may play.

one section of my mental vault contains words, lines, characters, scenes, and general themes that still need a place in my writing. i find them too interesting (read: "will get me published...maybe") to just plop into any school assignment poem or journal rant. they deserve to be showcased properly, and i don't want to waste them.

BIG problem: i'm a terrible writer and don't write. my mental vault fills more quickly than it empties. so i have things like a boy named macaroni and a girl named muffin just loafing around next to windchimes (how do you satisfyingly encapsulate the empty sound of wooden windchimes using words? please. enlighten me.) and liquoring up grapey the caterpillar with moonshine and deep-fried dandelions. grapey was one of my imaginary friends growing up (i had a few... i wonder if this contributes at all to my adult neurotics?) and he was always out on great adventures. maybe someday when i stop watching "how i met your mother" and "true blood," i will release grapey from my 3 year old brain and give him his own proper literary introduction.

i'm not protective of my writing ideas. obviously-- this blog is public. if someone else can do it better, then i'm glad i could be the freewrite prompt for your novel. even though i consider writing an integral part of my identity, i also think i'm extremely lazy, a sad excuse for an english major, and that my grandest accomplishments stem from forced assignments and sarcastic humor. on a somewhat unrelated note, i'm day 6 into my blogging mission and--almost hourly--i jot down a future blog post topic. let's hope my mental vault comes with free storage on the side.

may the force be with you.

i was reminded of this scene from "dumb and dumber" today-- actually, many days lately:

in the terminal, lloyd runs full speed toward the plane holding mary's suitcase.
airline person removes the flight sign that reads "171 aspen"
lloyd: HOLD THAT PLANE!
airline person: sir, you cannot go in there.
lloyd: it's ok, i'm a limo driver [while flashing his badge]
camera moves left. there is no plane attached to the jetway. lloyd tumbles out of the end of the tunnel onto the tarmac.
lloyd: ehhhhhhh.

we all wish were were somebody. some of us are somebody's. but acting like you're somebody when you're really nobody is just pathetic. for example:

winco checker: ma'am, i need to see your ID.
girl: well i don't have it.
checker: [holding 6 pack of beer] we card for 35 and younger.
girl: DO YOU CARD FOR 35 OR 21?
checker: i need to see your ID.
girl: well ALBERTSON'S never asks for my ID.
checker: ok....

like, congrats, albertson's knows who you are. you're recognized... at... albertson's.

another example:

all gussied up lady: i need this filled. [hands over a prescription for an inhaler]
rx tech: your doctor wrote "as directed" for the instructions, so we will need to contact her for the specifics.
lady: why?
tech: for insurance purposes, mostly. they like more specific instructions for billing.
lady: oh, it's ok. i'm the drug rep.
tech: yah... we're still going to need to call the doctor.
lady: but i'm the drug rep for that drug.
tech: yah.... we're still going to need to call the doctor.

i mean, saweet you get free drugs and hand out shiny brochures and get paid to suck up to people. i had NO idea drug reps were above the laws of insurance billing...

oh, just go fall out of a plane already, dumbass.

may bring me the sunset in a cup.

one of the saddest things i've ever heard was a line from woody allen's "vicky cristina barcelona." the sultry, adventurous friend cristina shares her inability to translate her feelings into something external: "it's sad, really, because i feel like i have a lot to express and i am not gifted." even though cristina is a filmmaker and a wonderful photographer, she considers herself a failure. whatever it is that she wants to share, she cannot.

i find this so tragic. how does it feel to lack the ability to express oneself? stifling? restrictive? unfair?

for me, i have my writing. but there are some things that simply cannot be compressed into graphite seraphs.

for me, i have my drawing. but there are some things that defy the boundaries of line and color.

for me, i have my music. but there are some things that are somewhere between a major and minor chord, that exist as their own beat, and cannot be found in a melody.

for me, i have small talents that allow me to share at least a part of what moves inside me, what places my fingers to keyboard, what wakes me before the sun and begs to be recorded on blank journal pages--

for me, i do not know what it feels like to lack the ability to express. for those who cannot, i ache for you truly.

may come back.

they say if you love something,

set it free.

it will come back to you

if it's meant to be.

hurry home, sunnies. i miss you terribly.

may or may not be closer than they appear.

why do we dream at night? i know, i know, psychologists and other brain doctors will tell us that REM cycles include such fantastical explorations and exaggerations of reality to help stabilize our emotional and mental state. some theorize that dreams are a way of weaving our experiences into memory. i'm not content with either of these explanations though, because both suggest that we are unstable and perhaps require a split mind to solve these incongruencies-- one part of our brain is like "whooooooooaaaaa, help me out" and the other part takes over when we are not conscious (freaky!) and methodically rewires our thoughts at a very vulnerable hour.

