The Plot Thickens...

2010-02-10T14:49:00.000-06:00

Find me at...
Diet Sodas and HairSpray

So Long, Farewell

2008-12-27T17:12:00.002-06:00

With 2009 rapidly approaching, I have made the decision to end The Plot Thickens... and start anew.

Happy Holidays readers and I will be posting a new address for a different blog soon.

I will keep these posts published until I can archive some and then I will be shutting this blog down for good.

Out with the old...

In with the unknown.

It's been a while.

2008-11-12T10:47:00.002-06:00

I took a mini vacation from this blog and other online writing projects to focus on my last writing workshop class and my new career path.

I'm headed back to school (kinda) to obtain my teacher's certification in order to teach high school English. Seems to me that this would be meaningful work for me and something I would enjoy.

Anyway, I'm alive. More updates to come.

A Recap of Sorts

2008-10-28T11:57:00.002-06:00

Breaking a glass.

Drop a glass on a hard floor and what happens? It shatters right? All the pieces fall apart. We pick up the sharp edges and we throw them away, curing our clumsy nature or thinking about buying plastic glasses. What we don't do is keep that glass around. It's of no use to us. It no longer holds the water we drink or anything else that we put into it.

But it's really not garbage. Sure, most of us have no nostalgic feelings about a glass, unless it was a gift or something that reminded us of something important. But it's not really trash.

Let's look at this glass again: An event happens which cause the glass to fall to the ground and break apart into pieces. But, what if it falls and only cracks? Or breaks into two large pieces that can be glued back together?

Where is she going with this damn glass?

The glass is of course you and I and the floor, well...the floor is quite literally rock bottom. We are useful at times in our lives, events cause us to fall and sometimes we break apart.

One of those events in life happened this morning. And though I heard the glass break beneath me, one of the loudest crashes I've ever heard, I was surprised when I opened my eyes to see not a million tiny shards of glass, but rather something reusable.

Breaking glasses is inevitable. Mistakes are made, people make choices, things fall apart only enough to fall back together again. Sometimes, that glass wasn't meant to be a glass. OK, maybe it was meant to be a glass but I wasn't. These events that have happened and keep happening to me are driving me in a new direction. It's been a tough year to say the least, complete with looming health problems, job woes, and confidence issues.

I'm still not broken though. I'm still here, with maybe a little less money in my pocket, but with more determination than ever to be what I was supposed to be: a writer. Yes, I'm a writer now and I have been, but I mean a real writer. Someone who writes and publishes her *own* work.

So me, and my slightly cracked body will retire to my laptop, combing through contacts and people I've networked with to try and help me figure this all out. After all, there are many glasses in the cupboard- they all don't have to break.

earth to bella part 1 (earth to meredith)

2008-10-22T15:28:00.001-05:00

Earth to Bella
you think you've got it all figured in
Earth to Bella
everything you know is wrong
well, almost

Earth to Bella
i see where you are not listening
I bear the burden
of being the voice the lets you know
we all grow old
and before you swim you've gotta be ok
to sink

Earth to Bella
The world can be an unfriendly place
so hold your head up
do your best to save some face
its not so hard
just undo yourself and see the second sun
and say

Ok to sink , I'm Ok to sink
Ok to sink

-Incubus

Oh. There You Are. And Here I Am.

2008-10-22T09:01:00.002-05:00

Here look, can you see it? See that dot on the map there? That's me. Yeah, I'm in the "Just out of college, trying to make my own path in the world" area. Sort of in between "Already regretting career path" and "Finally being an adult" areas.

See that dot? Yeah, that one way above mine? That's you. You're in the "Well on your way to a successful life" in between "Just made the biggest purchase of my life" and "Career goals are finally coming to fruition" areas.

***

One lousy comment made over dinner can really put things into perspective. The smallest remark made in jest wasn't so funny after all. I awoke this morning, after discussing, no debating....no arguing! over this comment. It's hard for me to verbalize things sometimes. I either get so upset I say mean things that I don't mean, or I can never really spit out what I should be saying and only end up confusing myself and those around me.

I'm not a planner. I'm a dreamer. I dream all day long, out windows and windshields, during sleep, before sleep, after sleep....I dream. It's fantasy and slightly insane, I realize, but hey, I can't deny that I was the girl at 6 with imaginary dinner parties and shows on Broadway (I would perform CATS and Phantom in my room to a sold out audience of stuff animals).

Anyway, so I dream. I think of things that may happen in the future or dream up short story plots and characters that will probably never grace the pages of my notebook.

Dreaming is troublesome because it has no guarantees. As much as I want to see my dot in the "Just signed a book deal" area, it's nowhere near there. I'm nowhere near where I want to be, where he is, hell, maybe even where my parents want me to be.

So instead, I folded clothes in the dark while arguing, trying to put everything in its right place.

***

Dots, dishes, comments, clothes - these are all abstract. They don't mean anything in the real world. Just my world. And now I'm left in both worlds wondering what's next. I've never felt this bad after an argument with my boyfriend before. Can't be a good sign.

PersonalDNA

2008-10-15T14:32:00.001-05:00

I suppose.

things that i heart.

2008-10-14T16:45:00.003-05:00

strawberry chapstick
sour cherry hello kitty candies
stars
special k red berries
new episodes of House
purple nailpolish
serena ryder
chocolate shakes from burger house
domo
being called doodle
new hello kitty pj's
plastic stud earrings
queen ann necklines
my green scarf
gloomy weather
sugar free red bull (only at room temperature)
tiny kisses
half of alan's pb&j sandwich at midnight
pinot noir
red toenails
in rainbows
oversized rings
mona lisa
my grey jetta
outdoor concerts
margaritas
dreaming loud
dancing in grocery aisles
hot showers on cold days
hatha yoga
peanut butter frozen yogurt
tiny valentine's cards
lolcats
giggling
riding in cars
breakfast tacos
more stars
sparkles
sprinkles
cupcakes
trips to the lake
baby faces
miles davis
Shakespearean sonnets
pez dispensers
tour d'effiel
swimming pools
beaches
sno cones
super mario brothers
big blankets
hearts
rain
long hugs
bagel and lox
poetry
painting
watercolors
candles
snowglobes from not-so-popular cities
chocolate labs
dark chocolate!
family
friends
alan
love
laughter

2008-10-13T17:14:00.000-05:00

he's home again. <3

Olivier - Olive Tree

2008-10-08T14:24:00.001-05:00

Painted in Memory of a Friend Lost to AIDS.

Where You Used To Be

2008-10-08T14:07:00.000-05:00

Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world, which I find myself constantly walking around in the daytime, and falling in at night. I miss you like hell. ~Edna St. Vincent Millay

Where you used to be
On the couch
Driving in your car
By my side

Where you used to be
Standing in the kitchen
Asking if I needed water
Telling me about your day

Where you used to be
Lying on your side
Watching me pretend to sleep
Counting our breaths

Where you used to be
At my front door
Eating at my table
Laughing at my jokes

Where you used to be
That’s where I am now
That’s where I will stay
Until you come home
And be at the places where you used to be
With me.

stars

2008-10-04T11:11:00.000-05:00

Stars
In your multitudes
Scarce to be counted
Filling the darkness
With order and light
You are the sentinels
Silent and sure
Keeping watch in the night
-les mis

Tiny Yums

2008-10-03T16:12:00.003-05:00

I've changed my myspace and twitter to reflect my new found adoration for all star-shaped candies:

I think it's because I love stars, and lets face it, I love candy too. Now I just need to find these guys at a candy store. I found a Canadian website that would sell me a whole lbs. of these little cuties, but I really don't EVER need a lbs. of candy. Ever.

My style

2008-10-01T15:05:00.000-05:00

Just add some leggings and a pair of tattered old converse shoes and that's me.

Starting Anew

2008-09-29T10:57:00.002-05:00

I learned a new writing method/process this weekend. Instead of sitting and staring at a blank screen or page, I am to start writing lists. Lists of points that I want to write about, anything that comes to mind.

Then, I'd put that list away and start my beginning, my barebones prose, and then the end. Review the list, cross off what I don't need, and then write. Write. Write. Write.

I painted a lot this weekend. I'm almost finished with a piece for the upcoming art show benefiting an AIDS non-profit in Lake Charles. I also started a bizarre painting that I'm not sure if I'll like yet. Just one of those things. I need to head back to Michael's and pick up some more paint, some shiny varnish stuff, and some more canvases. Painting has been enjoyable for me in the past and I am not sure why I gave it up except that my patience wears thin when I mess up something and have to start again.

The Chemist will be home in less than 2 weeks. Mom's coming in town this weekend. Can't really complain about this time apart because even though I get to talk to him for 5-10 min. a day, at least I get to talk to him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder anyway, right?

I'll post some more pictures of paintings in progress. Comments are encouraged!

First painting.

2008-09-28T19:06:00.001-05:00

On the Eve of Creation

2008-09-26T14:39:00.003-05:00

Tomorrow I will attend a writing workshop that will hopefully give me advice, guidance, and support to start a rather large, ambitious project. I'm excited to finally embark on this journey and see what I can create in this class. I'm anxious of course, I'm always a bit anxious.

