Emma, Edna and I...

For years….it has to be more than that…at least since I lived at home with my family, I’ve had this book: a vintage, 1919 edition of Gustave Flaubert’s Madame Bovary. Stashed away in my shelves, its lovely binding has become a mess, hanging on for dear life by a few simple threads.  I bought it at a used bookstore…back when those still existed (sarcastic wink). And what attracted me to it was an inscription on the inside of the front cover: Edna Loftus Smith, Coco Solo, C.Z., December 1926. “How romantic.” I thought, as I grazed my fingertips across the flowery script.

She must have thought it was important? Or it must have been important to her? Important enough to write her name and location in the book. But there’s no other marks…no clues. Maybe it was just habit? “WHO were you Edna?” I’d say aloud, flipping through pages. “And why do I need to know?” These are the sorts of questions I’ve always asked myself, every time I see it tucked away in my bookcase. Sometimes I’ll pull it out, fan the pages once again; just to be sure I didn’t miss anything. One year, I had even attempted an online search. But it’s difficult to stalk and trace a woman that’s over a hundred years old. And so I gave up my search, faithful that when the time came, she might appear.

This past summer I resurrected Madame Bovary yet again, from another life of boredom. We spent lazy sunny afternoons on a small patch of grass in front of my apartment. Unemployed afternoons….lol. Noontime marks when I should have been looking for a job. Instead I lay on my belly, dog at my side, minutes passing as I listened to her story. She spelled of boring conventional husbands, splendid affairs and evenings far more passionate than I could imagine.  I saw something of myself in her character. The part of me that stares out windows, dreams while watching others pass and who wonders…imagines. Maybe even sometimes worries that I’m not leading the sort of life I yearn for. Not in terms of adultery of course, lol, but Emma Bovary's journey is one of refusal. Refusal to accept being trapped, hungry for an alternative and ripe with passion. Raw feminism if it ever had a start. Ideas that can be applied to most areas in life. And as for myself; I am not fearless, not taking chances, not struggling against the water. I’m just here.

A couple of weeks ago, on the rare occasion that Kevin was actually sitting at the dinner table with me, I was cleaning my nook. My nook is the small station in which I keep all my everyday items. It’s a tiny office, command station, as he likes to call it. “What’s that?” he asked, pointing to the old book. I told him the story of my vintage treasure, what attracted me to it and about the inscription. “That’s cool.” He replied, eyebrows raised. “You should look for her again, you never know?” he hoped aloud, walking back to his chair. “Yeah…maybe.” I said slowly. 

That evening I sat in bed, searching and reading online. I found that Coco Solo, C.Z. stood for Coco Solo, Canal Zone of the Panama Canal. It had been a United States Navy submarine base, established in 1918 on the northwest side of the Panama Canal. Was she an officer? Was she married to one? Was she stationed there? Still so many questions unanswered and more arose. Finally I came upon a website titled, CZBrats. It appeared to be a site documenting the history of the canal, people who lived and were stationed there and what the canal looks like today. As I clicked through old photos, I tried to imagine Edna, standing on the shore or posing near barracks. Still….I found nothing of her personally. I decided to email the people who ran the site. At the very least, maybe they could point me in the right direction? It was worth a try.

A few days later I received an email from a woman named Lesley. She kindly replied and offered to send Edna’s name through her mailing list. Perhaps someone might know something? And that was all it took: a simple request and the kindness of a generous stranger. A few days later another email appeared in my inbox, with names, birthdates, places of residence…and even a photo.  Tears welled up in my eyes as I began to sift through the information. “I can’t believe it!” I cried to Kevin as he hugged me and stood behind my shoulder, gazing at the screen. “Wow.” he said, shaking his head. “Merry Christmas baby.” And I just nodded yes. So completely touched, I couldn’t even speak. Finally. Finally I had a portrait of who this woman was, where she had been, even a photo. It was amazing.

I believe the world speaks to me in signs. Sometimes they’re actual—physical signs, and sometimes its an object, a collection of words or even gesture. That when I put it all together I’m certain it was meant for me, right at that moment. I know because somehow it always fits, exactly. It correlates with my life, my needs and desires. Like some beguiling force, answering all my questions and pointing the way. I know what you might be thinking, “how silly” right? But I can tell you the exact sign I saw just days before Kevin and I met, before I got my job in Santa Monica, when I knew my life was changing. And now, at a time when I’m earnestly searching for my path, lost in my own mind (sometimes negativity) and worried, I meet this woman. She’s a lady who allows me to take my mind off myself for a moment. A person who already lived many of my desires: going to college, visiting New York City, sailing around the world. A girl who appears to have been well traveled, thoughtful, and maybe even adventurous. I believe she is a clear sign. A beacon: begging me not to give up, not to feed my wounded spirit and never to forget my dreams.

Below is the email from Lesley and all the wonderful details about Edna...

Candace,

Someone I know looked up information about Edna G.M. Loftus.  Here's what he came up with.  Enjoy -- now you have some info and a picture to go with your book!!  It is a picture of Edna when she was in high school.

