You don't begin to live until you've lost everything.

I had one foot out the door. I'm sorry, it's just always like that. I let you down. You said "roots" and I only pictured chains. Is it better to roam the earth or fly above? The ariel view allows me to see the spots that are dead, have lost growth. But looking you in the eye levels me and everything surrounding us disappears. New York City skyscrappers disappear. Forefathers disappear. pasts and futures disappear. Anxiety disappears. Seeing disappears. Hunger, curiosity, drive. Disappear, disappear, disappear...

She couldn't keep it in her pants. Her mind, that is. She sat witnessing. Witnessing you witnessing her. She prayed. She doesn't pray. She got rational. And talked calmly. Some would say--way to go, others had the chance to be suspicious. She said, to herself, that she knew. She knew, right? Like that time, in that bed, when she felt the embarking. Was it the future or a lucky shot.

Knowing that roots cause pain, knowing that flying causes pain, can you love me. I hate marking questions. Seeing me as a little girl, seeing me as an eighty year old woman, did you spend your days without me. The upside down wine and the right side up cake, never did I doubt our world, just me in it. I have no discipline. You have no vision. There was that day, you changed your mind. There was that day I changed mine. Say what I need to say? Okay.

You don't begin to live until you've lost everything.

Fall

We fall to get up.

We fall in Love.

Don't believe the hype that we fall out.

The sky IS falling.

Fall into my arms, just this once.

A fall harvest is just the kind of harvest we need.

Falling from grace, just means grace is a mean bitch.

Free fallin is the best feeling in the world.

Fall is orange and green and red and brown, so am I.

Fall right. Or left or wrong.

Fall write.

When she falls, pick her up dammit.

Don't fall for it.

Falling is detrimental to our health. Falling is necessary for our survival.

If you fall...you better hope Obama has a good health plan.

Fall, sweet baby, fall.

Let's Talk About Sex.

They say sex is a two-way street.
Don't they? Wait, I'm not sure now. Do they say it's a two-way street? And who are they?

I say sex is like a 4- lane highway. Fast, slow, boy, girl. And then there's the shoulder lane for all the twisted in-betweens and the broken transmissions. I'm sure you 're thinking I'm gonna talk about the down and dirty, which I will eventually, but I am currently obsessed with gender right now and as I see it two-way is a thing of the recent modern past. With adulthood (supposedly past the horizon) and my ovaries a-jumpin, sex consists of boys, girls, women and men.

Let's start with the 7-year olds. They just. can't. hear me. I'm smiley and happy, they ignore me, I yell, they call me mean. I smile, they jump on me and pull my hair. I tell them to quit it and sit down, they roll their eyes and call me mean. My co-worker says one single solitary even-toned word and it was like He spoke. Him. The Creator All Mighty. My fellow male co-workers think I'm dramatic and crazy, when really I'm just not a boy.

Then there's the semi deep stuff. Sometimes it just hits me on my way home from work or when I'm stuck in traffic and there isn't one song I want to hear on the radio. I just KNOW he has moved on without a second thought, I know it! Damn him! Not damn him for not being in my life but damn how do they do it? They have no time constraints. One girl leaves and they literally go from that point onward. I know I'm speaking in generalities but there is no other way to get my point across then to report on those I know--boyfriends, boy co-workers, boys in the family, boy exes, boy currents, lots and lots of boys.

If I was a 26 year old boy who broke up with my girl there would be family and football and friends and other girls lining up and my career to focus on. But as a chick you worry. Ok, you say to yourself, hurry and go work out! go where they boys are! when am I gonna have sex next? not too soon or I'll look like a whore! It really can be a burden with your ovaries twitching and your wine-tummy expansion.

I have a real hard time admitting that most of the time I don't crave marriage, I don't crave responsibility and it feels like such a relief to only have to deal with my own problems and not someones elses. I want to have sex when I want to and then not have someone hogging the bed. Then every couple of weekends or so go as a couple somewhere and have dinner together. But the other half of the time I find myself curled up wondering when my prince will come, fighting the nesting urge and smacking myself for being so L.A. when I should be like a normal woman.
But I can't get away with just wanting to drink beer and watch football. And it sounds so anti-feminist to wish for a boyfriend. I want babies and it's out of my control! I don't want to want babies for christ's sake! I find myself not wanting to sound like a "girl" and that is terrible. I am one, I am a complex emotional being with a cute tush. And if that's what the world needs then.... .Life is a Highway!

The things that you earned are given, not won

I was out riding my bike last twightlight of yore (that means a few evenings ago) when a voice came into my head. It might have been my ipod, but whatev.
"Day to day, where do you want to be?" it said. And really, what a fabulous question isn't it? You can be in any situation at any time and you ask yourself that and boom the answer comes.
Try it.

But I want something from L.A.; love? money? friends? career?--What??!!

There are some pretty smart bloggers out there. Some of them have stolen my ideas-but I don't think they know it. And the moral to that short story is to stop sitting on your damn ideas (and mine).