But I am realizing that I have important stories to tell, important ones about my past, my upbringing, and my family dynamic which has molded me into the woman and writer I am today.

Now, if I could just narrow down my objective...

It's only been a week....

2008-09-24T23:00:00.003-05:00

...and I really miss him already. Not like, incapacitated with misery or anything. Just miss him. Walking in my apartment in the evenings. Smiling. Big hugs. Things I promised I'd never take for granted and clearly do. Here's to 3ish more weeks of missing him.

"Waiting for your call, I'm sick, call I'm angry
call I'm desperate for your voice
Listening to the song we used to sing...
...and this solitary moment makes me want to come back home..." - Secondhand Serenade

2008-09-24T11:34:00.001-05:00

more animals

odd. free flowing thoughts in a bad mood.

2008-09-23T11:43:00.003-05:00

am i rare?
raw meat.
am i odd enough?
to compete.
am i strange?
squeaky feet
am i weak?
can't sleep.
am i hopeless?
can't weep.
am i creative?
not enough.

four-eyes

2008-09-22T18:37:00.001-05:00

How comfortable is too comfortable?

2008-09-22T14:27:00.000-05:00

You know, when you're dating someone for several months, and you start to slowly phase out of the kissy-wissy-honeymoon phase and into a "real relationship" that unbuttoning the top of your pants might be one step above taking them off while watching TV while your hand is hiding in a curious place.

I have consciously tried to leave the figurative top button unbuttoned and only that top button simply because it is my honest belief that when you get too comfortable, too soon, the relationship will end. And not just end with a *poof! let's see other people, OK bye!* end, but a long, tedious, and rather awful end. The Chemist and I are comfortable. We no longer get weird about having the other one over for dinner (the kind of weird that makes you so nervous you can't eat so you just push food around and watch your girlfriend chow down because she is a self-admitted emotional eater...yeah).

But, I do still make an effort to make good food, have a clean apt, fix my hair, and set a nice table for The Chemist. And I think he likes to take me out and be a gentleman still, placing his hand on the small of my back as we enter doorways and holding my hand across the table as we wait for our order to be taken.

There are several things that I will never do in front or beside Alan and I'm sure he has a list of things he wouldn't do in front of me. But, it's not just gross or personal actions that make a couple "too comfortable". It's the times when there's nothing really left to talk about, besides some TV show you watched on Fox or how excited you were to buy cheese on sale. There's times when going to bed without really a kiss or a hug goodnight is ok because you are both tired and maybe a little annoyed.

I wonder if this is happening to me now. Hard to tell since The Chemist is away, but I wonder if we're reaching the point of no comfortable return? When I talk to him, is he looking into my eyes or just "at" me? When I walk into a room of crowded people, am I still the only person there?

I'd like to think so. Hope so. Know so? I don't know. I talk too much; who knows if he's really listening? Hell, I'd tune myself out after a point.

He's probably going to read this and think I'm way off base, but here's some food for thought: (yes, more food)

-Earlier in the year I wrote about how love should be comfortable- how you should fit together with that other person like a puzzle piece instead of getting all nervous and weird. It's because that person is familiar, not too familiar, and it is a comfort to know that they are around.

-As I move out of the honeymoon phase (which I think I did about a month ago) I'm starting to gain some identity in this relationship as I branch out in meeting new people, creating new "stuff", etc.

So, there's a nice rant for the day. And I promise for this entire entry, I had my top button securely fastened.

Oh Where Oh Where has my Chemist Gone?

2008-09-18T22:02:00.003-05:00

So The Chemist arrived in CA today for a super secret mission for work. He'll be there for a few weeks, leaving me to my own devices: sleep, reading, writing, and trying hard not to substitute carbs for my boyfriend.

Here's to sleeping on the entire bed, no one to share the remote with, and lonely Sunday nights. Woo.

Am I Shameful or Shameless? A Meditation on my Writing Process

2008-09-18T12:54:00.002-05:00

I have so many things at work to write and edit today. It's the life of the copywriter isn't it? You write and re-write, and hope you're meeting your target audience on the next re-write. I enjoy it. I enjoy building things and having them renovated only to increase their value. Essay flipping. I'm a machine some days. I churn out the copy on a conveyor belt for people to pick up, examine, put back into the factory to clean up or in packaging to send out to the next website, media outlet, t-shirt- you name it.

I am methodical. I am religious - words are my prayers and strung together I am chanting out blog postings, press releases, email blasts... I am always tired and ready to power down by 5:30 p.m. I rarely malfunction and put out flawed copy unless my mind is occupied with something else or I just can't seem to get a grasp on what "they" are looking for.

I am not this kind of writer at home. I am the kind that sits and broods, drinks wine and eats too much for dinner only to complain some more about how uncomfortable I am, how I just don't seem to belong in this vast world, and how tired my eyes are by 10 p.m. I make excuses for not writing enough. I cry when I read books I could have written better. I lose sight of my goals and watch TV instead. I am pathetic. I am confused. I am a blog away from deletion and starting over with a more exotic name and face. I wish to wear redder lipstick, have darker hair, be more mysterious and poetic at dinner parties. Maybe I should have a signature drink. Or a word.

Or maybe I should wake up on Sundays as the machine, and write like I would the next day and the day after that, and the day after that, until it's Friday and I'm aching for a glass of red wine and good conversation.

Or maybe I should ache for something more substantial. Like a book deal.

1983.

2008-09-16T09:44:00.001-05:00

25. Yeah.

My Mind

2008-09-15T11:26:00.001-05:00

My mind is either like this:

or:

Women Against Sarah Palin

2008-09-12T10:16:00.003-05:00

http://womenagainstsarahpalin.blogspot.com/

Go here because it is important not only to the women of America, but all Americans. Go here because we must stand up against this woman who is not fit to run our country. Go here if you were a Hilary supporter, like I am, and feel ripped off.

A Letter to Myself

2008-09-10T18:57:00.005-05:00

Dear Meredith,

Before you turn 25 this upcoming Tuesday, you might want to reflect on the last 24 years. After all, it's been a quarter of a century, and you owe it to yourself to figure out how the hell you got where you are today.

The first four are hazy memories of snowmans in a Jersey winter, acrobats with dad, pink hair rollers, and Sesame Street. Your parents always told you that you were a happy baby, a frighteningly intelligent baby- an old soul.

The next four were warm summers spent playing dolphin in the pool in Los Angeles, meeting new friends, playing dress up with Jennifer, and Mom's snacks. You learned the entire score of Les Mis and Phantom and sang it at the top of your 5-year-old lungs. You got your first dog, Wendy, a wild, sweet dog whose personality in a way mimics yours: stubborn, excited, and loyal. You were a ballerina in a pink leotard. Oh,and of course, the divorce. You can't forget that.

from 8 until 12, you were forever changed. You were a mini adult, forced to understand very grown up problems at a very young age. You excelled at school, especially in Art and English, but started to fear your competition and started not working at your potential. You still played with Barbies. Some. You wrote books in colored pencil. You sang. You were a ballerina in a black leotard, the class right before toe, and quit. You started playing piano instead of piercing your ears and at your 11th birthday party you threw your one and only punch at someone. In acts of defiance, you modified your school uniform, failed math tests, and starred as Lady Macbeth, learning the power of an influential and damaged woman.

At 13 you started the 8th grade. The girls made fun of your Wet n' Wild drugstore make-up and so you begged your mom to take you to the M-A-C counter for expensive lipstick. You sang in the choir. You were not popular. Seth had a crush on you, and all you cared about was that boy that never payed you any attention. The rest of high school is more of the same: boys who never knew the real you, girls who made fun of you, Seth still had a crush on you, and you were a Cheerleader. You danced your heart out on the field, and wrote your heart out in English class. You fell in love with Shakespeare. And Truman Capote. You sang at the high school musical and won a drama award. It didn't matter that you hated your body because in the end, it was the prettiest it's ever been and you know that now. Grandpa died when you were 14 and forever changed how you viewed the world.

You stopped eating meat at 17. You spent that summer trying to find out who you were and ended up more lost by the fall. So You moved to New Orleans at 18 and met Renee, Scott, Sigma Kappa, and your intolerance for "well Tequila." Aunt May passed away and you still regret not calling her as much as you should have when you went to college. At 19, you stumbled into the newsroom, wide-eyed and naive to the pressures of running a publication, but you ran it anyway. You wrote your heart out again, in class and at the paper, like it was your job because it was. You became the editor at 20. You fell in love again with a man who never loved you. Your heart was broken for the first time at 21, or was it 22? when you finally said good-bye to him. At 21, you went to France and found the meaning in life through history, art, and of course writing. You drank the reddest wines and sang at the top of your lungs in Parisian hotel rooms. You felt beautiful no matter what those pictures captured.