****************

Edna G. M. Loftus was born 20 Aug 1899 in Philadelphia, PA.  In 1938, she sailed from Naples, Italy to NY, NY.She was married, but travelling alone to "Bureau of Aeronautics, Navy Dept. Washington, D.C." She attended William Penn High School for Girls in 1916, and a wonderful photo of her is available. Her parents were John W. (b: Nov 1874 in England) & Elizabeth (b: Nov 1881 in PA). They were married in 1898. Edna's siblings were John W. Jr.(b: abt 1901), Florence M. V. (b: abt 1903), Elizabeth A. (b: abt 1912), and Dorthea R. (b: abt 1915).  Edna’s mother Elizabeth’s parents were both born in Italy. They are listed on the 1900, 1910, 1920, and 1930 census in Philly. Sister Dorthea (Dorothy) traveled to the CZ in 1936, 1937, and 1946. The Loftus Family apparently lived at 6046 East Elmwood Ave. in Philadelphia. In 1923 Edna was living in Los Angeles, and travelled to/from Hawaii.  In 1932 she to/from Yokohama, Japan.   Apparently she took world cruise in 1957 too.Edna’s husband was Rear Admiral Clyde W. Smith. He was the foster father of her sister Dorothy, which explains Dorothy’s trips to the CZ. The admiral died 19 May 1974 in Washington D.C. He is buried in Arlington. Edna is probably next to him. He was born in Marathon, Iowa in 1900.

***********

From this information it can be assumed that Rear Admiral Smith was one of the Navy’s early aviation people. I did find information that he was a Naval Cadet, but no year. At one point he was stationed at Coco Solo. They must have retired to the Los Angles area.

Lesley

A few last interesting details that seem to intersect between Edna and I...

Who knows, maybe Im nuts? But some signals are hard to ignore. What attracted me to this item? Some people say that some objects from past lives come back to you. Maybe we knew each other? Maybe I was her? Romantic and strange and maybe I'll never know :)

*********

-I think its strange that Edna was born in 1899. Most of the women in my family (including myself) are what my mother and I affectionately refer to as "the nines." 1919, 1939, 1959, 1979, 2009...all our years of birth. 

-The date that she was born, Aug. 20th, is the same date that we got Fiona. A special date indeed. 

- And just a neat tid bit : The publisher of Edna's edition of Madame Bovary, is Brentano's of New York. Brentano's was a very famous, very popular publishing house and bookstore in New York City at the turn of the century. They specialized in French literature, many titles by French writers in exile during the Vichy France period. Its possible that Edna purchased this book from the very bookstore itself. 

Deck the Halls...

from Ex Libris Journals

Every year I usually find one thing, be it object or collection of words, that embodies my Christmas Mojo. This year I was lucky enough to find it early, try October early! I was surfing an Etsy wave, purchasing at least one vintage item a week. To keep things from getting out of control, I gave myself a $10 - no more than $15 dollar limit. While sifting through vintage holiday die-cut items, I happened upon these lovely little pages. From a shop called, Ex Libris, comes these wonderfully upcycled, vintage book pages turned art piece. Boasting bright printed text and pop imagery, some even include famous quotes and "reworked" versions of timeless classics. My favorite, "KEEP CALM and CAROL ON" to revamp the World War 2 classic, "KEEP CALM AND CARRY ON." They cost $7 bucks a piece and sometimes you can even catch a great deal, like buy 3 get 1 free. 

This year my mojo selected the Santa print above. "That's it." I said to myself the first time I read it. So Kev and I both made separate purchases of 3 to get our 1 free! In my bunch I ordered two holiday themed pieces that I figured would make great decoration around the apartment. The only challenge I ran into was framing. I didn't want to pay to have them framed, as that's sometimes very costly. And books don't usually run in standard frame sizes. lol. But I did find these very inexpensive, festively silver frames at Aaron Brothers. At only $6 bucks a piece, they ended up working perfectly! Instead of framing, I backed each page with merry but simple wrapping paper. It was inexpensive, fun and next year if I feel so inclined, I can change out the backing. Options! I love options. 

Happy Holidays!

vintage memories

Gifts from the past...loving it.

Maybe I should use "the Secret" ?

Dear Ralphs or Kroger---or who ever you are, 

I have entered the $100 gift card drawing every single time I've received the option on a receipt. We have not won yet. Please select us, it could really come in handy. 

Thanks,

Candypants

mi casa es su casa???

Thursday night we had dinner at Brent's Deli with Kevin's best friend. Over omelette's and triple-decker club sandwiches, Kevin began to tell the story of our burst pipe and flooded living room carpet. We both complained about our plumbing, lamented over being exiled to one room in the house and rolled our eyes simultaneously. Cutting into his french toast, Kirk began to shake his head and replied, "That's why you guys gotta get outta that place man....it's a shit hole. It really is a shit hole." And then he continued on his merry way to syrup and butter and thick cut bacon. 

Kevin and I quickly gave each other a strange glance and I changed the subject. Later, on the way home, we discussed what happened. I was surprised that Kirk's comment bugged Kevin. They've been friends for over twenty years and quite frankly, usually, Kirk can do no wrong in every one's eyes. Its a strange phenomena that I've witnessed, attempted to crusade against and pitifully given up on. But this time it was different for Kev. Maybe it was all the pipe bursting bullshit we'd been through all week? Or him having just returned home from Vegas? But it struck a cord with him and he was genuinely offended. As was I...to say the least. But I did quickly shrug it off and tell myself, that Kirk was just being Kirk and whatevs...I love my home.

