Month: December 2012
Here’s the honest to God truth: When I get home at night, I am beyond tired and the last possible thing I’m wanting to do is stare at another computer screen for around 2-3 hours, which is typically the amount of time it takes me to write a blog posting with graphics and all. Either I’m incredibly slow, or just want to take my time and make sure I’m saying what I want to say (although sometimes, that’s not the case either…I tend to blather on and on and on.)
Another hard truth? I’m leaving for home tomorrow for Christmas. I’ll be gone, away from all reasonable internet access for 7-8 days, which means I won’t have the means in which to write on here anyways. Sure, I can open a new word document and type away as if I were typing on here, but that would defeat the purpose. So, the reasonable solution? To take a break….ride out the rest of 2012, and start with a renewed energy in 2013.
Which is what I plan to do.
Even as I type to you now, I’m feeling sick and sleepy and as if my eyeballs will roll back into their sockets any time. I’m just not firing on all cylinders on this fine day of the impending world-ending apocalypse. I feel like death right now, and still have my 2nd job to work tonight. C’est la vie. They always said the wicked never get to sleep. Once work is adjourned, I’ll head home, pack my duffel with a week’s worth of sock, jeans, and sweaters. Hit the sleeping pillows, and awake with all intentions of loading up the car, getting some remarkably cheap-as-of-late (and hopefully it continues to be that way!) gas, and I’m on the road for 3 hours singing my heart out to Josh Groban and Mercy Me.
I really love the holidays.
I just hope I’m not feeling like this or I’m going to fall asleep behind the wheel, and I’m most certainly NOT missing Christmas. I love it all. I can’t wait for lasagna and Moscato on Christmas Eve. I can’t wait for stockings on Christmas morning (yes, I may be considered to be too old for this but I really don’t care. I’m always going to be a kid at heart!) I can’t wait for cheesy vegetable hot dish for Christmas dinner. I can’t wait for slushes Christmas night when we usually get cozy on the couch and watch a new movie. I miss family, and cannot wait to see them.
If the time since I graduated from the Academy has proven anything to me, it’s that I’m a family girl. Those I consider family always come first, and I can’t stand to be away from them for too long. A part of me physically hurts when I haven’t seen or spoken to someone in too long of a time. Don’t even talk about saying good-bye to them. Choked up throat, pig penguin tears….just a hot, hot mess.
Writing, planning, and reading are the big goals for this short, but truthfully needed, holiday break. One thing I’ll be planning? How to bring this blog back to its original intention. More so, how to bring its original intent back to the forefront. It’s about a Modern Jedi in a Modern World. This was not meant to be a release for my bitching and all that is non-Jedi. Granted, the two do intersect sometimes, but there were too many instances of bitching for bitching’s sake.
So, planning. How I’m going to go about do that. That’s what this week is all about. And eating. Lots and lots of eating.
Be safe out there, and be very merry this Christmas season. Enjoy your family and friends, and never forget to be thankful for all the good things going for you this holiday season. There are more than you think. Merry Christmas, and we’ll see you in the New Year of 2013!
As always…May the Force be with you.
I haven’t written in a while. I know, I know. Boo-hoo, cry me a river, build me a bridge and get over it, blah blah blah.
I hate that I’ve taken so much time away from this, but there were other things to focus my attention on. Plus, I adore my sleep. I do not adore waking up with bear breathe and out-of-this-world bed head. I tend to imagine myself falling asleep the way a model does, cute and all put together, every beauty product well at work on this body. The image remains in the morning, and the instant I look in the mirror, its shattered. Tiny broken pieces everywhere. Watch where you step! (And this is every single day of my life!)
That sounded very melodramatic, didn’t it?
Doesn’t matter, really. There isn’t a single person I’m waking up every day to try to impress. Except maybe myself. The most important person to impress, after all. I’m taking to heart the #1 lesson of Jedi dedication: There is no chaos, there is harmony.
What does this 3rd line of the Jedi Code mean? Personally, it means to stop warring with myself, to stop warring with others. I need to be at peace with myself before I can have true harmony in the world. One major part of my life where there was massive conflict? Looking for my soul mate (or at least a boyfriend for the time being.) After one too many heart breaks and painful metaphorical knife stabbings to the gut, I’m finally yelling it high and mighty:
“No matter how cute and sexy a guy is, there’s always some woman somewhere who is sick of him.”
Carol Henry, a romance writer, probably hasn’t met Ryan Gosling. How could anyone ever get sick of that lovely hunk of man?