At 23 you lost that meaning for life you found in Montpellier as you struggled to figure out why a hurricane took life as you knew it away. You wrote. And wrote. And became a poet. A writer. A woman. An angry soul. You spent class after class with a grudge against someone or something. You started video gaming, an escape you'll later regret. You worked for the relief effort. You gained a lot of weight. You lost a lot of weight. You met a boy online you thought could change your world, but instead, he hurt you worse than that other guy did. You spent most of that year slowly mourning the loss of your grandma's mind, and still do to this day.

At 24, you were desperate to graduate college, and you did after countless hours studying Milton, and writing about your life on the couch. You adopted a tiny chiuaua and named her Mimi. You checked your email often. Too often. He sent you emails and chocolates and a plane ticket to Austin. You met a great love in your life, Alan, and to his credit he made your 24th year brighter. And perhaps, through love, and moving to Austin, and writing, and writing, and writing some more, you've started to find meaning again for life. Started to, anyway.

You are going to be 25 now. Another year older. Another year to change your hair. To travel. To drink wine. To cook. To love. To make love. To dream. To breathe and keep breathing. To sing at the top of your lungs in your humble Austin apartment. And of course, you have one more year to write.

and write

and write

and write.

Notebook Scribbled Poem

2008-09-08T14:45:00.001-05:00

While waiting for a meeting....

Petal

"If our love were but a flower,
I would pick the brightest one;
Sweet pink or bright red in color,
Thriving beneath the sun.
And if that flower were to someday die,
Alone in a drought’d vase,
I’d hang that flower up to dry,
And preserve the memory of your face."

The Coolest Paper Doll Ever.

2008-09-05T13:25:00.001-05:00

http://www.cubeecraft.com/

Taking a Break

2008-09-04T16:29:00.002-05:00

As you can tell, I have barely been keeping this blog up to date. I'm taking a small break to attend to my many commitments in my life, and will post small updates occasionally.

As for the podcast, I will resume recording the Podcast this weekend and will put out a few episodes in the coming weeks.

Also, my website will be undergoing a major overhaul within the next few weeks.

Thanks,

Meredith

More Chipped Nail Polish; More Procrastination

2008-08-26T13:06:00.002-05:00

I think that I should start taking drugs for A.D.D. because I'm clearly too all over the place to get anything done.
I even procrastinate writing out the list of things that I need to do. I think it's because I spend too much time "awfulizing" and not enough time reassuring myself.

I'm cranky today. Disheartened. Low.
Bleh.

Breathing

2008-08-22T15:18:00.001-05:00

Work is busy. Life is busy.
Mini Oreos are appeasing my hormones.
MUST PODCAST THIS WEEKEND
MUST WRITE REVIEW FOR FRIEND'S BLOG
MUST OPTIMIZE 3WOMEN!

sigh.

Play Pretend

2008-08-19T10:12:00.003-05:00

This morning at 5 a.m. I decided to pretend that I was asleep.
I'm not very good at pretending because I toss and turn and I tend to let my eyes fall open instead of pretending to remain closed.
And then there's my sighing and erratic breathing blowing my cover.
Speaking of the covers- I am always too warm or too cold and so reaching up to push them away or pull them over me isn't helping my sleep act.
I pretend to dream.
I pretend to see other worldly pictures in my mind, shining, saturated with color;
perhaps they are pictures of flowers or long, skinny blades of grass.
This doesn't help.
I pretend to recite a few rosary beads in my head without another thought interrupting
"Hail Mary full of grace...I wonder if I'll have time after work for a nap?...the Lord is with thee..."
How ridiculous.

Around 6:25 I am exhausted from pretending. I finally stop, and fall asleep.
5 minutes later the alarm clock plays an obnoxious song in my ear.
I pretend to rebel and begin pounding the snooze button in my mind while I lay there incapable of getting out of bed and when I finally do get out, I protest in whines and pouts.
I pretend I am a child who wants to get her way back underneath the now perfectly tempered sheets and fall back to sleep to meet with the real, tall blades of grass under her dreaming feet.

Instead, I'll pretend to be awake.

I'm such a ham...

2008-08-16T16:43:00.004-05:00

Someone should take my camera phone away when I'm bored.

2008-08-16T10:11:00.002-05:00

Just a note: No more "mirror" or x-blogging. So, with that said, please support

3 Women

Freshman Revisited: Don’t Throw me Beads

2008-08-15T14:38:00.000-05:00

cross blogged: 3women

Revisiting my freshman year of college in my mind brought me to a startling scene of a girl jolted into the transition into a woman. I had fun during that first Mardi Gras, the one with Renee and the giggling, despite disappointments over the discovery of my crush’s girlfriend, a girl he had only mentioned during the Lundi Gras festivities in the French quarter while he literally carried me down bourbon street. This one man, possibly from Middle Eastern decent, had grabbed my right breast in a fit of arousal and intoxication. I found myself suddenly surrounded by these men, helpless, and wondering what other awkward part of my body they would try to grasp, until I was hoisted up in the air by familiar arms, my hero and crush.

I had no practical reasons for finding this man attractive. He was a republican, and I am still near green to this day. His father was a successful lawyer, probably a real asshole, who had defended some lousy scum bags. He wore glasses that made him look like a board member of a tech company. His hair was wiry and ash blonde, his skin an uneven tone of pale and plotted with reminders of adolescence. By no means should he have been the object of my 18-year-old –California-Girl affections but he was. And perhaps, for the first time, did I start to feel the pangs of desire that young women feel when they finally start to become a woman.

Or was it just the excessive amount of drive-thru Daiquiri that I was consuming? In any case, nothing happened, just a strong clasp of arms around my waist, carrying me until there was a break in the crowd, where he then set me down next to a pile of Mardi Gras waste, vomit, pee, and beer. Hardly the romantic scene. He told me that he had to carry his girlfriend out of places like that before. I told him that I didn’t know he had a girlfriend to which he replied a simple, “7 years”, like they had 2 kids and a white picket fence.

So why did this memory suddenly come to mind the other day? I’ve wondered that myself, frankly. That was probably one of the first times in my life where I was confronted with what I felt was the brutal and disgusting truth of raw, male desire. My first instinct should have been to run, run far away from the crowds, or maybe even refused to walk down Bourbon Street. My curiosity lead me down to watch the hundreds and thousands of people behave in bizarre ways, wearing outlandish costumes, or in some cases, nothing at all.

This wasn’t the kind of Mardi Gras I had seen in photos when my mother was a girl. My grandparents, just starting to show the signs of aging in their face, my mother’s round, cherub cheeks, and my aunt’s stunning blue eyes all peered out from adorable cat costumes while waiting for the parades to start. They looked so happy in those costumes that day, a memory that I’ve held onto tightly for my grandma, and an honor I hold closely for my late grandfather and aunt.

But there were no adorable cat costumes or cherub-like faces that night, just the faces of the drunken folks who peeled pieces of their clothes off to expose wretched parts of their bodies. It’s not that I’m against nudity, or partying, or even Mardi Gras in general, though in recent years I have expressed my distaste in Fat Tuesday, it’s just that I was 18 and I didn’t know any better.

Now as I approach my mid –twenties, several years later with experiences, stories, and realities under my belt, I suppose that I was the most naïve girl who was ever carried down Bourbon St., or, at the very least, in that moment I was.

Best of the Worst Writing in the World

2008-08-14T09:11:00.002-05:00

The Chemist just sent me a link to the CNN article:

Worst Writing

Amazing.

Take me Back to the Mardi Gras

2008-08-13T16:33:00.000-05:00

cross blogged on 3women

Lying on the hard, cold linoleum floor with my legs propped up on the couch, I started to close my eyes and drift away to the music on the radio. Renee laid haphazardly beside me to my right, sipping on a wine cooler and smiling to herself as if she had the best kept secret in the world. The boys were somewhere else. Can’t remember if they went to buy food or more beer, or attend a parade.

I let my 18 year old fingers slide in and out of my jean belt hooks, tracing the
indents of my skin from my hips pressing up against my jeans. I hadn’t slept that night, I don’t think. Lundi Gras had melted into Mardi Gras, and our heads just felt heavy and gras after all the drinking, laughing, and sleeplessness. But we didn’t care. We spent that entire weekend giggling and staying up late, the sort of thing that young girls do in college. Renee would get sudden bursts of energy and suggest pillow fights, or running around on the cold grass.

And as we lay there, her sudden surge suggested that we clean the boys’ house as a surprise. I rolled over, looked around and noticed that the house was indeed messed by empty bottles of drinks, food wrappers, and other miscellaneous evidence of partying. I agreed because I was ashamed of the havoc we had wreaked. As we cleaned, we giggled, and as we giggled, we swatted each other’s arms with rags in a playful, elementary school way. It was like I was a girl again, not the young adult I was becoming, and the young adult I wasn’t ready to be.

So here we were, young girlfriends trying to impress boys we pretended not to like, in color little t-shirts, dancing to songs on the radio. And here I am now, some 6 years later, with merely a shadow of my girlish behavior remaining. That young Meredith would have never fretted about utility bills, gas prices, or even how she wore her hair and if that day ever came, she would be thirty-something and living somewhere fabulous.

When you’re 18, you feel invincible. Your hair is always pretty no matter where or if you slept. Your lights are always turned on. Someone is always driving you to the next place to hang out. You sing loudly to the radio with a girlfriend in your favorite jeans that only fit teenage hips. There is no twenty-something. There is no twenty-something because that’s the end of irresponsible youthfulness and the beginning of your life path as a dependable and perhaps often depressed adult. Or is it?

I failed to mention that Renee was 5 years older than I was at the time of my first Mardi Gras mayhem. She was a twenty-something, and instead of shedding her teenage persona, she had found a balance between the two. Giddy happiness is something that I don’t allow myself to have anymore as I approach my mid-twenties. I’m sure that it doesn’t have to be that way. I’m sure I can stay awake until the sun comes up again instead of keeping my 10:30 p.m. bedtime.

I’m sure I can sing to the radio wearing unmentionables and laughing like a silly, young girl. I could probably even get away with drinking a little too much, smiling a little too big, and finding the best secret to keep away from the world, the same one that Renee kept, and still probably keeps to this day.

A Darker Shade of Brown

2008-08-11T18:13:00.002-05:00

So, I accidentally left the dye on too long this time. It's not as dark as a "nearly black" or a "Gosh is that girl depressed or what?" brown...but it's close.
And honestly, I think it's about what my natural color is, so in a way, I'm very comfortable being this dark.

Yes, I know. I should post a picture. But you know me, camera shy and overly critical. Which is why over the past several days, I've spent time rethinking my post about dieting and rocket science. I guess I'm doing more things wrong off the plate than I am on it. Though "scott" was right about the diet soda thing- it's a terrible habit.

What I want, more than a tinier waistline or perfect hair is to be able to take that picture of me, and really like it. Look at other photos of me and not shy away or pick out all my imperfections that the general public doesn't see. Talking like this, you'd think I'd have some sort of a body disorder...but I assure you, it's just a part of being a twenty-something-year-old woman in 2008. I listened to a twenty-something in my office proclaim that she is too fat, though I'm pretty sure she has one of the best bodies I've ever seen.

Anyway, hair's darker and still smells of dye. My hairdresser will kill me. Oh well, it's cheap and easy this way.

Grandma's Veggie Quiche

2008-08-09T20:51:00.001-05:00

Quiche

Veggie quiche from my grandma's recipe box. It's incredibly tasty.

2008-08-08T14:31:00.001-05:00

tree branch by my office 1
my eyelid 0

Things that I would like to have/do/make this weekend

2008-08-08T12:45:00.002-05:00

my roots dyed
soups and tomato sauce
a few glasses of wine
work on food blog
podcast
get a new pair of shoes
swim
lie idle with the chemist while he twirls my hair
more yoga
less on the verge of tears
clean my apartment
sleep soundly
dream less
worry even less
breathe more

Another Interesting Dream

2008-08-07T13:59:00.002-05:00

I'm sitting on the dock of my Grandmother's pier.
Someone's with me; a childhood classmate who antagonized me as a child.
He's going through files- documents outlining my life.
Successes and failures, he accidentally drops news clippings in the water.
I being to forget my past.
He smiles as the wet papers sink.
I laugh because I know I'll be empty soon, brand new.

Magical Moving Truck

2008-08-06T10:05:00.003-05:00

I just happened to be driving by this gas station near my house when all of a sudden, something wonderful and magical happened! I saw a Unicorn!

Well, not a real Unicorn but still, that's a pretty awesome moving truck.

Rocket Science is Easier than Dieting

2008-08-05T10:00:00.002-05:00

After watching several documentaries with The Chemist on space travel, the laws of physics, mathematical equations that have taken hundreds of years to solve- I'm starting to get a grasp on these sciency things that intimidated me so much all throughout school. I may not be able to actually "do" the math, but I can say that I know the history of the atom bomb, why potassium and water are a bad mix, and how to debunk the conspiracy theorists on their fake moon-landing claims.

However, somehow I can't seem to understand how to stick to a "diet". I start out doing well: pro-biotic berry yogurt with some fruit and a big glass of water. I pack a nutritious, low fat lunch that I can enjoy quietly at my desk. I think up healthy dishes for dinner to eat at home or with The Chemist. And then...I drive past said bagel place or walgreens and figure that a diet soda would be a great way to wake up. And then someone brings in some treats to work and suddenly I find myself eating this treat....

And then lunch rolls around and I eat it and by 5:30 my stomach starts to rumble......and that box of cheezits (even if they are reduced fat) looks mighty tempting to me....and then dinner happens and it's anything but healthy because my energy level is so low (due to diet soda and treats) and I find myself in a black hole of diet doom.

Yes, Diet DOOM. My friends tell me that I'm nuts whenever I act dramatic and proclaim that I must lose 100 lbs (I'd be dead around pound 54) while my mom coaches me from Louisiana on how I should be shaving off about a pound or two a week.

It's no secret: I loathe my body. I see imperfections everywhere, like a lot of women my age. I haven't had a kid or anything- I just got really lazy and inactive when I went to college. 4 hours of dancing, 5 days a week turned into 4 hours of TV marathons and study groups, and poetry writing...cough....7 days a week. Writing is not really exercise is it?

I told The Chemist that I want to get more active and to eat better. I think he said, "Okay...." and kept watching TV. I'm not saying that I need him as a support system or anything. What I'm saying is I think he's taking me as seriously as I'm taking my "diet"...since I just ate a work donut and I'm drinking a diet coke. AND I HATE DONUTS!! That's the INSANE part of this.

I think it's a way for me to deal with stress. I'm going back to yoga tonight (Hatha), and hopefully I can just stop being so...awful? about things. I'm realistic about this in a way- I'm not looking to show my ribs or wear a size 0. I would just like to have my skinny skinny jeans nicely fit, and my skinny jeans (which kinda fit now) be a little big. That's it. No weighing myself. No food journaling. No diet pills. No starvation. Just eating 5 little, healthy meals like a good friend of mine suggested over a month ago (I'm so bad at this).

I mean, it can't be that hard right? Dieting isn't harder than rocket science....right? I think I flunked out of physics in college and had to take geology...yes LOOKING AT ROCKS. Ok...now I'm ranting.

They Will Always Find You in Dreams

2008-08-02T05:48:00.005-05:00

It's incredibly early on a Saturday morning, but whenever the mood strikes to write, I guess I should take it.

Have you ever wanted to tell something to that one someone who used to mean a lot to you but has since left your life? Look him/her in the eyes and tell them that you've moved on and that you're OK? Kick them in the chins and show them what they are missing out on?

Come on, we all do in some way or another.

And I, just did.

Well...kind of.

You see, because of my tendency to have flamboyant dreams, I just told the guy that caused me the most heart ache and strife back in college that I am OK. He's not the one that got away because, of course, I am happy and sound with The Chemist. And though I'd never say these things in real life, it was an interesting dream no less and I figured that I would share.

-I walked into this 1970's relic of a house, cozy but a little too Brady Bunch for my taste. There was something that reminded me that this was "his" house- maybe the pop art on the walls or the enormous tower of Kung Fu DVD's. What was I doing there? I had no business in his house. But I was waiting with him- waiting with 3 other women from my past who had always taught me to live my life to the fullest, no matter the consequences: Cait, Katie, and Renee.

They encouraged me to "do it". Go talk to him. Well, I was sitting on his couch- I guess maybe that would be breaking and entering...but I went looking for him anyway. And there he was: The way he looked was the same way he did the first day I met him, 4+ years ago. I know since that time, his look had changed drastically, but there he was, a little pudgey, beard, long hair, yeah...

"Hello, I, uh..."

"No, it's ok, I've been waiting for you."

"Oh...um...." (you know, for such an articulate woman, I sure stutter a lot in dreams)

"Please, sit...Just don't talk too loud, you might wake the baby."

Oh right, he's moved on too. Married with a child last I heard from the whispers of my mind. Lord knows if he has a baby or a wife or even a job, but in this dream he did. We all made small talk. I think he got a tattoo. I was better dressed than I was in college. Maybe I sold a book. He knew my work (how ideal is this?)

Renee, Cait, and Katie W. all were making jokes, keeping me afloat. We woke the baby with our giggles. She was fussy but I got to hold her. She looked like him with those narrow eyes and olive skin. I remembered The Chemist. I needed to get back to Alan. But I was on this dated couch with a baby made by a man I used to be so in....college love with?

There's a difference from that kind of love to today's kind of love. And who really knows if I was in love. The symptoms were turmoil, anger, sorrow, heart ache, and high passion- sounds like infatuation to me. But I digress....

Out came his wife: a small, dirty blonde haired artist who was tan, thin,and had an interesting face. It wasn't pretty, but she wasn't ugly- a somewhere in between.

"Oh, YOU'RE Meredith"

"Yes, yes I am"

"Well Shit MOM OKAY! Welcome"

"???"

"You know, from all the pictures I've seen, your face looks better with just your eyes. I didn't even recognize you. All those photos...they should really take a picture of your whole face..."

"Well, you know..wait my camera phone pictures? I do those artsy because..."

"Well, you shouldn't."

"Oh. OK. Yeah...um....here." I hand her the baby.

"I'm just saying, you know. What do you do? You a poet??

"Yes, I'm a writer. Poet. Something. I guess I need press photos of me for this upcoming..."

"Upcoming what? Oh 'him'! You didn't tell me she wrote a book?!"

He looked surprised himself. Maybe surprised that we were talking.
I asked her what she did and she waved her arm around the borders of the room and said , "This."

I missed The Chemist. The girls had left to get wine. I went on a walk but couldn't leave just yet. When I came back, I saw the three of them, happy in their hideously decorated home, but at least it was a home.

"Your family is beautiful, you know. I'm so very happy for you," I told him.

"Thanks. You know...I..."

"Don't. I'm very happy now. I'm giving birth to a book. I have a wonderful Chemist in my life. I do yoga now. I'm really OK."

"Oh. Well, that's good then..."

He looked small to me, like I had told him what he told me the last night that I saw him: "I don't love you, you know. I can never love you."

So here I am, awake 30 min. later. The Chemist is sleeping soundly and I am awake and wondering when these ghosts from my past will stop showing up in dreams. At least I'm able to confront these things and move on. I do feel an overwhelming sense of relief. And since my readers know how dangerous my inquisitive side is- I promise to keep my real life curiosities at bay on this one. :)

From the Outside

2008-08-01T12:23:00.000-05:00

Let’s say that you “know” someone. Maybe you’ve met them once or twice, or only heard of their name in passing conversations with mutual friends. You wouldn’t think of them on a daily basis- or even a weekly one either. You would pause and wait for your brain to place them at times, or even search for the memories of the appearance of their face the last time you encountered them in that place you don’t really remember.

You’re on the outside of their lives, standing on the perimeter. And then one day, perhaps, your mind trails off on a string of random thoughts:
Have to blog today…Wonder what I should write about…Should sign up with another social networking site…wonder how that one blog is doing that I read months ago…what was the name…oh yes…Greek Tragedy.

And so I searched for that one, particular blog, written by that one, particular Austin writer with the fiery, red curly hair and mischievous smile- the one whose husband I met with for a potential job back in May.

And when I started to read this blog, written by the woman who has crossed my mind on a weekly basis, or when I see her name in magazine book review articles, or crossing paths on bookstore shelves, I read the story of a husband and wife made vulnerable by a recent, devastating heart condition that has left him in the operating room, and her in the waiting room.

And I am still on the outside, aren’t I? Yes, I sat at their kitchen table and showed them the pieces of me that I am too self-conscious or chicken shit to get published. Yes, I heard her success story and rise to notoriety and closed my eyes to try and picture myself on book tours and signings. But still, I’m just one girl, I’m sure in a sea of many, that have crossed paths with them and I am joined by many who have expressed their worries, concerns, love, and support during their tough time.

I’ll take my place standing on the perimeter again, but I will be thinking of this family more often.

A Case of the Worries

2008-07-31T08:54:00.004-05:00

It's that time again: Bill Paying Time!

I want to believe that I am just being insane and silly when I worry about these things, but I can't. I'm truly convinced that things are worse than they are, making my side pain and overall body pain worse than it is...

I can barely sit in my desk chair this morning without wanting to go lie down under my desk for a little bit and just try to calm down- just get some relief. Sometimes it feels like my whole body is tensing up into a ball and it just won't stop clenching and tightening. You'd think I'd wear myself out in this state- but it only gets a little worse, until maybe I can lie down or go to sleep at night.

I don't really understand why the intensity of these anguished muscles keep increasing with every stressful task or worried thought, but it does. It certainly doesn't help at least- I won't go as far as to say that nerves are the cause of this pain. Some mornings I'm happy and relaxed and then a truck hits me and I'm longing for a bed to curl up in and sleep the day off.

And now that I'm in my office, I'm wondering if I'll have to go home today to do just that. And I really really hope not.

What to say

2008-07-30T09:25:00.002-05:00

Jeans are tight again.
Should be drinking more water.
Hair color is fading into auburn and I hate it.
Nail polish is chipping.
Bills are due very soon.
Worried about money.
Convinced I'll end up with a sign on the street selling oranges.
Can't find lucky, red/orange beaded bracelet.
Procrastinating on my laundry.
Waiting for my movies to show up in the mail on Netflix.
Waiting for Alan to frown upon my movies on Netflix.
Deflated after submission rejection.
Too Pansy to send out anything this week, though I should.
Need a stronger outlet.
Was promised by Alan that we'd go swimming this weekend.
Remembering to breathe.
Might need a "Breathe" tattoo on my arm like Alanis Morisette.
Alanis' other tattoo reads: "gentle".
Resigned myself over to some greater force than I.
Bought real cherry coke instead of Zero. Fuck.
Need to record more podcasts.
Want a muse. The Chemist is too important.
Missed the July Open Mic night. No reason.

What to say.....what to say......

2008-07-29T13:52:00.002-05:00

blinking cursor
makin' eyes at a blank document
across the room
cursor sends over a mixed drink
in a dixie cup
mouses click, keyboard ticks, eyes blink
revise, revise- those blinking eyes
revise, revise
blank document's not so blank anymore
with lines of life paragraphed and spell checked
cursor lies, cursor lies
opens a new blank document across town
has already met her mother
but will leave her by 5:30 p.m.

What's so brave about this new world?
Jarred babies on the xerox machine
near the water cooler of whispers
"did you see what she was wearing?"
"his wife left him last year..."
What's so proud about these structured environments
of faxes, emails, deadlines, and conference calls?
As if one could change the world with a single paper clip,
sitting on a half broken chair
facility services promised to replace three weeks ago.

Bad News: Poetry submission was not accepted after 3 months of editorial soup making. Le Sigh. All famous poets are not dead. Right?

corporate poetry

2008-07-28T13:41:00.003-05:00

as I eat these sour raspberries on my desk
reminded of summer days in encino, bright, hot
stepping out of that large pool with chlorinated, blond hair
hot pink bathing suit, reaching for the small plastic box
of red, delicious, fuzzy raspberries
that sat on the white table which my mother still needs me to dust.

I'm just sitting in this chair
you're keeping it from floating away
What's keeping my mind from floating away?
maybe a hat.

The Value of Things

2008-07-28T08:44:00.003-05:00

What's really important to a twenty-something?

Love? Money? Success? Social Life? Security? Sex?

I suppose it's probably all of the above. Who doesn't want love and money? It's common sense, I think. But, what happens when you have most of those things? When you have love, financial stability, and well on the "road" to success and you're still not happy? Does that make you a greedy, overly-ambitious twenty-something? Or are you just looking for something a little simpler?

Long gone are the days of getting excited over a 50cent trinket from a vending machine at the front of the grocery store. The Chemist and I went to the grocery to pick up some man shaving balm and, in our Sunday-night-antsy-and-restless-mood, decided that we needed some sort of a "something" to appease us until bedtime. Alan opted for Raspberries. My eyes traveled over to the gaudy vending machines of plastic crap and temporary, ugly tattoos and I remembered how excited I was to get something from one of those machines, not very long ago.

Ok, maybe a hair over ten years ago- but in the grand scheme of things, ten years is kind of a drop in the bucket.

I joked to Alan, asking him to win me one of those cheaply made stuffed animals, and he gave me the "one-eyebrow-raised-whatever" look he gives the television set when a bad commercial comes on. I wasn't serious. Well, maybe a little, but only because for the last ten years, I've been trying to appease myself with other things.
Maybe sticking to a stuffed animal would have kept me out of trouble.

Of course, realizing my immature longing for a trinket out of a damn vending machine in HEB, I started to realize what the most important thing was. It wasn't the berries or the fresh air that finally calmed my nerves, but rather it was the fact that I could go to the store, walk around holding hands and joking with Alan about those stuffed animals like the ones that used to adorn my bedroom all those years ago.

It's the simple fact that in spending just a few moments, joking, smiling, and laughing, you can transform your mood from a worried, panic-stricken twenty-something (worried about bills, bank statements, car payments, gas prices, food gouging, calorie counting....need I go on?) to a relaxed, healthy mindset.

Now, if only I can remember to lighten up before I get so tightly wound that I'm convincing myself that I'm a big failure. Such a waste of energy I think.

Stunned by Taser Guns

2008-07-25T21:33:00.002-05:00

Over the last couple of years, and especially the last several months, photos and videos featuring innocent victims lying in the fetal position while authorities stand over them, with a taser gun in hand. This week alone, I've read two separate articles, and watched a 66-year-old man on the early show- all victims of police brutality.

I asked The Chemist what he thought about these taser attacks, and he and I both agree: the use of tasers are excessive and unnecessary.