Which brings me to my question of the day, where the fuck do people get off? I think this is a serious epidemic within the human race---as of late. It go's beyond manners becoming a lost art, they're extinct. And what surprises me the most, is when it comes from someone that is very close to you. Where's the cutoff point which stops a person from insulting their best friends, family members, etc.? And why don't people observe it more often? Furthermore, why do we let people get away with it? Why don't we call them out and say, " hey you douche, that hurts my fucking feelings." I mean if the asshole in point, doesn't care to reserve his feelings towards you----then WHY do you bother safeguarding his?

And we're all guilty of it. Do I just have better manners? Am I a kinder person than they? Or am I chicken? lol. I haven't decided. But I do know that when something like this transpires, I usually think to myself, " welllll, what they said REALLY pisses me off but if I call them out---it could really embarrass them in front of everyone---and I would hate if someone did that to me if I fucked up. Soooo I'll just not-say-anything now and talk shit about them later...and hold a pity resentment....for like...ever." Giggle. I'm sure that's not a very healthy approach but it gets me through difficult situations with difficult people.

Don't get me wrong, its not hard AT ALL, to summon the ghetto within. I can bring it. Its just that usually I tend to look at the situation as a whole, instead of being immediately reactionary. Say for instance, dinner might not have ended so well or been very comfortable if I'd said what I really wanted to say, like : I'm sure our place seems like a shit hole to an asshole like you who's FORTY and still lives with Mommie in her fucking condo in Westlake Village---in an all-white, rich bedroom community. What with your fucking Prius and Mexican maids running around cleaning up after you----our situation must look pretty dire.  [enter long sigh here] See what I mean? And its not that I think poorly of Kirk for any of those things---ever. But if you fucking insult me, I might use them to insult you back. Again, sandbox etiquette---poor taste, poor manners, uncivilized.

Maybe the truth is that we all have opinions and ideas of each other. Some we should divulge, when asked or when its definitely necessary : like when you have a booger the size of Texas in your nose. You can and should politely warn your friend, " you've got a bat in the cave." But when its something entirely different, say something REALLY negative, say an insult to their current life state----unless the person is a compulsive hoarder and you're finding dead cats buried under shit in their living room---you should probably keep-it-to-yourself. Have your judgments, continue with your "unique" perspective---but in the privacy of your own head. It might be withholding, dishonest? Or just not entirely truthful. Or maybe its just nicer to shut the fuck up.

I'm having a little trouble getting my Christmas mojo on. Normally the hanging of lights is the start to the season and takes place on Thanksgiving evening. But this year... I was tired for some reason. "I'll get to it." I kept saying. And then this past Sunday, I came home to discover our living room floor was soaked in water. We discovered the next day that a pipe connected to our water heater had burst, was shooting water into the walls behind our t.v., and flooding the entire carpet. Ew, to say the least. As we moved our entire living room into the dining room, I realized that it was probably a good thing that I didn't get to the holiday decorating. For I would have had to move the tree somewhere...in the kitchen? As it is, we've been exiled to the bedroom during this entire week. That means no DVR, no xbox for the boy, no command station by the window....no common area at all. I think even the dog is bored of being in the bedroom. She probably feels like Anne Frank. 

The pipe has been replaced, the wall patched up/painted and the carpet guy comes tomorrow. Hopefully by Sunday, we'll be fully operational again. And we can get this holiday back on track!

My Evil Twin

There is a demon that lives inside of me. It looks like me, talks like me and completely masquerades around town as me. Just like KAR! Kit's evil twin in Knightrider. This demon is all up in my shit, like some serious Tyler Durden mayhem. Drama that I could normally handle if it weren't for one detail : it knows me well enough to scare me.

I haven't written anything all summer long. No beauty blogs, no doggie blogs, no blog blogs. NADA. And its all because my evil demon can talk me out of pretty much everything. Out of things and down on myself.

" Why bother writing? It's just a stupid blog. Not even a valid outlet. And WHY are you outletting yourself all over the place anyway? Do you REALLY think that people want to read that droopy shit???!! And there's probably only one person reading it anyway. You're not a writer. You've never been anywhere, seen anything, met anyone important. You didn't go to college. You're unemployed and enjoying it. Trust me sister. No one really cares. No one will miss it cause no one's reading it. "

I even catch myself making excuses for it. "Oh well there's so much going on and I don't want that coming through my writing. Then its just a big'ol sad blog and nobody wants to read that sooo....yeah. " I suppose maybe that's partially true. There was a lot going on this summer and I did feel hesitant about putting it out there. But I also know that just like most things in my life, just when it was starting to get good, I bailed. Just like painting and art school, finishing junior college, makeup school, dreams of becoming a celebrity manicurist. I've become so afraid to fail that I'm actually terrified to succeed at anything. And I always bow out...right before the last act.

A couple weeks ago my best friend and I were texting each other, like we normally do every day :o) We were discussing my nemesis again and I said, " I'm jealous because in 32 years of existence I've succeeded at nothing, accomplished nothing of significance and am pretty much penniless." She replied, "Stop that shit dude. Let's not have a pity party now. You have so much and you are so talented but you'd rather not see it." I inserted a jaded looking emoticon from my emoji app and rebutted, "Psssh! Talented at UNDERachieving. lol" And then came the reply heard round the world. The absolute cold, hard truth that only someone who's loved and accepted me for twenty years--knows to say. "You are afraid to try cause you don't want to fail." And I was in tears--immediately. GINORMOUS, crawling-into-the-couch womb tears. Because she's absolutely right---100%.