Not to be entirely tossed out. My eyes are still peeled for that lucky son-of-a-gun who one day I will call mine, and come home to every single night. Until that day, I live my romances through movies and fiction, the stories that keep our hearts full and wishful. I’ll hold on to the romance I know is waiting out there, but until then, my energy and efforts are going to be put towards making me a happy individual, and to helping others.
So, to quell the romantic beatings of my heart, I want to share the best heart-melting moments of my second all-time favorite romance tale of all: The Notebook.
– “What happens if a car comes?” “We die.”
– “You’re a terrible singer…But I like this song.”
– “She is out foolin’ around. I didn’t spend seventeen years of my life raising a daughter and giving her EVERYTHING , so she could throw it away on a summer romance.”
– “If you’re a bird, I’m a bird.”
– “You look different, too. In a good way.”
– “You wrote me?” “Yes! It wasn’t over. It still isn’t over.”
– “You got my letters. Finally. What are you going to do, Al?”
– “It’s about security. He’s got a lot of money!”
– “They fell in love, didn’t they?” “Yes, they did.”
Seriously. What’s not to love about that entire story? Not a damn thing. Every time I watch it, I pray to the higher powers watching over this earth, and over me, that I will be blessed with a romance as passionate as Allie and Noah’s. Love isn’t worth having if it isn’t a passionate affair with one another. All my fave love stories have it: Titanic, The Notebook, Pirates of the Caribbean, Star Wars.
The dream I had last night doesn’t help matters any, either.
Let’s get one tiny detail out of the way. Right now. Straight from the start and straight from the heart: It sucks being the only single girl at the table.
Even worse? Hearing your gal pals talk about guys they know, mostly single guys, in the hopes of possibly giving me a chance to find someone nice, someone who will treat me like the lady and princess I am, and someone who will fight their battles against me but still like me all the same, and the end result? They’re all too old or not in the same interest fields.
Trust me, I know opposites attract, but these ones just would not mesh with me. One happened to be a vegan. How die-hard a vegan, I can’t be sure, but if a guy can’t stand the thought of me eating a juicy burger or medium-rare cooked steak, it’s a done deal. I like my meat more than any guy any day.
It might sound stupid, but it’s the truth. I like to eat, plain and simple.
We had a few beers, but I wasn’t really in the mood to be drinking. Pineapple Habanero salsa and tortilla chips along with a glass of water with lemon sufficed perfectly well for me. And Jeez, we went through three baskets of chips! Damn, they were delicious. The perfect mix of crunchy and salty — my two favorite kinds of food of all time.
Sitting with my water and listening to two other women squawk about how their boyfriends/husbands piss them on the most random things, I’m sitting there, thinking, “Be happy you have someone to be pissed at about something as stupid as whether he’s standing beside you the entire time you’re shopping at Target.”
“When I think of some of the men I’ve slept with…if they were women I wouldn’t have had lunch with them.”
Carol Siskind, a nightclub nabob, has hit it right on the money. Which is why I have recognized the fact I really don’t get along with that many women. The ones I do, great! There are a handful I tolerate. The rest? Forget about them. I’m not nose diving into your catty, passive-aggressive ways of tearing a person down, and that includes over a meal. If I want a damn platter of onion rings, I’m going to have a damn platter of onion rings!
Me? On the guy front? I have no one. Not even a dog to cuddle me to sleep when I’ve had the roughest of rough days. I don’t even have a fish to come home to watch swim around his little bowl and spew my deepest inner thoughts to after everything is said and done. I have Yoda, sitting here patiently on my couch, always watching and always waiting for me to come and sit by him, possibly use him as a pillow. He’s usually the one who sits in the passenger seat when I make a solo trip anywhere, and we talk. Or I should say, I talk and he listens with that calm smile plastered across his face.
Yoda is an excellent listener. I wouldn’t keep taking him on car rides if he wasn’t. He’s seen me sing so loud, other cars next to mine are surely able to hear me loud and clear. He’s seen me laugh on the phone with my best girlfriends. He’s seen me freak out because I’m lost in the middle of the cities yet again. He’s seen me swear and cuss at idiot drivers and at myself. He’s seen me cry over unexpected break-ups, sad movies, or terrible conversations that should have gone differently.
He’s seen me through a lot, and he will always be my Master in that sense. Why? Whenever I have one of the above explained moments, I talk to him and then the resolution usually dawns upon me just as quickly as the problem settled on my shoulders.