While drying my hair this morning, I watched a surveillance video of a 66-year-old man being dragged out of a hospital by several security guards armed with tasers. While lying on the ground, the continued to kick him and frankly, it was appalling. I flashed back to being a little girl, sitting on my den couch watching that infamous Rodney King video. When is this sort of brutality going to end? Do these "cops" really think that they can get away with misusing their taser guns?

I guess they do, because essentially, they are. These guns are problematic, and have been responsible for at least 70 deaths: http://www.cbsnews.com/stories/2004/10/12/earlyshow/main648859.shtml

It's really a shame, I think. I grew up with the notion, even though I grew up with the L.A. riots on my TV, that the police and authorities are good people. Of course, after all the news reports of police brutality, and living in New Orleans for 5 years and change, I can't say that I still have faith in the force.

This isn't a blog speaking out against all cops. I'm just curious to know why taser guns are making so many headlines lately...

Anyway, back to my bad reality, Friday night TV. I'm sure there will be a feature on about taser gun dangers.

Who gives a Tweet?

2008-07-24T08:58:00.000-05:00

http://twitter.com/meredith_m

Oh that's right...I caved.

2008-07-22T09:24:00.000-05:00

There's one sad truth in life I've found
While journeying east and west -
The only folks we really wound
Are those we love the best.
We flatter those we scarcely know,
We please the fleeting guest,
And deal full many a thoughtless blow
To those who love us best.

~Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Adult Body, Teenage Moodswings

2008-07-18T16:01:00.002-05:00

Am I alone on this, girls? Today, as I sat working on the food blog, I started to tense up and get really really angry. Yes my connection on the laptop is a litle slow, but really, it's nothing to get this mad about. I'm brewing with anger today and I don't really have a real reason as to why.

Except that my hormones could be to blame...

I went swimming to try and literally pound the water and pound some of this anger out but a strange man came in the pool area and let's just say I've watched way too many Lifetime movies to stick around. So here I am, face to face with my blog, in a towel, dripping still with anger.

Nothing really happened today to bring this on, and sometimes nothing really happens to bring the sadness on. I'm starting to feel like I'm 15 again to be honest- and I didn't like being 15 then so I sure as hell don't like it now. I'm thinking that my hormones are ruling my mood and my brain and it's making me a little tired to have such bursts of angry, intense rage.

If it's not hormones, then what could it be? Am I eating foods that are giving me too much energy or stimulation and I'm transferring that into anger? I'm not really sure to be honest. Besides having a drink, I can't really calm down at this present time so I think I might return to punching pillows and maybe I'll head back out for another swim in that over chlorinated pool which is starting to feel like slime on my skin. Lovely.

oo look it's a podcast!

2008-07-17T12:44:00.000-05:00

It'll be up on iTunes this afternoon! (hopefully)

My New Girl Crush

2008-07-16T21:26:00.003-05:00

Serena Ryder:

Caesura

2008-07-16T14:50:00.003-05:00

It's a natural pause or break in a sentence like, this.
I am

a writer.

I have to think in that natural pause or break. I have to think long and hard if I am, by definition, a writer.

The word writer is dated pre 12th century and is "one who writes". Is it one who writes for something, though? For art's sake? For money? For posterity? What is a writer?

I think it was Rilke who said you are a writer if you go to bed thinking of writing and wake up thinking of writing. Is it the same if I wake up thinking of where my life is going as a writer and go to bed wondering the same thing? Or am I supposed to be thinking about actually sitting down and writing something of publishable quality?

So, I have a secret. Well, two actually. The first one is that my new greatest fear in life is that writing is just a hobby for me and that I'll never realize my goals and aspirations. Self-confidence issue? Probably. I'm convinced that no one like my singing and acting so I left the stage behind. I'm convinced that no one will like my cooking so I'm having second thoughts about making my food blog work. I'm convinced that I will pigeonhole myself into this person that I'm not- a "less than Meredith".

My other secret is that I think I'm ready, despite all my doubting, my sorrows, my fears, and my worries, to start making early drafts for a book. I'm tired of taking that natural pause, which really is an unnatural one for me, in between I am and "a writer." Iamawriter. Iamawriter. IAMAWRITER.

I am a writer and I'm starting my book. I am a writer and all I want is to create. I am a writer who likes to read a lot instead of sleep on her couch midday.

That should be my mantra. No more Caesura for me, unless it's to take a calming breath to ease my nerves and excitement. A healthy pause or break.

Lethargy.

2008-07-15T19:07:00.003-05:00

It's my day-ruiner and comforting blanket. Lethargy has made it too easy to waste time and not accomplish my to-do list for the day. I don't know why it comes over me like a dark cloud hanging in the sky, but I guess I'm a poor predictor of my own forecast.
I say it's my energy, the anemia, my hormones...maybe it's my mood swings or sorrow that creeps up on me some days. I'm not really sure. I promised myself I'd get 4 things done. At least I got one done, but that's still not good enough. I even fought waking up this morning.
Tomorrow is the day. Tomorrow I have to get things done.

2008-07-15T10:38:00.000-05:00

Napa and San Francisco

Dinner's Ready!

2008-07-12T15:04:00.001-05:00

http://merefoodie.wordpress.com/

There it is. Still under heavy construction but hey, at least I made one! :/

Sleep finally caught up to me...

2008-07-11T17:00:00.001-05:00

..I slept most of this afternoon. :(
Now I'm groggy and slightly achy. Wonderful!

The funny thing about sleep...

2008-07-11T03:33:00.002-05:00

...is that one can feel really sleepy around 10 p.m. and then wide awake at 3 a.m. due to some creative essay ideas and minor heartburn. So, here I sit, in a very, very dark room with my dimly illuminated laptop screen before me typing what I will only later discern as jibberish in the morning.
I've even logged into AIM in search of other sleepless friends, but I don't think that I am in luck.

Well, I've been lazy or distracted and haven't posted excerpts of the journal from the Napa trip. I have combed through it and I've decided to only post two excerpts and continue re-writing the rest on my own for possible publication. Travelogues are interesting to me and easy for me to write simply because I love to travel and see new things. I think that really in order to write something decent, you have to really like what you're writing about- the place you traveled to; a person of interest you encountered; an unforgettable meal that lingered on the palette- those sorts of things.

I think I like telling stories though. Stories about chasing buses in Montpellier, France or eating the loveliest bowl of spaghetti in Venice- or even admiring the strangeness and the excitement in Harvard station while waiting in line for a very tasty, Duncan Donuts coffee. I like telling those stories because they all mean something to me....no matter how small they might seem to others. Alan called me a storyteller the other night. Hope so.

What I really need to do, besides update this blog, launch the podcast and the food blog (busy busy), is to sit down and catalog some great travel stories and start writing about them. Maybe look at regional publications of the place that I'm writing about and see if I can get anywhere. Maybe I should start putting my ability to tell stories and to think outside the box to good use instead of wasting it on 3 a.m. rambles and liminal thoughts.

Ugh, I'm totally regretting everything I ate btw. I'm way too young to have heartburn like an old man.

Return from Wine Country.

2008-07-08T01:24:00.001-05:00

I just got into Alan's place after a long trip home. We spent 5, gorgeous days in San Fransisco and Napa Valley. I took a lot of photos and wrote a lot while I was there (mostly personal journaling and wine/food record keeping).

I will be posting some of my personal journaling on this blog and the wine/food reviews and notes on the new blog (which I'll have a direct link to on this page).

Since it's super late, and I don't have my camera cord to upload my photos, I'll wait until tomorrow or Wednesday at the latest to update. Also, I'll be recording a few podcasts this week and will also post updates on those.

One last thing: I had an amazing time.

2008-07-02T11:00:00.000-05:00

Napa Valley, here we come!

It's finally here....

2008-06-23T07:55:00.000-05:00

It will be on iTunes soon.

Quick update

2008-06-21T09:22:00.003-05:00

I'm alive- my car isn't. It's in the shop for repairs on the fuel pump. Leaking gas all over Austin was mildly amusing.

I'll write about going to Lake Charles last weekend when I get the chance.

I'm headed out for a swim (my new pick-me-up-hobby) and to pack for San Antonio. Alan and I are headed there to see Spamalot tomorrow and have a romantic, stressfree getaway.

I will be posting a major update on Monday afternoon, which is great.

Oh, and if you are a member of Facebook, please search for me there. I have a new "Writer" page and would like the fans. :)

Quick update, much more to come in the following days. Ciao.

Making it Work.

2008-06-11T12:10:00.002-05:00

Though it seems like I've been through the ringer lately and have had my faith and trust in destiny, I'm still clinging on to "the dream". Monday was a fairly tempestuous day. I spent most of it either in a heap on the couch watching mindless TV, or simply muted the TV set to hear the pathetic sounds of my sobbing.

I let myself down on Monday. I was supposed to stick to the schedule that I had laid out the night before and instead, it was like I woke up wrong and continued to do everything wrong. Except for dinner- my dijion potatoes came out beautifully.