So hopefully this is me trying. Hopefully this is me locking the evil twin in the broom closet with duck tape over her mouth. Trying to keep her in the dark. Silencing the editor by sewing her lips shut and writing her into a corner. And I might have to reinvent myself everyday to make this possible. But deep down I believe its worth it. How does the song go? "I'm only one voice in a million, but you ain't taken that from me."

the truth

from Ex Libris Journals

I used to think the idea that women have a special relationship with chocolate----in that it can solve problems, harness PMS, and momentarily correct all that is wrong with the world------was bullshit. Then I turned 30. 

jealous is as jealous does

Two years into my 30's, I've noticed that I'm slowly becoming comfortable with who I am. Not in an adolescent-identity-crisis way but in more of a coming full-ish circle sort of way. Like it doesn't bother me anymore that Kevin and I aren't married yet, after eight years. Now, looking and listening to newlywed couples, I actually feel relieved that we've already been through the preliminary. We're strong and confident enough to weather most storms. And that's comforting. I feel proud even. Or silly things, like coleslaw and pulp.  I've basically accepted that I actually like coleslaw and orange juice with pulp. However much of an old fogey that makes me. I'm ok with it. I'm ok with the fact that I can be a naggy ninny who likes clothes put in the hamper instead of the bedroom floor, space between furniture and framed photographs, gardening and lawn chairs. With as much as I've detested the arrival of birthdays in recent years, I'm actually enjoying getting older and feeling like an adult with grown-up tastes and desires. 

But there is one part of me that I can't seem to assuage : jealous judy. I still cannot help but feel jealous of my own friends and acquaintances when news of their impending success surfaces. I immediately stack myself up against each one, listing all my missing ingredients. "Well if I were THINNER or more OUTGOING, a lot less LAZY, had more AMBITION, didn't concentrate on FEAR, maybe actually had some STYLE and knew how to dress for success or had more MONEY to fund my dreams and COMPLAINED less and took ACTION MORE and blah blah blah blah." Insert flailing onto to bed in defeat here. "And succumbed to DEFEAT less often." siiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiigh. 

 I even have a secret nemesis. Someone who, unbeknownst to her, drives me bat shit crazy with every single achievement on her roster. And I can't stop checking in, looking at what she's doing etc. etc. Its like a car crash---I have to look. Torture is what it is, unnecessary self-torture.Thank god for partners, best friends and unconditional love. For they are the only two on the planet who know the identity of my dirty little secret....and still love me anyway.

 Jobs, money, happiness and accomplishment---all things I want for my friends but find hard to swallow. I know its me. I know its me that I have the actual problem with, and my jealousy is just a catalytic mirror that spins me into drama central. Or its my reflection.

October

Small things. Right now, this morning, all I can think about is small things. Like a cup of Pumpkin Spice Coffee from the Keurig machine. Its quick, equally stunning and doesn't require much effort on my part. A cinnamon roll from Trader Joe's with just a very light drizzle of frosting. So light its noticeable and makes me feel not-that-bad about eating it. The morning chill still perched on my shoulder from taking Fi out just minutes ago. Neighbors walking by, a horn stammering in the distance and jazz.

For these and all small gifts, I am profoundly grateful.

by New York Artist, Maritza Lugo.

this made me lol today, probably because I relate to it a little to much. :o( 

I caught it on HELLO GIGGLES, a cute/fun/quirky blog by Zoey Deschanel and Co. . If you haven't checked it out, please do <3 Its fab.

iphone friends....

...is my new favorite app for iphone or ipads! Its so much fun! Check it out!

What the Hell? An Avril Analysis...

What am I doing this holiday sunday? Ooooh just shopping for a vintage table cloth on Etsy annnd listening to Avril Lavigne's new single, What the Hell? on repeat. Yeeeeeeah...you heard me right. I am a closet Avril Lavigne fan-----no longer apparently. The very few people I've shared that with in the past, always have the same reaction: squinted eyes in disbelief and ponder. "Seriously??" they ask. But what can I say? She's just so much fun to me. If I were fifteen I would worship her, learn to ride a skateboard and bleach my hair blonde. But I'm thirty-one. Fooey! So I'll just pack on the crayon eyeliner with gloss, blast her tunes and punch the gas while speeding the Hollywood 101. 

Top Ten reasons WHY I heart Avril...

1. She is a songwriter. She writes her own music and plays guitar. I've always appreciated artists who actually create their music and lyrics, nose to tail. It's more personal, relatable and honest IMHO.

2. Her music is fun and some songs are so silly they're stupid. I'm in my head ALL THE TIME. It's nice to just turn off the editor, sing along like a loud fool and have fun...something I need to do more often. Popular music has a valid place in the fabric of life. People get so caught up in "indie, underground, no one knows who they are!" crap. Remember the Beatles? MJ? Dancing in your room and singing into your hairbrush? 

3. She's teeny with a big voice. I've always wanted to be teeny. Everything about me is big, loud and...BIG lol. 

4. I love her style. Not so much the hardware and goth bustiers but that she can be sexy in a tank, shorts and sneaks. Plus I'm a little sick of Katy Perry's boobs already. I hate dressing up and high heels, seriously. No matter what I always feel like a boy in a dress. I would rather have twenty pairs of bitchin chucks, pumas or vans and wear jeans everywhere. 

5. Her videos rock. I love that her videos follow the old Mtv format of actually telling a little three minute story. That's the old fogey in me. 

