great. I'll come out your way. You're worth it. Oh wait, what's your name?"

yada yada yada.

So thanks to traffic on the 101, I have a brunch date tomorrow.

I'll let you know how it goes.

Beholder Be Held

2008-04-24T23:17:00.000-07:00

I've heard, as I suppose many of you have, that beauty is in the eye of the beholder. Every time I hear that it is in reference to physical beauty. But what if we learned to behold the beauty found in our shitty life circumstances?

Tonight I watched an episode of Grey's anatomy, then a little internet porn (oh stop it, you know you've done it too) felt gross afterward and then got a good naked cry in, while listening to Sarah MacLachlan on my newly updated Myspace profile because this is apparently what I do now when I am in a post traumatic break up funk. Don't bother judging, because at this point I am WAY too past the point of giving a shit.

Anyway, so back to the point. As I was sitting here literally in a moist bundle of tear soaked bed sheets listening to SM's "Wintersong" I sat bewildered, wondering how in the hell she could make an ambiguously painful experience of some kind sound so beautiful. Her bittersweet melodic prose made it sound like pain was actually a necessary component to the formation of hope. I listened and transferred her words to my current situation and I reflected on memories, visualized hopes, and remembered the many other times in my life that I have survived. The pain doesn't disappear with this mindset, but neither does my strength to bear it all.

If beauty truly is in the eye of the beholder, then I think I will behold myself (in a non-internet porn kind of way) in the hopes of transcending what so often is thought as ugly. Something so pure, raw, real, and formative can't possibly be ugly in a true sense. Nothing that is truthful or necessary is ugly. Every nook and cranny of what I am experiencing these days, no matter how train wreckish it all seems, will run its natural, necessary, destructive and lovely course just like a river smoothing rough rocks. As a result, I, the beholder of such beauty, will be held.

Too Much Information

2008-04-01T23:16:00.000-07:00

If you are at all attracted to me in a romantic sense, think you may be attracted to me in a romantic sense in the future, or are grossed out by topics like girls farting, vomitting or having diarrhea then DO NOT read this blog. I repeat DO NOT read this blog.

For the rest of you, I feel compelled to share a recent experience that I had, that I kinda wish I didn't. I am compelled to share this experience because it was so awful, I just don't feel like I should have to keep it to myself. I should be able to share this experience with the hopes of finding out that maybe someone else has experienced something similar, or maybe I need to share it just to get some sympathy. Either way, I believe that my experience is one that epitomizes what it means to be human in all its ugliness.

Okay, here goes. Yesterday was one of those mornings that when I woke up, I just knew something in my body wasn't right. I felt this strange sour feeling in my stomach and was hoping that it would fade after I took a shower and got my morning started. I took a shower, got dressed, had some chips and salsa for breakfast (what? doesn't EVERYONE eat chips and salsa for breakfast when they have an upset stomach?) and attempted to enjoy the last few hours with friends and family in Pittsburgh before leaving for L.A. No matter how hard I tried though, I just couldn't shake the funny feelings in my belly. I was also feeling really tired and slightly nauseous. I started to feel a little achy too. You know... that feeling that makes you aware of every hair on your body. Still I tried to fight it off and in my head committed to an attitude of mind over matter because I had a plane to catch and certainly could not be sick on the plane. When the time came, my best friend drove me to the airport. I said my goodbyes :-( and headed inside. After I checked in I realized that all I ate all day was chips and salsa. Maybe the feelings in my body were hunger. Yeah that must have been it. Because at 32 years old I certainly know the difference between hunger and nausea right??? The assessment that I was hungry led me to TGIFridays so I could use the $10 gift card my mom gave me before she said goodbye. I sat down at the table and placed an order for bacon and cheese stuffed potato skins and a large iced tea because, well why not??? I eat almost half of the potato skins before realizing that I am not hungry after all. I am in fact sick. Sick in the "the smell of bacon suddenly smells like the burning rotting flesh of a pig" kind of sick. I asked the waitress to box the rest of my lunch, paid my bill and made my way to the newsstand to buy some Pepto Bismol. It was at this point that I realized the potato skins were the worst decision of 2008. I headed to my departure gate to await boarding and every single second seemed like an eternity. I knew it was only a matter of time before my digestive system would erupt into a fountain of disgustingness. I decided to go to the counter to see what my options were for getting on another flight. I found out I could leave Pgh the next day but it would cost $100 which I didn't really have. I convinced myself that I was feeling better and decided to get on the plane-the 2nd worse decision of 2008. The second I found my seat I snagged a flight attendant and told her that I was definitely going to hurl and asked her if she could arrange for someone sitting closer to the bathroom to switch seats with me. A kind soul obliged. I moved my stuff to a seat that was two feet away from the restrooms which could not have been more timely. I immediately rushed to the bathroom and to my surprise the eruption I expected did not come from the source I initially expected. It felt like I was peeing out of my butt. I know TOO MUCH INFORMATION but seriously this is what happened to me! I went back to my seat, (with a sore seat, if you know what I mean) and tried to convince myself that there wasn't a horrible odor filling the rear of the plane. Then the plane took off. About 15 minutes into the flight, nature called again. This time eruptions decided to explode from every end. I puked and shat myself into a frenzy in that airplane bathroom. It was the worst experience I can remember on record in my brain. It didn't help that Pittsburgh skies were filled with air pockets and turbulence. Have you ever tried to take turns puking and shitting in a turbulent airplane bathroom? I don't recommend it. This whole charade continued about every twenty minutes for the entire five hours on my flight. The flight attendants kindly stopped by with ginger ale and asked how I was doing every once in a while. You might think that things could not get any worse. I assure you, they did. At one point I felt so nauseous but I couldn't throw up. Standing up made me feel worse so I purposely stood up so that it would allow me to throw up. I just wanted to rid myself of the toxins! As I stood up I felt what on any other occasion would have been the sensation of an innocent fart about to release itself into the air. I didn't consider the possibility that the sensation could be the origin of my most mortifying adult moment to date. I entertained the senstion by letting it run its course only to be shocked and awed at the warm gush that rested in my pretty pink thong underwear. I shit myself in an airplane bathroom while wearing a thong. Do you even have the brain capacity to absorb such a nightmare??? Luckily, my quick reaction time allowed me to squeeze my cheeks enough to prevent a complete meltdown. In other words, it wasn't alot of gush, but it was enough for me to WANT TO RIP OFF THE EMERGENCY EXIT DOOR, AND VOLUNTARILY JUMP, PLUMMETTING TO MY UNTIMELY DEATH! I pulled my pants off sat on the toilet in utter disbelief and rinsed out my otherwise sexy underwear in the itty bitty sink of the airplane bathroom. I used the good smelling handsoap to create a makeshift soak cycle and dried them off by squeezing them with paper towels. I put them back on even though they were damp because in my then state I just didn't think it was safe to go commando in my jeans. I went back to my seat knowing that the neighboring passengers had to have known that something was not right with me. I had to of been in that bathroom for a good 15 minutes. I made a few more trips to the bathroom after that, but eventually in the midst of all of this I made it off that god forsaken flight. My friend Michiline picked me up from the airport, took me to the grocery store and picked up some ginger ale, saltines, jello, and chicken broth for me. Later I talked to another friend who assured me that even though my situation was the all time worst, that EVERYONE has had a similar experience at some point in their lives. I guess that in the worst of human embarrassment and mortifying experiences, we can find beauty in the fact that we are not alone in such circumstances. Hopefully when we experience those situations we can all have kind flight attendants with ginger ale and encouraging 80's rocker look alikes that push you to "hang in there" when both bathrooms are occupied and you just don't think you can hold it in any longer.