Yesterday I swore I would finish editing one story and start on another. Instead, I watched Dr. Phil and moped.

This morning I got up and baked a lot of goodies since I'll be heading to my mom's this weekend. I have high hopes for this afternoon that I might get something done writing wise....but I still need a shower and to gather up the laundry.

I need to make this work.

2008-06-10T11:47:00.001-05:00

"Too intelligent to see it's me in the way..." - Lauryn Hill

I am a Foodie. I think...

2008-06-07T17:29:00.004-05:00

I think I can finally call myself a Foodie. My budding cooking skills in my tiny, galley kitchen coupled with my curious palette and appreciation of fresh, locally grown fruits and veggies (let's not forget my strong attraction to great wines) defines me as a Foodie.

Friday night I made breaded eggplant and white zucchini (baked, not fried!) with pasta shells in a spicy tomato sauce for Alan and Louis. I also baked an apple crumble which was pretty orgasmic if I do say so myself. Last year this time, I was heating up frozen meals...look at me now! Making my own seasoned bread crumbs!

Tonight, Alan's taking me out for cold drinks and tapas. I was craving a night out on the town after staying in way too many hours this week beating my head against the proverbial wall of unemployment. I bought two, new, blue cotton dresses for super cheap which always makes me happy.

As for the dreams, I think it's too early for me to say that they have ceased after one night of restful, dreamless sleep- but here's hoping.

The June heat is really getting to me already. It's a different heat than New Orleans- not as thick and heavy with the humid air. It's, instead, a piercing, dry heat like the Southern California sun, with warm breezes and slight beads of sweat, or moisture from sneaky humidity. Fortunately, my air conditioner has quit on me to give me the full, summer experience. I'll be calling maintenance on Monday. Maybe I can bribe them with some of my apple crumble. Ha.

restless

2008-06-06T10:51:00.002-05:00

Last night I dreamt that I was going to attend a wedding with some friends just to dance. We would all go after a long day at our friend's house. I tried to get a hold of Alan all day to come over and have fun with us. He never answered his phone. In fact, it seemed he had turned it off.

Someone lent me their phone....an impatient man who acted like he knew me well. He said that he was my boyfriend. I didn't believe him because I told him that Alan was my boyfriend and that I needed his phone immediately to call him to make sure that Alan was OK. He told me that Alan was no longer my boyfriend, and to put down the phone.

The wedding I was going to attend was Alan's. I had been invited to go to the reception, but in my fragile emotional state, no one told me that it was for Alan. I didn't want to dance at the wedding anymore...and became frantic trying to dial any phone I could find.

I woke up in a sweat at 5 a.m.
"These dreams have to stop," I told myself.

I rinsed my face off with cool water and returned to bed. After 5 min of lying in the dark, I realized that I should sit up on the couch for a while.

After 45 min or so, I nodded off into another fitful sleep. This time I dreamt that again, Alan and I were no longer together, and I was again, trying to find him. Unsuccessful, I woke up again, to the light from Alan's room, reminding me that I was indeed still his girlfriend, sleeping on his couch.

These dreams are nothing short of a terrible experience. I have feelings in these dreams. I feel hugs from friends and the tension between me and my apparent new, mysterious and jealous boyfriend. I taste the lemonade at the BBQ. I hear the music.
And worst of all, I feel the heartache of losing someone in my life who is sleeping beside me. How strange. How very strange indeed.

This morning it was pouring rain; now it looks like the sun's peeking out behind dreary clouds. I purchased a heavy, old copy of Colette's "7" that I plan on reading this weekend if I stop being lazy. And I have a white zucchini to cook, as well as shrimp stock, and carrots and onions. The pico de gallo I made the other night is out of this world...I should commit to making a batch weekly now that summer is here. Or maybe I should lay off the spicy foods - maybe they are the culprit to these ridiculous dreams.

Today I await the news about the temp job. And I should give myself a facial and a hair masque to try and make myself feel less...weary. I need to feel better.

At the Root of It All

2008-06-05T17:46:00.003-05:00

How can I finally let go of all of this:

And keep all of this:

Allons danser Colinda, danser collés Colinda
Allons danser Colinda, pendant que ta mère est pas là
C'est pas tout l'monde qui connaît
Danser les danses du vieux temps.

in dreams

2008-06-02T11:28:00.005-05:00

I owe my mother a ton of money for sending Alan to a "Boys Camp" and my bank account is wiped out, leaving me on the streets of Austin, poeting for change.

I forgot to take my spring semester finals this year, failing me out of all my classes, but not before running into an old friend who tells me that my old boss is her professor and he wants her to change her grade in the computer.

I live with old family friends in Palos Verdes in their garage, while spilling grapefruit juice all over my dress. I then discover that my clothes are actually my main character's clothes in world of warcraft, and I now try to cast spells to clean up the mess.

Will someone please find something to calm me down?

2008-05-29T15:04:00.002-05:00

Thanks for not thinking I'm weird when I start crying on your shoulder about nothing.

Thanks for never making me feel like I'm not good enough.

Thanks for making dinner last night.

Thanks for secretly watching me pretending to sleep.

Thanks for pecking your hungry chicken on me to make me giggle.

Thanks for the last several months...for everything.

I don't think that I say it enough.

2008-05-28T10:08:00.002-05:00

The other night I learned that I placed an Honorary Third in one of the annual contests held by the Austin Poetry Society. I received a personal letter from one executive committee member congratulating me on my achievement and pointing out that it certainly is an achievement since it's my first contest and I only entered in three categories....whereas others entered in 19-20.

With that said:

"I'm drawn to failure. I feel that I'm contending with it constantly in my own life." - Joyce Carol Oates

And she wrote, what...45 novels? 10 literary criticism books? 15 poetry books? 7 teen novels? 20 something novellas?

Yeah...Failure.

2008-05-19T18:02:00.001-05:00

Never confuse a single defeat with a final defeat. ~F. Scott Fitzgerald

Thanks Kite.

2008-05-16T12:21:00.001-05:00

The Parable of the Starfish

One morning an elderly man was walking on a nearly deserted beach. He came upon a boy surrounded by thousands and thousands of starfish. As eagerly as he could, the youngster was picking them up and throwing them back into the ocean.

Puzzled, the older man looked at the young boy and asked, "Little boy, what are you doing?"

The youth responded without looking up, "I'm trying to save these starfish, sir."

The old man chuckled aloud, and queried, "Son, there are thousands of starfish and only one of you. What difference can you make?"

Holding a starfish in his hand, the boy turned to the man and, gently tossing the starfish into the water, said, "It will make a difference to that one!"

(source unknown)

2008-05-15T17:39:00.000-05:00

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Failure

My favorite is the part about failed expectations...

The Not-So-Starving Artist or Fuck La Vie Boheme

2008-05-14T16:02:00.004-05:00

Too creative to sit at a computer and perform what seems to be mundane data entry. Yes, this is possibly true. I'd probably envision a Shakespearian-like romance between the front desk woman and another clerk, star-crossed lovers placed at opposite ends of the office, desparate to brush their hands together as they both reach for the same paper cup in the lunch room instead of actually doing work but...this imagination doesn't pay the bills.

Not yet, at least.

So, I'm back to square one. Some "thing" will happen right? I'm pretty sure that "thing" means that I'll be making a living propping a cardboard sign on my knee in the middle of Braker that reads "Will Poet for Cash".

Gross Neglect

2008-05-13T20:18:00.003-05:00

All forms and outlets of my writings these days have been neglected, I shamefully admit. Of course other things like a full night's rest, proper diet, and relaxation have also been neglected to a point. Besides going on lots of interviews which may be dead ends, (thinking positively) listening to Mozart's Requiem mass, drinking copious amounts of Sprite Zero, and staying wide awake on Alan's couch like I'm waiting for some one or something to happen....not much else has been going on.

Alan, I think, tries his best to comfort the uncomfortable. We went to see Iron Man and we both enjoyed it. I try to take my mind off the worrying about what's going to happen tomorrow....what's going to happen next year...

My friends tell me not to worry. So do my parents. I think this kind of worry is healthy to a point, right? Sitting on my couch watching Jerry Springer as opposed to writing the essay that's been in my head for weeks is....not really okay.

Saturday, the winners of the APS Annual Poetry Contest are announced. I don't know what to expect. 3...or was it 4? of my poems were submitted. I'm just a novice. I didn't get up and read my poetry on open mic night like I should have. I have to kick my own ass at this point to write a silly blog. What's wrong with me? I'm like a great lover who has lost her passion...

Instead of attending the awards ceremony, I'll be in Houston with Alan and friends, meeting his wonderful parents for the first time and losing myself in Radiohead music and St. Arnolds beer.

Which reminds me...I need to buy a new shirt for this.

Let's Get Serious.

2008-05-02T11:24:00.003-05:00

I met an extraordinary person yesterday afternoon. She's a well-known writer who has written about love, family, life, body image, and everything else in between. It would be an insult to label her under "chick lit", a wildly popular post-modernist genre marketed for entertaining and relating to the everyday woman.