6. She gave her mom a cameo in her video <3 I would totally do that if I were a pop star. 

7. She's Canadian. It's my general assumption that Canadians are just freakin cool. All the one's I've met have been down-to-earth, stand up peeps. I don't know how to explain it, A!

8. Ok this is a weird one : her teeth. Normally I dislike when folks have very sharp fangs, like fangoria favorite Kirsten Dunst. But Avril's fangs are juuuuust right. Cosmetically I think hers look kinda cool. 

9. Pink. She always rocks the pink yo.

10. Because somewhere in the back of my head I will always be fifteen and a total spaz....and I wouldn't change that for the world. 

We made it....

Yesterday was interesting. In So Cal we had two earthquakes at around 1 o'clock in the afternoon. I of course didn't feel them because I was driving to the bank and grocery store. But just as I walked through the door, Kev calls me and says, " DID YOU FEEL IT???" annnd here we go. An entire afternoon of worrying that not only will there be another earthquake, but it will happen while I'M home alone. And because of their trip to Pechanga the next day, Kev was going to be spending the night at his mom's house. Which of course translates into apocalyptic mayhem and I am most certainly in eminent danger. 

The boy tried to reassure me by suggesting that since the earthquake was a decent size---that meant more pressure was released---and the likely hood of "the big one" happening was significantly low. Insert one brow raised, disbelieving face here. The ridiculous thing is that I'm a So Cal native. Earthquakes are not foreign to me, not even scary most of the time. In fact they're down right mythical...until you're suddenly in the middle of one and the dog is barking, shit is falling and car alarms everywhere are going off. lol But the thought of being alone at home, with the baby (dog) to protect while California slowly shakes itself into the ocean---is disconcerting to say the least. 

Nevertheless, at 8:45pm, I reluctantly kissed the boy goodbye and watched him drive away.  My preplanned evening of brownie making and a Mad Men marathon was slowly starting to look pointless. After all, I had an earthquake kit to prepare, shoes to put at the foot of the bed and flashlight stations to man all throughout the apartment. Luckily I had my trusty partner to help me complete these tasks. Fiona followed me in and out of every room, watching each motion. I looked down at her solid little gaze and I could see the wheels in her head turning. "Ok dad is gone, big bag by the front door, mom has flashlights? WHAT is happening exactly?"

But there were no more quakes, no aftershocks, no burglars, rapists or chupacabras of any kind. I spoke to both my parents on the phone and Kevin called just before bed for a little iPhone facetime. I didn't leave the lights on, there was no clock radio noise to keep me company and when my head finally hit the pillow I decided to just nut up and relax. After all, our building was built in 1955 and its still standing. And as long as I have my twelve inch, Himalayan Salt Lamp night light... I'm in the clear. 

Hump Day

I had the most delectable can of peas today. I know canned veggie tables aren't as great as fresh-off-the-farm but damn these were exquisite. Maybe it was just that I got something I wanted right when I wanted it. You know that always feels good. 

And tonight, even though I was dog tired and hot as hell, I washed all the dishes before I went to bed. Just like Betty Draper in Mad Men, I thought. Only that bitch has help. Shit who am I kidding? I AM the help. Big, fat, frowny face. Hope there's another can of magic peas for tomorrow.

There's a land that I love...

One of the major things I hate about being adult, or this period of life I seem to be in where everyone is getting married, having children, buying houses etc. etc.----is the need others feel to meddle. Apart from the general, " why aren't you two married yet? It's been eight years already!" crap, I'm especially sick of the recent probing of my unemployment status. Truly, never before in my life have I experienced such judgement, ridicule, scowling and unsolicited advice, as I have since I lost my job. It's like someones at the front of the line, "here here!! man down! pick'em up!"As if I'm clouding up the perfect diamond of life that everyone is so sure they deserve and are on the path to achieving. 

How about leaving me alone? How about not asking me every time I see you, how the job prospects are going? Don't you read the damn paper? Watch the news? Its not like I'm the only person this is happening too. I'm just the only person in your circle and apparently I'm f**king up the rotation of good fortune. I'm bringing everybody down with my no prospects in sight, no college education and no future. Perhaps it isn't me anyone is worried about? Maybe they're worried about the boy. Suddenly thanks to the economy I've become an even less desirable candidate to spend the rest of his life with? > insert ginormous sigh here. < I can just see it every time his mother asks me about work and in the way that she  looks at me.  I think Carrie had it right when she said, "When did we stop being free to be you and me?" 

To the meddlers, nay sayers and ultimate dream crushers, I say this : all I know is that I'm not giving anyone advice they didn't ask for, telling people how to raise their kids, or who they should or should not marry. And I'm not complaining. I  rarely even talk about my job situation, unless asked. Whatever happened to just letting people live their lives? The way they see fit? If you wanna live the dream so be it. As Eddie Izzard once said, "Goooooooo then! s'the American Dream!" Just don't count on me walking behind you, I might be forming my own line....and it may not be heading towards the top of the hill. It might be a check out line at Trader Joe's but....it'll be MINE. 

Orders for the day...

1. Wear red nail polish

2. wear sparkly bracelets or rings

3. listen to Foster the People's new album, Torches

that is all. 

Father Knows Best : a Top Twelve Best Movies Ever List

Opposites. That's the way I might start out describing me and my father. And its true...even though we're completely alike in more ways than I can count. Sometimes I catch him shaking his head at me, especially when I'm lost in a movie. I think he worries that my head is in the clouds to much. Funny thing though, he's totally responsible for my movie mania. Of course we have completely different tastes---but if it wasn't for him I wouldn't love horror movies, marvel at extreme explosions, lose myself in old black and white, laugh inappropriately, cheer at the site of a zombie apocalypse or even made it to my first art house flick. When I think back, its because of some silly movie that we shared or can recite famous lines from, that I love film ....and him so much.

In no particular order and in honor of my Dad, I've compiled a top twelve list of our favorites...

1. The Burbs - classic Tom Hanks, hilarious and just dark enough to match dad. We know EVERY line from this movie.
2. The People Under the Stairs - Wes Craven genius, not really scary, definitely funny and plenty of wtf? throughout. Our favorite line : "I'm gonna kill youuuuuuuuu! Kill'eeeeem!!!"
3. Terminator 2 Judgement Day - We must have seen this at least five times in the theatre. It was the first time I remember noticing that we were kinda "hangin out" ...dad and I. One of the best sequels ever made. 
4. Friday - classic ghetto, another line buster--we have the whole thing memorized and can recite on cue. Favorite line : "Cuz I steal, I don't kill!" 
5. Basquiat - Dad rented this on his own and suggested that I watch it. I remember him telling me, " it's different but I think you'll like it." And so began my love for art house and independent film.
6. The Exorcist - I remember watching this with dad and being VERY young...like 5 or 6 years old. My mom came home from work and she was PISSED! "It's ok mommie, it's not real. It's fake." I comforted her. And that's why my favorite part of makeup school involved scar tissue effects, various blood mixtures and all the ghoul a mixed up girl could ask for :o)
7. Dumb and Dumber - Dad's always had a soft spot for Jim Carey. Maybe its all the In Living Color  we used to watch? Favorite line : "Wanna hear the most annoying sound in the world? " 
8. To Kill a Mockingbird - My favorite book on the planet and just a complete classic. Gregory Peck as Atticus Finch is just amazing. I named the best cat in the world after Atticus Finch. Dad always described men like Gregory Peck, Clint Eastwood or Steve McQueen as "real men." 
9. The Elephant Man - Again another movie dad shared with me when I was really young. I think he always wanted me to be able to look at difficult things, people and situations. That movies could do more than just make you laugh or scare you. I felt so bad for Elephant Man and fell in love with Sir Anthony Hopkins. Hannibal Lector here I come!
10. Clash of the Titans - a world of fantasy. This falls in line with a long list of classics, courtesy of dad : Labyrinth, The Dark Crystal and Willow. A fantasy nerd is born along with a crush on hunky Harry Hamlin. 
11. Coupe de Ville - Probably not one to many have seen. Its never been produced in DVD format though its a complete classic. Superb story telling, great acting--the works. If you've ever loved or hated a sibling or just didn't understand your parents---find it and watch it. Alan Arkin is brilliant in this. 
12. The Blob - the 1958 classic sci-fi flick. It wasn't until I was an adult that I learned of dad's love for this movie. "REALLY?! YOU---like THIS?" I asked sarcastically. I've always considered my father to be hard to please and it seemed so silly that he'd enjoy this old cheesy movie. But he loves it. "THIS was considered scary when I was a kid." he said, eyebrows raised. I think its awesome when people can still surprise you. :o) 

Ooooo that smell!

Since Father's Day is coming up, I've been thinking a lot about my dad...naturally. Just now as I was scanning itunes, I began to think of this story my mom had once told me. I don't remember exactly how old she said I was but apparently my father was watching me during the day and working grave yard in the evenings. And back in the day my dad always listened to records. Even over television, he would always rather be listening to or playing music.  And one day while listening to Lynyrd Skynyrd, my dad figured out something kind of interesting : the song titled, Ooooo that smell, had a distinct effect on me. It made me cry---instantly. And my father, being the very early/very young twenty-something that he was, thought this was HI-larious. Now you have to know that my parents had me very very young. My mom was twenty and I believe my father was only eighteen or nineteen years old. So of course the phrase, "torturing a child" never occurred to him. lol. Even after the twentieth time playing the song and eagerly waiting for my instant tears. My mom said that when she returned home from work, he told her, " hey check this out..." and proceeded to share his discovery. "Whaaaaaat??" my mom asked. She said they both laughed and did it again. 

It wasn't until I was much older that she asked me if I recalled any of those events. But other than a faint image, all I ever remember is just me---hating that song. We both cracked up as she recounted every detail of the memory. And now, knowing my father as an adult, it makes complete sense to me...and I cherish that...I always will. 

"just one look at you, and I know its gonna be a lovely daaaaaay"

I woke up this morning at 5 am! I swear I don't understand how I am a complete night owl yet love to get up early in the morning. My dad gets up early too. "Jesus you're just like your dad," my mom groans when visiting. But this morning I felt something pulling me. It wasn't just my usual anxiousness to get the L.A. Times, or even excitement over our standing once-a-month breakfast date with friends...which I adore. Finally I looked out the window on the Kev's side of the bed and decided this is what was calling to me...

An Apple a Day

So we did it! The boy and I recently upgraded our five-year-old phones to the iPhone 4. And I have only one word for you : huh? That's right. I'm in love and my head has been stuck in this thing since the minute I humped the FedEx guy's leg as he retrieved it from the truck. And I don't care what anyone thinks. I love my iPhone. It's so freakin cool. 

Now I know everyone's all caught up in the maybe-its-happening iPhone 5 release date. But to be honest, we didn't really care. Every six months there will always be a bigger, better, newer something. No matter what, our phones will still work and still be cool. So shove it Steve. We will have our iPhone cake and eat it now. 

The boy looked at me in disbelief yesterday, after he asked to see my phone. Reluctantly I handed it over and then let out a loud yelp. "ITS MINE!! Don't touch it!!" I whined. "Seriously with that?" he scolded.  Thing is, I tend to get a little Smeagol-y with expensive things. I'm not a person who makes such large purchases very often in life. Growing up my family struggled a lot and my parents pretty much gave up their dreams to furnish mine. So little things mean ALOT to me, let alone REALLY expensive gadgets. I'm always afraid someone will break it or ruin it or something awful---plus I'm an only child---so theres that.  He handed it back to me and as I lovingly stroked its silicone case, the boy shook his head. "CHRIST," he chuckled. "Thank god we both got one."

Do you like.....

You know this tune right? But have you ever listened to the actual lyrics and the little story? Until about a year ago I never really had. Sure I knew the tune, could kinda hum along and it always made me wanna shake my fanny in the silliest possible way. But I'd never actually listened to the lyrics. Which I have to say is a little unusual for me. I'm alllll about words. 

So one night, back when I had a job, I was driving home from work and it came on the radio. I turned it up and actually caught the little story behind Pina Colada's and getting caught in the rain. "huh." I thought. "I never realized that. " and it became an instant favorite for more sentimental reasons. 

Its such a cute little story. I guess I can relate, not in that I've ever taken out a personal ad during my relationship, but that we've been together for a long time. And sometimes things can get a little routine I suppose. After seven years, you kinda know all of each other's moves and lines. But this song makes me think of how much I love the boy. 

"But its about a couple thats contemplating infidelity?!" says a girlfriend. Which I suppose is true but its that great last bit, " I never knew : That you like Pina Colada's....." Sort of like, if you're with the right person----not matter how many years pass---love can still surprise you. And that's how I feel about my poopie.  Just when I think I'm crush proof, he says or does something that surprises me and just like that I love him all over again for the first time. 

Next Stop : Shangri-La

So the hiatus, upon returning home from our vacation in New Mexico, appeared to be unavoidable. First, I was totally bummed that our fabulous vacation was over. As ridiculous as it sounds, its hard to go from a vast unknown back to the comfortable unknown. Right now I'm unemployed, and searching for a lot of different things : answers, a new path, who I'm supposed to be? And all of that is worrisome but pretty easy to control from home. But out there on the road with my family, (wow that's the first time I've called them that : the boy and the pooch) we didn't know what to expect. And it didn't matter, we were together and having an adventure. For the first time in months I wasn't worried about a single damn thing. Which seems completely ironic and maybe a little out of my character : that the open road didn't frighten me, it was invigorating. So invigorating that I hardly photographed New Mexico at all--- I was to busy having fun and soaking it up.

When we came home I felt a bit detached from everything. I hadn't really checked my email in days or  hardly been on facebook. And I didn't really want too. I looked at my laptop sitting on the table from across the room and just felt, " eh. " Instead I started reading an amazing book, The Immortal Life of Henrietta Lacks, by Rebecca Skloot. I went to Lowes and bought a lawn chair, sat outside and fell asleep in the shade with my dog. And I slept....a lot. All things I must have needed to do, for they seemed to happen to me rather than myself conducting the action.

So that was the first thing.

The second was well...PMS. I started to feel like I hated everyone and everything. Then I realized the PMS monster was taking over my body. And I didn't want to write through that. So there ya go. lol.

But our trip was fabulous! to say the least. We got to spend some much needed time with good friends, eat VERY VERY well EVERYDAY, visit magical places like old town Albuquerque and tourist-y ones like Santa Fe, we even managed to relax! And both the boy and I had our own separate experiences of nirvana in the southwest. His being movie related and mine, literary. I have to say, I didn't expect to fall in love with New Mexico as much as I did. Everything is so slow and easy and mellow. There's no traffic, no crowds or judging eyes and everyone is so nice.  It's a vast difference from Los Angeles. Everything is square and pueblo looking with chili's hanging from porches and sand devils kissing the ground. Maybe its the vortexes or the red and green chili but it really is a very enchanting little place.  And I'm happy to report that we'll actually be returning in July! This time we'll travel through Tuscon, Arizona, hit Tombstone and then its up to Albuquerque for one last visit with Aileen before we all caravan back to Los Angeles. I can hardly wait.

 I always feel like the universe speaks to me in signs. Like actual, literal signs, sometimes with figurative meanings. They always seem to pop up right when I need them, and say exactly what needs to be heard. I saw a bumper sticker during our travels that well...stuck with me. It said, "Do something that scares you everyday. " And I feel like we were, like we did and it made all the difference in us. Traveling changes you. It wakes you up, makes you less fearful, more of the world and a citizen of your heart. I highly recommend it.

The Land of Enchantment

I'm baaaaaack. :o) So after a brief hiatus ( to be explained in the next post) I'm finally able to sit down and write about our trip. But for reasons of obvious joy and worship, I felt that the David Sedaris bit needed its own post.