The radio is always playing in the car. There are songs for everybody which remind you of someone or a specific moment in the lives we’ve led so far. ‘Gangnam Style‘ takes me to a time my best friend and I were sitting on the couch after months of not seeing each other while watching A New Hope. Faith Hill’s ‘This Kiss‘ takes me back to singing karaoke at the hometown tavern a mile from my home after a successful opening night of the first summer stock show I starred in, leading role and everything. ‘The Joker‘ will always and forever bring me back to my cousin’s wedding when my most recent ex-boyfriend and I were the only ones tearing up the dance floor, and I never smiled so much in my life (and he wasn’t that much of a dancer, either.)
These moments are heartbreaking, smile-inducing, and embarrassing. Along with the great dancing moments, there are the songs that played in the background during first kisses, first dances, and innumerable flirtations. A warning for all: the Rascal Flatts is not the best tunes to be playing when you think things may go beyond kissing. Seriously, heed my words.
We’ve all been there, we’ve all been transported back in time to that one moment specific to the song. Music is a magical thing and speaks to us in way normal words never will.
Yoda knows this. He gets it.
Maybe I’ve found my dream man after all.
The thought is simple, really. Why do certain people in one’s life have to be such major pains in my ass? This turns into the second part of a long equation. Part 2: Why can’t anyone accept the blame that is their own? Why must we pass it on to others, and all the while, make them feel awful and terrible 5x more than they already need to?
An impressive question to ask this bright and beautiful first day of December, but something that kept me awake a portion of the night. I don’t remember the last night I actually slept like a little itty-bitty baby. There are too many thoughts swirling around this skull of mine! Real-world problems, personal issues, creative road bumps, family concerns, all of that and more. There is never a moment of silence with this brain of mine.
Sounds so easy, right? “Quiet your mind and listen.” Except its much harder than that. Meditation, zoning out, letting a higher spirit talk to you. It all sounds so simple…but have you actually tried it?
This might explain why I’ve been having such wacky dreams as of late. I’m serious! Just last night? Let me tell you all about it:
“Once again, I find myself in the White House (Am I on a powerful struggle as of late? Why else would I keep placing myself in such a significant place of residence?) except this time, my hair is slicked back in a sleek ponytail, carrying a briefcase, and holding a pack of Bubble-Yum Gum in my hand. The floors are made of hardwood and went I’m sliding around on them with bare feet, and I don’t think my toenails are painted any particular color. Nude, maybe. (Who walks around the White House in bare feet and no nail polish? Yikes.)
Next thing you know, a child or two bursts through the door behind me, and I’m telling at them to slow down or no dessert for dinner (Yet, I don’t believe I am their mother…Glorified babysitter? I really don’t know.) My cell phone rings, and I’m being alerted my presence is needed in the conference room. Immediately. With the gum still clutched in my hand, I turn around and sprint down the hallway (I’m not talking a fast-paced walk…I’m full-out sprinting, yelling at people to get the f*ck out of my way or I’ll personally have them killed.)
I get to the conference room and a large group has gathered. No one has a pleasant look on their face. Very stern, very strict. (Whatever the heck is going on, it’s not good.) Next thing, someone has brought up a PowerPoint (does the White House actually use PowerPoint in their highly top-secret meetings?) and there’s a giant picture of a meteor on it. A larger than the state of Texas meteor is headed towards the United States, and supposedly I’m the one holding the solution to this giant crisis. (Sounds a lot like Armageddon, I know, but I have not watched that movie in months…so where this is coming from is beyond me!)
Someone from the front of the room near the projector screen calls out my name, and asks me to present. I push my way through the crowd, land my briefcase on the table, open and pull out three different Barbie Dolls. No one acts like this is strange, or widely inappropriate given the graveness of the situation.(They are Nurse Barbie, Holiday Barbie, and Rock Star Barbie, in case you were wondering.) I set them on the table, and proceed to reenact my solution using the Barbie dolls. What I said or what my plan was, I couldn’t tell you. (I think I was distracted by the fact I was demonstrating a solution to this world ending problem using Barbie dolls. Wouldn’t you be?!)
I finish my presentation, and my phone rings. I answer it, throwing up a ‘Hold On a Minute’ finger to the speaker who called on me in the first place, and I’m off sprinting again. My mission this time? To pick up four different kinds of pizzas for a birthday party happening on the other side of the White House. I packed up my Barbie’s, and ran out the door. I’m still barefoot, by the way.”
Pretty strange, right? I’m going to have fun deciphering this one later. I wonder what Holiday Barbie means to Freud.
“I have terrible short-term memory loss, which I like to think of as presidential eligibility.”
Paula Poundstone, the comedy circuit staple, has a point here. If I keep having dreams located in the White House, I’ll be just as qualified to run this country as George W. Bush. (Come on, think about it…Was he really qualified to be Commander-in-Chief? I think not.)
It’s the start to the weekend. Be safe out there!