my dreams are mostly unhelpful. for example, i dreamed that my mom was trying to drown me in a bathtub as a child. because i was small and the bathtub was unusually large, i was able to swim down to the drain and hide from her claw-like hands and super-human strength. the other night, i dreamed that i was feeding ostriches on a bird farm and they smelled like dry dirt and california valley heat. and, as always, i have the recurring dream that my dead friend's ex-boyfriend asks me to meet him in a deli, buys me a turkey sandwich, and tells me over and over that he is not my lighthouse. if my brain is actually sorting out my life events into some permanent memory, then my brain is sorely failing-- i am left with confusion and great disgust.

are your dreams productive? do they reveal new ideas or theories you may not have discovered in your waking hours?

in a blog post entitled "why do we dream?" from psychology daily, dr. ilana simons quotes freud's theory that dreams are poems we tell ourselves. she writes: "dreams allow us to be what we cannot be, and to say what we cannot say, in our more repressed daily lives" (par. 2). while i love the notion that i am artistically representing my experiences as metaphorical situations even in my sleep, i still find the idea of the split mind unsettling. why can't i confront my issues while i am awake? why must my brain handle it solo when i'm unaware?

what have you been dreaming about lately?

may do us part.

while my mom and i were sewing my new couch throw pillows yesterday, we bonded a little over TLC's "say yes to the dress." the show follows brides of all ages, backgrounds, and brattiness on their quest to find the perfect wedding dress at swanky new york shop, kleinfeld's. the consultants try their best to learn the bride-to-be's tastes and styles while combatting opinionated family members and low budgets. in all, a delicate balance of mindless and entertaining while feeding fabric under a swiftly moving needle.

now, if you know me well, you know that i don't want a traditional wedding. (marriage, yes.) but, whether i seal the fate of forever in a courthouse or vegas chapel, i WILL have a dress. what kind of dress? considering that i have yet to find a groom (or a frickin' BF for that matter...), i know it's way premature to occupy my thoughts with visions of rouging, beading, white or ivory. as the girls tried on cupcake-like ball gowns with laced-up bodices and strapless straight dresses with drop waists, i reflected on what i might someday wear to my wedding.

maybe something short and sexy?

by BCBG

maybe something romantic and flowy?

by j. crew

maybe something not quite white?

by vera wang

of course, "timeless" describes most brides' overall approach to their wedding. not me. maybe something more along the lines of fun. pretty. memorable. just right.

**welcome to 31 days of blogging. day one over. for me anyway. feel free to leave comments-- i've enabled the anonymous comment feature in case you don't have a google account. be warned that i do approve all comments before they are posted. sneaky, huh. see you tomorrow, readers.

dedication.

dear blogging world,

hello. do you remember me? i remember you-- albeit, vaguely.

april 09 and april 10 were/are terrible months for me. i'm convinced it is "death to relationship" month. although, a beautiful relationship started with a hockey game 6 years ago-- so actually i rescind my previous statement and shall rename it "death to relationships that are supposed to die" month. in any case, i'm totally bummed out.

i think part of my problem is that i've lost touch with so many things: who i am, what i value, what i love, what i appreciate, what i need, what i want, etc. so much of my day is consumed with an overwhelming feeling of dread, gloom, and overall malaise. which totally sucks, dude.

so i propose 31 days of blogging. yes, that's a post a day in the month of may. i think expressing my insights to an audience will force me to self-reflect and evaluate what i observe and believe about the world around me. plus, maybe you'll learn something new about me. maybe i'll learn something new about myself.

prepare yourself. this may get real.

a minor freak out moment.

randomly, i started thinking about the places i've lived. no reason, really. i remembered little things like how kota the barfy dog's hair used to clump and lay dormant under the couch when i lived on tendoy. and i remembered opening the door to leave my eagle pointe apartment and there was stinky vomit on the balcony railing from the boys living above us. and then i remembered...

i used to live in a yellow house.
off warm springs.
and the name of the street was...

total blank.

i mean, it's no big deal to space out and not remember things, right? happens all the time, right? WRONG. i mean, this was a place i slept at. a place i invited people over to. a place i used to receive mail at and--therefore--must have known the address, including the elusive street name. how could i forget something like that?

what other things have i just forgotten about? did they bring me joy? did i vow to remember them? were they shared with someone-- or was i the only known observer/participator in the event? are those memories now gone forever--like poof, all scents and colors and flutterings of heart are banished to the realm of forgotten, never to be thought of again?

and what else remains to be forgotten?

what 2009 has taught me

another year. another year? ANOTHER YEAR? rather than descending into a hawthorne-esque exploration of humanity's innate depravity, i will indulge you with 9 life lessons i have learned from my most disappointing/depressing year to date:

1. i cannot ignore certain things.
i'd like to. and i do for the most part. earlier this year, i found myself sitting alone in a corner with no lights on contemplating what a worthless, uncontributing member of society i truly am; so i turned to good friends Journal, Vodka, and Guitar Hero. there is a dark place inside us all, but i linger there way too often-- pretending i'm really at a britney concert in a pink sparkly dress-- and it must stop.