So on our last night in Albuquerque, we attended an evening with David Sedaris at the University of New Mexico. As always, he was brilliant, witty and hilarious. He read unpublished selections from stories still in progress, occasionally reaching over to his shirt pocket for a pen to jot down notes as he spoke. "shirt pocket pen..." I lamented to myself, in my head. " David Sedaris is jotting. He's jotting down notes in the margin. This is the cutest thing I've ever seen in my entire life, " I continued. And it was. Though perhaps not quite as adorable as hearing him read the words, " freaky motha focka." He also read an excerpt from a Tobias Wolf book, The Barracks Thief. He felt so strongly about it, he urged the crowd to purchase a copy of this book before any of his own. Which I thought was really cool.


After the show I bolted to lobby, hoping to secure my spot in line for the signing. Even though I was easily one of the first fifty people in line, I began to worry about the time. I remembered from a previous signing that he usually talks to everyone, making each interaction personal and memorable. And while I adore this, I was worried about keeping the boy and Aileen waiting for an undisclosed about of time. "Don't worry about it! " the boy assured me. "Its all good....we're here." And so I waited, my nerves increasing with each step. Like a child flying alone for the first time, I desperately wanted the boy next to me in line. But I waved like a big girl, flashing a half smile from the worm of fans waiting behind me. "Whats wrong with me?" I thought. "I've met him before. Why am I so damn nervous?"


As I moved closer in line, he glanced over the room, making eye contact with me once or twice. "You're imagining things," my better sense secured. Four people away I began to get teary eyed. "OH CHRIST!" I thought. "Not now for Pete's sake!" I'm just like my mother, crying at the slightest hint of emotion. Which normally is a trait to be proud of, but when I'm about to be face-to-face with one of my heroes in front of a large crowd of impatient people with books in their hands, I'd really rather not cry like a distressed Beatles fan.

And then it was my turn------now I'm gonna write this out the way your twelve year old girlfriend would describe a life altering, intense two minute conversation with her crush---because no other way would do it justice.


David:  We've met before.
Me : (hyperventilating, shaking, smiling largely) We have! In Santa Barbara at the college.
David : That's right. Years ago. I have a show coming up there in a couple days.
Me : I noticed that, at the Arlington right?
David : Yes! But its not sold out yet. (He begins signing my books)
Me : I noticed that.
David : whats up with that? Are people getting tired of me??? (silly smile)
Me : Never. (smiling largely still)
David : So what were you doing in Santa Barbara back then?
Me : Well I'm a SoCal native and grew up in Ventura County so its pretty close. I live in LA now.    Actually I've tride to see you out there but its to crazy.
David : (with a cautious face) LA usually is pretty crazy. (He takes out a separate pen to sign the TW
              book. ) So what are you doing here in Albuquerque?
Me : We have friends in the movie business who are working out here so we're just visiting.
David : cool. Sooo do you know any jokes? (for those who don't know, he will often ask for jokes or
             last names from his fans to use as material)
Me : You know I probably do but I'm way to bajiggity right now to even think of anything to say.
David : Baajiggity? What does Bajiggity mean?? (starting to sign my CD case)
Me : you know like ...nervous. (having hot flashes)
David : (looking at me in disbelief) Wait...you're nervous RIGHT NOW???
Me : uuuh YEAH!
David : WHY??? (laughing)
Me : uuuuh HELLO! (giggling)
David : ok. (puts his pen down) I want you to do something for me right now.
Me : uuuuuuh (multiple hot flashes occurring)
David : I want you to SLAP me across the face right now.
Me : (HOLY SHIT) I can't do that.
David : yes you can. Come on I know you can do it. Don't do it HAAARD but just do it.
             (turning his cheek)
Me : (ooooh god) siiiiiiigh. ok. (gave his cheek a slight whip)
David : SEE!!! HOW CAN YOU BE NERVOUS!! YOU JUST SLAPPED ME!! (laughing)
Me : (laughing like a fool)
David : (sighing and laughing) Can I see your purse?
Me : (wtf)  What????? oook. (pulling over my cobalt blue Betsy Johnson)
David : Perrrfect! I want you to take this with you. (handing me a jar of NM Green Chili)
             They gave me all this shit in my hotel room and I can't take any of it with me so I wanted
            to give this to someone from another state. I guess its a big thing out here.
Me : It is! I had a turkey sandwich with this on it today.
David : well see now you can make one when you get home, and use the hand you slapped me with!!
Me : I will!!! Thank you!!!


As I left the line, I saw the boy. He was standing behind me the whole time, listening and sharing. He extended his arm and I collapsed into his bear hug, holding back a tear. I'm sure you can imagine, I left that night with my heart completely filled up. What a great experience, even better than the first time. And did he really remember me? God I felt so infinitely cool in that second when he said, " We've met before." It was like a fucking symphony of cool rocketing in my direction, making me explode. Little bits of cool showering the crowd. (laughing to myself) And I thought about it for days. I thought about it that night--laying awake in bed, driving home the next day, and finally at home---running my fingers across the signed page. "We meet again, enchantress. ---David Sedaris" I imagined all of this as preamble. That someday we'll be great friends and laugh about the time I slapped him in front a crowd of adoring fans. We'll sip some delightful beverage on a patio somewhere, sitting in Adirondack chairs, leaning into the afternoon sun.


a girl can dream right?  :o)

I can die happy now.

I can't say to much yet, for I am still under the spell of the night. But it involves David Sedaris asking me to slap him in front of a large crowd of people and a jar of New Mexico green chili. It was so personal, magical and I can't wait to tell ya'll the whole story. Stay tuned...