I guess what I am trying to say is that I sincerely hope that "too much information" reminds you that some of the worst shit we experience in life is the same shit that everyone else experiences. So we are not alone after all, or at least that is the hope.

And in the words of a wise old friend who has a "miso soup incident" of her own "May all shit stories unite!"

Wish for Prayers

2008-03-26T01:32:00.000-07:00

When I was a senior in high school, (fifteen g.d. years ago!) I was really involved with the youth group at a local church. I met my closest friends there who have become like sisters to me. I also met people who would become partners in ministry that I would come to love and respect greatly. One such person was a woman I'll call Liv (for confidentiality reasons). Liv was a pretty cool chick. She was creative, outspoken, committed, and unconventional. She was a few years younger than me, but I may have looked up to her more than she did to me because I respected her unique style and natural beauty. Live dated a guy on an off in high school who was equally as cool. They both had an affinity for fusing the punk scene and Christianity. They truly seemed like they were made for each other. Over the years I kept in touch off an on, and during college I ended up working with Liv doing urban ministry kind of stuff. Liv ended up marrying her high school sweet heart and they moved out of state to pursue college ministry. We have exchanged newsletters, e-mails sporadically, and have supported each other either financially or prayerfully or both, over they years. I don't know them super well, but there is something about their partnership in something bigger that has kept them in my thoughts. I recently received an e-mail that Liv's 31 year old brother was recently diagnosed with a terminal illness and has been given literally weeks to live. In the email they shared that Liv's brother has been anything but kind to himself over the years and is paying harshly for a life of poor decision making. In the email Liv's brother petitioned prayer from friends and family, and shared with great humility and vulnerability her brother's painful struggle with addiction. She also enclosed a photo of the two of them. I hear a lot of bad news in typical day, and most of the time I just try to block it out or I figure out if there is something I can do about it and I try to do it. In this case though, I just couldn't help but feel really broken hearted for Liv's brother, and family. Hearing their plea for prayer was really hard to ignore. The problem for me though is that I can't pray right now. I am in the midst of a pretty unexpected and slightly problematic (for a seminary student) bout of doubt. After reading the email though, I wanted to do something, but what else is there to do if you don't pray? You do the next best thing, you ask other people to pray. The irony is rich, I know. If I have enough faith to believe that someone else's prayers mean something, why would I think mine wouldn't? It's so bizarre. But it is what it is. Anyway, I literally sent out a mass email to friends and family explaining the situation my friends are in and of course, I asked them to pray. I must have sent the email to about 50 people. A couple of days go by and I get an e-mail from my grandmother. My grandmother is close to 80 years old. She has limited use of the right side of her body because of Multiple Sclerosis, and she recently had invasive heart surgery. Somewhere, between healing from surgery, going for her daily swim, and praying the Rosary, she found the time to send me an e-mail. This is what she wrote: "

"I always pray for those suffering from any kind of addiction... I will continue to pray for Liv and her brother. It's the saddest thing in the world when folks sufferfrom addictions. Hopefully they'll find God in their lives also. Life is sure filled with painful situations. I am home two weeks after spending six weeksbetween hospital and nursing home. I'm on the mend and went to Church today for the Good Friday Service on my second day out; the first was for a doctor'sappointment... Well my dear, Grandpap just about has dinner ready; he made salmon... which we love. I'll have to close for now; I'll be in touch in between physical and occupational therapists coming to the house, Happy Easter and lots of love, Grandma.

My Grandma barely has the use of her right hand yet she types me an email (which she taught herself to do over the past few years) to tell me that she is praying for my friends, and I know she is, faithfully! She is in pain, she is not able to do the things she wants to do in life, yet she finds time to selflessly lift up the struggles of people she doesn't even know, and she does this every single day. I seriously do not know anyone like her. I often wish that I had the kind of prayer life my grandma has. Not just the prayer life, but the ability to believe that it makes a difference. I just don't have that, which admittedly is pretty difficult. I am so much stronger than my grandma (physically) and I have more opportunities, education, and academic accomplishments than my grandma will ever know, but somehow I look at her at think that she has for more than I will ever have. Heres to wishes for prayers like hers.

Machine

2008-03-20T15:07:00.000-07:00

This afternoon I celebrated Easter with some friends and family. I listened to an interesting sermon on the radio and then made my way a restaraunt that infuses everything with garlic, inlcuding their signature garlic ice cream. After brunch I drove home with my windows down enjoying the beautiful day. I am not sure if it was the amount of food I ate or the fact that it was a lazy Sunday afternoon, but when I got home I was exhausted. I opened my windows, let the unseasonably warm spring breeze fill my apartment and I took a nap. In my garlic infused slumber I had another one of my bizarre dreams. I only remember two distint scenarios from this dream and I don't recall how or if the two scenarios intersected somehow. They may have even been two separate dreams. Anyway, the first part I remember involved a celebrity hitting on me. Now you might think, ooooh cool! Who was it? Whas it hot? Was he hot? I myself would ask the same question if I were you, because afterall, dreams do provide us with opportunities to do things [and people] we wouldn't or couldn't possible have the opportunity to do in real life. Plus, because it's our subconcious at work, we can't be morally held responsible for whatever happens in our dreams, right? Its like a free pass to get freaky. So getting back to the celebrity in my dream...I wish I could say it was George Clooney, Common, maybe Justin Timberlake, or even my favorite funny man Jack Black. Unfortunately, my subconcious was not so kind to me. My celebrity hit man? Bill Cosby. Yes, I had a dream that Bill Cosby was putting the moves on me. Thankfully, I declined his advances in my dream but cited his political views as the reason. -Yeah, I need help.

But then I had another dream that kind of rocked my world a little bit.

I remember being in a really big house where a party was going on. I was walking through different rooms and the house and people seemed to be doing typical party things. I walked through a family room type of room where guys and girls were sitting around talking, drinking and eating. I kept walking through the room and found a door that led to the garage where I found this huge machine like contraption in the middle of the room. I was facsinated with this machine to such a degree that I decided to climb into it. While I sat in the middle of the machine, I realized that there was no way out of it. Every spot that seemed like an out was obstructed with metal claw like devices. I started getting scared, and began considering other options of getting out of this thing. I could have yelled for help, but for some reason I didn't want anyone to know that I was stuck! Instead, I opted for my second idea. I decided to dismantle the machine from the inside out in order to free myself from the grips of it. I started unscrewing small parts and then as pieces began to loosen and come free, I used the bigger pieces as tools to dislodge the even bigger pieces. It felt like it took forever, but eventually, I looked around and saw that the big machine that I got myself trapped into, was now dismantled into hundreds of pieces, and I just got up and walked away.

I think that has to be the coolest dream I have ever had! I love the idea that in order to escape the dilemma I got myself into, I had to completely dismantle what trapped me. I hope if I have any situations in my life that trap me, that I find the strength and patience to dismantle that situation from the inside out. Yeah, that would be really cool.

As far as the Cosby thing goes, your guess is as good as mine on that one. Maybe it was the all the garlic.

Dumb it Down for Dudes?

2008-03-18T15:50:00.000-07:00

Last night I forgot how old I was, and I "went out" for St. Patrick's Day with a co-seminarian friend of mine. We went to a club/bar in L.A. called The Standard. Well, the Standard is actually a hotel. We went to the bar on the roof of The Standard. Now let me just give you a little background info so you get the full "ish" of my overall experience. This place is as L.A. as it gets. Digital projections, modular, orb-like furniture, pulsating music, and secret service looking security guards greet you upon entrance if you are lucky enough to be "on the list." I was on the coolest of lists because I didn't even have to wait in line. My friend knew the DJ who was spinning so we went to the front of a line of about 50 people, gave our names, got our snazzy little arm bands and went on our way. I could feel the envious stares peering at us from the other side of the velvet rope. I was uncomfortable with the whole scene but I admit I sure did feel like I was the recipient of kharmic restitution for all the times I was picked last on the team in junior high. So my friend and I made our way to the roof top bar which looked out over the L.A. skyline to the most breathtaking urban view I've seen since I've moved here. The swimming pool, and waterbed pods certainly added to my delight. My friend and I ordered a couple of drinks and proceeded to shake our groove thangs a little bit on the dance floor. That is when I met Jonathan.
Jonathan was an average looking guy, well dressed, smelled good, seemed like a nice guy. He said hello and started with your typical small talk progression. He asked what I "did" and I told him I was in graduate school. He let out a sigh of sincere disappointment and said, "Really? Oh damn, that's not what a guy wants to hear! I was really looking for a dumb girl tonight." Normally, anyone who knows me might assume that I would be disgustingly offended by such a brute, but I wasn't! I actually laughed, and felt more refreshed than if I jumped into the rooftop swimming pool! I told Jonathan that his honesty was much appreciated and I wished him well in his pursuits of a dumb girl. He proceeded to explain (even though I needed no explanation) that he really wanted to have sex with a dumb girl that he could disgrace (this is what he actually said) and told me that smart girls don't allow for that sort of thing. Wow...Yeah...WOW. That's pretty much all I could say too. He asked if there was any chance that I could pretend to be dumb for him. Ummm... yeah, no. He then went on to explain that there is nothing more unattractive than a smart woman, and talked to me as if my looks had been wasted on a body that actually had a brain in it. As vile and disgusting this misogynist's (I won't even disgrace men by calling this thing a man) views of women were, he really asserted what I am sure many think but just don't have the gull or gumption to admit out loud for fear of seeming like a Neanderthal. This dude, for some reason lacked the social constraint that tells a healthy person "you are not supposed to think that way and if you do, you are certainly not supposed to say it out loud!" To be honest, I really think I am better off that he did lack that social constraint! Imagine if he would have put on false pretenses just to play the game, or whatever it is people do these days. I might have fallen for a crap load of lies. Instead, I was able to know up front that this guy was a person that I wanted to stay the hell away from. -That part is the good part at least. The bad part is that I suspect his philosophy is not all that rare. I suspect (and have for quite some time) that many seemingly decent men share the mentality that smart women are a threat, and do you want to know why? WE ARE!!! Smart women are a threat to men who have fragile egos, mommy issues, daddy's who didn't love them, and an insatiable need to use sex as a means of obtaining power and masculinity. This guy actually admitted to me that he enjoys disgracing women sexually, and insisted that such a thing could be "hot" with a willing partner. (He used the word disgrace!)He was not an unintelligent man either! On the contrary! He was intelligent and crafty in his approach to gender relations. That's the scariest part! Anyway, all this to say that the confirmation and revelation I received through this conversation allowed me the satisfaction of knowing that I am not crazy. I am seen as less attractive (by some) not because of my looks-I am doing alright in that department, but because of my brains, the fact that I can carry on an intelligent conversation, and I can call a guy out (and do) when he is an asshole. I don't know if it is maturity or what, but it is interactions like this that help me to no longer lose any sleep over this reality. In fact, if being smart, having goals, critical thinking skills, socio-political awareness, and a couple of degrees under my belt helps me deter the likes of Jonathan, my hundreds of thousands of dollars of school loans was money well spent. I don't think intelligence requires degrees either. Intelligence is a mixture of confidence in yourself, respect for who you are as a person and as a woman, wisdom and strength to do what gives you life, and the ability spot a wolf in sheep's clothing (or strength to leave one when such a reality is revealed.) There are many ways we can learn how to do those things. I believe the more women strive to be holistically "smart" the greater chance we have at bringing the Jonathan's of this world to extinction.