Anyway, my snarky attitude toward brilliant bloggers or as some may call "pro-active individuals" is pitched, bought and sold in the room due to high volumes of insecurity.

My butterflying through life and the-gypsies-made-me-do-it outlook is less novel and more chick-lit.

So why am I in L.A. not doing what I want to be doing and doing that which I wish to not be doing? I could call it the two years that couldn't. I could call it really? seriously? Or I could call it that which it is: Uncertainty. aka Danger.
Those relationships that you've loved and lost out there, they've defined you. But they haven't.
Those jobs you've kept and lost. No one remembers, but they're all you have to move forward.
The books you read. Total waste of time. And priceless timing.
With this much wishy-washing in ones head stability is far away and lonliness takes residence.

Perhaps it's time to do what L.A. does best. Put on your flip flops. Really. Flip it around! I've resided here, so maybe here should reside in me. Kick all of the people and shit in your home out! It's your home. I'm gonna go surfing, work when I can, feel my ovaries getting older and eat burritos and one o'clock in the morning! I'm fuckin psyched about this! I'm gonna go to the store for wine, forget the toilet paper and make cheese into a meal. I'm gonna buy Starbucks and cable and go to my girlfriends house for dinner (her mom lives with her and she cooks!)

Love, money, friends and career will let you go. Let you down. I don't mean always and i don't mean that I don't have responsibility in that, but I trully believe L.A. will give you what you want. And no blogger is smart enough to stop it.

Dear One,

Thank you for the rememberence of color.

Thank you for dinner.

Thank you for bringing me not only into your thoughts, but your importance and helping me to change my mind.

Thank you for letting me in on your secret....happiness is waiting, wink.

Thank you for coming out of it alive.

Thank you for trucks that bear your name, it made me laugh.

Thanks for your natural talent to share with the world.

Thank you for the humor and ideas you share with me. Makes life much easier.

Thank you India...... and Burbank.

The Escapist (Bo-Bapist-Banana-fana-fo-Fapist Me-My-Mo-Mapist)

Escapism is a noun. It means the avoidance of reality by absorption of the mind in entertainment or daydreaming. A dreamer, an idealist, a romanticist, an Aquarian. (I added that last one).


Up until this point my whole world would have made sense. I would have lit up, jumping up and down and pointing at the screen. I'm an escapist! I do those things! They are describing me perfectly! And I would have been satisfied in the knowledge that I fit. As a creative free boho-chic entity.


But I have been doing al--HOT of thinking lately, and seeing the similarities between me and the escapist are sort of a sad comparison. It was unique when I was a kid, stylish in college, creative in my twenties. Now it's my handicap. My once innocent idealism is running interference to a succesful, responsible future. Think gearing up for a hike on flat terrain. Think filling your tank and driving round and round for hours. Think blood-vile wearing Angelina becoming a mom or pot-smoking Matthew McConaughey becoming a dad. The gray area of this transition just seems wrong.




I terrified myself today with the thought of me on my deathbed as I am now. I thought, you know the only way to take my mind off my iminent death if it were right now, here, today would be to watch The Office. That show really makes me laugh. Can you imagine if you were one of the actors and you knew someone wanted to watch your show inorder to escape the reality of their death? Whoa. Funny is pretty strong to me. It seems as if it's everything. I have laughed at the absolute worse times of my life. After my first humiliating break-up in high school I remember going straight home, turning on the telly and watching Bill Cosby on Childhoood. As my heart was breaking I laughed my ass off. Then the realization of the enorminty and complete mundaneness surrounding this thought swallowed me. The awareness of my coping mechanism is stark but unsurprising.


I am always escaping. Before I even get there,I escape. The only place I wasn't so eager to escape, was the womb. I came out butt first, so there you go. Freud would have a hey day with that one. When I get a job, the first thing I do is try to escape it for the next one. Same with boyfriends. When I figure out I like my job, each morning before going to work I load my bag with things to do during the day and plan my daydreaming so as not to be bored there. I need to escape the responsibility of what I'm doing there and move on to the next best thing. I get to the gym and run my ass off so that I can escape the gym. And wouldn't you know, I'm never satisfied. Most people would come out to L.A. without a dime in their pocket, I am constantly wondering when I'm gonna get to NY. And what, my friends, do you think I'll do when I get there? Look for ways that I can root myself there ever after? Just the thought of that gives me the willy's.


So I laugh. And I run. And I laugh. And I run. I constantly escape so that I may be free. There she goes. She's not connected to anything. She has no responsibility to anyone (including her bill collectors, not so humorous btw!)

But life depends on connection.

We are born connected.

Goals must be connected. Atoms, chemistry, fingers, private parts, humor. All need connection to survive.



I never told myself to grow up, like we tell each other to do all the time. It seemed pretty boring to me and I escaped it as long as I possibly could. Then suddenly I woke up one morning and it was just sitting there at the footend of the bed. I said, wow, you showed up later than ususal. It laughed. We got some tea and a clown nose and went to work. To earn some of that freedom.

You may say I'm a dreamer. But I'm not the only one.