She's several years older than I am, granted, but she's living my dream. Book tours, interviews, speaking engagements, writing op/ed's for big newspapers. This is everything that I want to be, especially 5-10 years from now. She gave me amazing advice and a wonderful, yet tricky work oppurtunity that I'm trying very hard to make a proper, and wise decision on. Anyway, that's not really the point, the point is that I learned a lot in just that short meeting- a glimpse into the life I wish to have.

She said things like, "when you have your book..." and I just literally became wide eyed. MY book!? It was like a palm reader or a forutne teller was predicting my future and telling me what my fate in this life is. Of course, the biggest obstacle that my little, naive mind tends to overlook is the simple and difficult fact that my book will never write itself. I have to sit down for God knows how long and write something of publishable quality.

Enter the scary part. The keep-you-up-all-night-worried part.

Here's what I know:
I have talent. I have bills to pay. I'm notorious for losing track of time pacing around in my apartment and a short attention span. I lack a lot of self confidence that it takes to put my shit out there and deal with the rejection.

I guess I'm just going to have to get over all that if I want MY book. And MY 2ND book. And so on.

It's there. It's in me. The ideas have been brewing for years; it's time to write them down.

Oh, I also learned yesterday that I have a job interview at a small magazine here in town and I am slated for a September publication of two of my poems in an even smaller, yet popular magazine. I'm witholding the names for now until I have some more certainty.

I can do this. Right?

2008-04-30T16:39:00.001-05:00

2008-04-29T15:44:00.002-05:00

It's unusually cold in my apartment. Wearing a worn out robe, depressed flannel pants, a worried sweater, and a scarf of writer's block is not keeping me warm.

Uncertainty is something I've never been able to cope with and brewing under the surface of worrysome thoughts is a cauldron- brewing of anger. I'm angry with myself and I'm angry at this situation and I can't seem to turn that anger into something constructive....not just yet at least.

Sometimes, on days like this, I feel like my life in New Orleans, sleeping on a couch- still in college- not very social- attracted to toxic, abusive, and dishonest men is something that I can never fully let go. The regrets I have and the mistakes that I made are overwhelming and it's easy for me to blame them for my fears and worries now.

I told Alan I was afraid of waking up on a couch again- he said that would never happen.

And I said, "No, not a real couch. The meta-physical couch."

I want meaning. I need a purpose. Something to write about. Something to say.

I'm twenty-fucking-four and I'm slightly confused.

200.

2008-04-25T09:07:00.002-05:00

200 posts today. Not a truly impressive amount by any means, but it's something I suppose. I've dedicated 200 tidbits of my life to this blog that has gained several readers in the last year. Not too shabby.

I'm sure at times I was too "emo" or too angry; too naive or too emotionally wounded, but hey- I'm human. I'm a 24-year-old human female at that...I'm allowed to throw punches in the air and cry too easily.

I'm coming of age I think, rounding the bend to 25, losing my early twenties in a haze of college classes, old friends, mistakes in love, and too much wine. No regrets, right? Doubtful.

Anyway, here's to 200 posts about my life. And here's to 200 more.

chocolate brunette.

2008-04-23T16:30:00.000-05:00

I look damn good. Pictures soon.

tempestuous mere and her thoughts on love '08.

2008-04-22T18:55:00.003-05:00

It's funny how one forgets the pain of heartache, when one is so very much in love.

A "friend" of mine spoke to me today about his heartaches, regrets, and insight about love and human romantic relationships.

"If it didn't hurt as much as it does when it's over, how would we know how to appreciate love when we have it?"

I'm starting to think that it is not when it's gone do we really understand love, but rather, when we are truly in love that makes us understand the importance of cherishing each moment.

But, as I told him, if we really had the answer....the solution to heartache....the poets would have nothing to write about. And that would break my heart.

Desperately Seeking Solace.

2008-04-19T08:56:00.002-05:00

It's easier when I'm with Alan and I don't have to think about the consequences of job searching all over again. At least, I'm distracted by making travel plans, intellectual chatter, wine appreciation, and making a pillow out of his arm.

It's easier when I'm looking at MFA programs to get lost in the ambitions that one day, I too will hold an MFA and publish and be recognized and create. At least, I'm distracted by imaginary book signings, intense lectures, and long hours winding up and down the cases of a bookstore, no longer wishing to see my name in between the Az's and the Be's.

It's easier when I'm cooking something in my tiny kitchen. At least, I'm distracted by manipulating fresh ingredients into something colorful and tasty, healthier ways to make dinner, and pairing the best wines with my dishes.

It's easier when I'm not thinking of my future, but rather just today.
It's easier when I'm not thinking of my past, but rather just today.

resigning oneself

2008-04-16T13:07:00.001-05:00

A difficult work week indeed. Hopefully, new and positive endeavors are on the horizon.

New Life Plan:

Start applying to MFA programs.
Get Accepted.
Write.

Sun

2008-04-14T11:09:00.003-05:00

This weekend was pretty good. I picked up Alan at the airport Friday night and treated him to a nice, home cooked meal. Sat. we did our errands separately as usual, but Sat. night, we went to Oasis, a restaurant on the lake.

Here's a shot of the sunset from our table:

And a view of just part of the restaurant from our table:

Pretty amazing. We watched Lars and the Real Girl (my second time). Quite an editorial on the dynamic of human romantic relationships if I do say so myself.

After a traumatic morning, (burning my hair on a broken hair dyer, losing my laptop power cord, discovering battery acid seeping from my camera, and shoving myself into my normally "wearable" jeans), Sunday afternoon, Louis, Alan and I went to Maudie's for the spiciest food I've probably ever eaten in my life. It was such a good day out so it was nice to get out and about.

So all's pretty much returned to normal: Alan's home. Work is stressful. Still agonizing over my career. Nice weather. Good food.

2008-04-09T09:04:00.003-05:00

Last night I woke up in a panic at 3:30 a.m.
Piano versions of Radiohead songs was the only thing that could calm me down.

I don't know what is eating me alive, but it's something pretty ruthless. My mind feels like it's a million miles away sometimes...like I can't focus on anything and before I know it, the day is almost over and I have wasted too much time worrying.

Sometimes I wonder if I'll have this kind of anxiety and fitfulness for the rest of my life- or is there another way of managing it all?

One of the most beautiful poems I've come across

2008-04-08T12:12:00.000-05:00

and they ask me why I left...

2008-04-06T11:04:00.001-05:00

http://www.kplctv.com/global/story.asp?s=8120615

You play with fire...

2008-04-04T12:30:00.004-06:00

...you get burned.

Fortunately for me, there's a lot of scar tissue to absorb this one. Is it because I'm too nice of a person? Maybe? Do I try and accommodate people in my life who clearly do not have my best interest in mind?

Yes, yes I do.

One day I'll wake up and realize that I'm worth so much more than those edited sentences.

I'm more angry with myself than anyone though- I really had it coming.

puff

2008-04-02T07:59:00.002-06:00

This morning, I'm starting to feel like that little blueberry girl in Willy Wonka. Rotund, expanded, grotesquely swollen. It's a feeling I get when I stand next to a woman that's shorter or tinier than me, or when I try on a revealing outfit at the store, or when I go to leave my house to go out.

A distorted view of myself...a feeling that I should be able to combat in my head, but fail to everytime I see a size 0 trot by.

Maybe I'll just blame the media for this. Victoria Secret models. The American Ideal of Beauty. Yeah, I'll blame those guys...never mind my own confidence...

And don't forget hormones- clearly those are the real culprits.

Oh, who am I kidding? I know that today for lunch, I will suffer through yet another frozen, diet meal so I feel like I haven't eaten anything that could add to the mass of my already curvaceous hips. I will make the same joke to myself that I've been on a diet since I was 12, avoiding the big piece of cake at birthday parties and drinking diet sodas while my skinny friends guzzled nauseatingly good Cokes and Sprites.

And for what? To be in between a fairly coveted dress size and my "fat" pants?

Is it a problem that at 24, rounding the corner into 25, that I have no real idea how to look or feel sexy? Where's this mystique I keep hearing about? A mysterious, young woman who pretends not to know how beautiful she is in order to lure men her way? Does this only exist in Modern French novels? Or was Marguarite Duras a total phony?

This isn't just about body image or dress sizes, or what not. It's about committing myself to a life of self-judgment whether I intended to or not. Maybe I waste too much time sucking my stomach in, in front of the mirror and trying to squeeze into my high school jeans, one zipper tooth at a time.

:)

2008-04-01T10:50:00.001-06:00

I'm boycotting Wal-Mart

2008-03-25T14:50:00.001-06:00

http://www.cnn.com/2008/US/03/25/walmart.insurance.battle/index.html

this time last year...

2008-03-24T15:53:00.001-06:00

...I was dreaming of this year.

A friend just said something so profound to me:

Some people are journeys.
Some people are destinations.
He was a journey.
This one's a destination.

I just hope I have the right ticket.

just wow

2008-03-21T15:10:00.001-06:00