2. acid-reflux is one big meanie.
so eat your dairy, kids.

3. it's okay to give second chances.
i disagree with house; people do change. a year point five ago, my now-boyfriend treated me (and himself) like crap. since june '09, we both respect each other, (try to) spoil each other, and are the happiest we've been in years. and i got a shiny diamond ring for christmas to symbolize his promise to be a better person and his commitment to our relationship.

4. my family loves me.
i can be a difficult person to love sometimes. i'm stubborn. i'm independent. i'm almost perpetually annoyed. but that's so 2009. and if i decide to resort back to my old demons, i know my family will be there with chocolate donuts, laundry soap, and a new lamp (so i won't sit in the dark anymore) to proffer. and yes, my mother has shown up on my doorstep with all of those items+ at some point.

5. i miss school.
on my first day of kindergarten, i woke my parents up in the early AM-- fully dressed and wearing my backpack-- to ask when i could go to school. in 2009, a small chunk of my heart twanged when i admitted to already having a degree and that i was no longer in school. while i am truly appreciative of my education, i am not truly satisfied with my MA. i miss absorbing new information day after day-- whether from a text first-hand or from a fellow student sharing his/her insights. i miss studying the world around me and emerging with a clearer understanding of our relations to the past, present, and future.

6. i write way more when i'm most insane.
which makes me wonder what danielle steele is really like.

7. TV is for watching.
i bought a 32" flat-screen LCD TV with my first paycheck last june and have thoroughly enjoyed delving into the colorful, fast-speaking world of "pushing daisies" and the sweaty, intelligent mind of engineer-turned-prisoner michael scofield in "prison break" and the awesome, legen-wait for it-dary life of barney in "how i met your mother." yes, i realize all of the afore-listed shows are either cancelled or well into their 5th season, but i caught on a little late, OK? i love TV and i'm sorry i ever said anything different.

8. social networks are bomb.
in 2009, i posted my first tweet on twitter. i also subscribed to an internet plan on my blackberry. i like feeling connected to others, even if it is only through black text and blurry cell phone photos. i share my insights and daily happenings in hopes that others can relate, react, and tell all their friends how cool i am.

9. you don't always get what you want.
and you rarely get what you need. no one is just handed everything they want and need in life. we have to work for what we deserve in life. this past year's crumminess is in large part due to my decisions or lack thereof; but i think i've paid for it, and i'm ready to move on. i'm done wallowing in my own pathetic pity of "well, i couldn't control x or y or z." there are some things you can't control. obviously. but what you can, do. and do it well.

today is today and is never going to happen again.

listen:

i'm still struggling with the glaring reality that i have nothing interesting to contribute to the internet world of blogging. that, and i haven't written anything of note for months so i'm frighteningly (more) self-conscious about every keystroke combination. i am ashamed.

so let's start off random i suppose:

- i recently purchased the most expensive bottle of lotion in my spending history. which, really, is not that much. like $7. i know. gasp. but i swear it works: curel ultimate healing in the blue bottle.

- scentsy is awesome. i scoffed at its promise to deliver "scent-sational" smells in 6" tall pots. as i inhale the delicate yet refreshing scent of pima cotton from my raised-dot daisy warmer, i point and laugh at my inner skeptic.

- my betta toby is not a killer fish like i originally thought. carl the black mystery snail is just a lazy slug that hibernates for weeks (upside down) at the bottom of the tank. i'm both relieved and somewhat disappointed that murder in my apartment will just have to occur at some other point in time.

- my mother informed me last week that she was very upset and disappointed that i recently donated all my size 00 and 0 jeans and xxs/xs(/and yes some small...) shirts to the goodwill. her comment was as follows: "all you have to do is lose some weight. what, 20 pounds?"

- november 21 marks my one year anniversary in my lovely apartment. if i could, i would give it a hug.

- i used to think i dated needy boys that just needed attention, needed praise, needed affection, needed time, needed all that mushy stuff, etc. while there may be some truth to that, i've painfully analyzed my unwillingness to supply such needs and have concluded that my heart is about thisbig. solution: feel more. it's hard. really hard. but i have to do it before i end up self-confined in a safely sealed room-- alone.

let's hope my attitude reflects a little less of this:




and more of this: