Bradbury Air.

When a Ray Bradburyesque wind blows, it usually means one thing to most people. To me, it means something entirely different. I should tell you what it means to me, I suppose. That's probably why you're reading. Some part of me would like to make you guess. Does it mean strange things are afoot, or love is in the air, or someone's heart feels like a wet sneaker that has been put in the dryer? Maybe all three. Maybe none. Maybe I can't tell anymore.

Yesterday, walking down a familiar sidewalk, I felt the first signs of a Fall that I've hoped for. The summer has been anything but a vacation for me, though that's what most are callin' it...from their points of view. For me, it's been an introspective time during which I'm supposed to be the most extroverted self of my year. I wish I would have taken notes while I was livin' it. But that's just it. Livin' doesn't leave a lot of room for note taking, even if you know shorthand.

Decisions seem to be something that are inescapable, but what if you don't trust part of your brain like you once did? Worrying that choices placed before me somehow held a promise of something that seemed like gold, but might be more like fairy dust. Though, neither seem to be bad when you look right at them both. And that's the truth of it.

God Hates Protesters

If you have a few minutes, you might enjoy this site as much as I did.

Here Comes Your Man

While I love seeing Joseph Gordon Levitt pretend he doesn't really know how to sing in this clip, I'd like to focus more on the message of the song by the Pixies (a band I love, though I've never attempted the haircut).

Exterior Shot--Chain Restaurant (because two people who never frequent chains find themselves in a suburb). Two tall, distinguished, passionate artists walk into the joint to get lunch. 

Pan to: Close up of seating hostess. She watches couple approach, she sizes up the two of them, she's immediately attracted to the male. 

Hostess: Welcome to this awesome Chain Restaurant. We are so glad to have you here. Please follow me."

Batting eyelashes, quick look up and down his body, and back to his eyes again.

"Wow, sir, you're really, really tall. That must be so nice for you to be so tall. How tall are you, Sir."

Man: 6' 4"

Hostess: My, my, my. So tall.

Woman: Yes, isn't he? I'm tall too. We really love being tall.

Hostess: not wanting to acknowledge woman exists, but glancing over and saying with disinterest, "Oh? how tall are you?"

Woman: 6 foot. It's such a great height. I'm really fond of it.

Hostess: Well, must be so nice for you to have found a tall, strong man. Hold on to your man, you're pretty lucky to be with him.

Man and Woman debate inwardly whether or not to point out everything wrong with what this woman just said, but decide to not launch a verbal tired on the naive, young seating hostess at a chain restaurant in California who believes that a woman must "hold on to a man" and is worth more if she has one. Instead, they just smile and nod.

Man: Ouch. Did you see what she just did to you?

Woman: Yep. Apparently, I'm the lucky one. I'm the one who needed a man. I'm the one who better not let you go, or it will be my loss. That's a Lifetime movie waiting to be made yet again.

Note to reader. This man is NOT my man. He never has been and never will be. He is, however, a dear friend, and one who thinks similarly to myself.

Man: Yes, see, how come I couldn't have been the lucky one? How come I couldn't have been told not to let you go? Or how nice it must be to be with someone who is as tall as you are?

Note to reader: We love this man. He is one of our dearest friends. His ability to even talk about this with me is one of the reasons why.

End Scene (for now, but this happens on more than one occasion. It also happens that every woman that has ever seated this man and myself at a restaurant has practically slipped him her phone number. It doesn't matter if we're holding hands or making out between our sushi, they still do it. Dear Women--wtf?)


It's an interesting thing to notice, in my life, that I am never quite seen as fully complete, adult, fulfilled, and utterly blissed out on joy if I do not have a man in my life. This is a reality that many of the women around me adopt. This is a reality that I refuse to adopt. This is a reality that I want to eradicate from the deepest marrow of my bones. This happens and I wish it didn't. It really, really gets old. /Rant.

My Writing Brain

I used to be a writer. It's gone away. Only elementary words come into my mind. Thoughts composed solely of facebook status updates that people push a little button to "like".

Here are the last ten thoughts I had that I posted to facebook:

1. The screen of my mac gets dirty so fast....#firstworldproblems
2. I kind of like ninjas now.
3. Walking into Hollister makes me feel like an old, pale giant.
4. Spending all day with a 4 year old is like a roller coaster ride for my ovaries.
5. I literally have an ache in my heart when I think about the fact that I cannot time travel...#nerdysadness
6. I'm in California and freezing. What's up with that! P.S. my cousin is with me.
7. Decide what to be and go be it.
8. Avett Brothers in a few short hours. Hello Sunday Evening.
9. Bad Teacher
10. If only my life were more like theater camp.

That's all I got. And some of these aren't even original thoughts. They are thoughts that others have thought that I thought after them.

I don't know what this means for my soul, but the outlook isn't good. My soul is screaming for a metaphor salad right about now.

Thanks Mom!!

Going to San Francisco a few weeks ago was a good thing. I went for a conference on eating disorders as mine has been rearing it's ugly head again the last year. After the conference, I went with two lovely young women I met to the Mission District where we were all going to attempt to eat dinner together without being weird about our eating issues. It's always a good time to laugh at yourself in the process.

We decided to try an amazing Vegan (a lot of people with food issues of undereating/denial/binge/purge tend to go Vegan because it takes away a lot of triggers and we like the added emphasis on health) Mexican place called Gracias Madre (which, of course, is an homage to Mother Earth, but we liked to just call it "Thanks Mom!")

(photo taken from neoncolorwaves)

May I suggest starting out with the VERY fresh, delightful, amazing guacamole?! Served with warm corn tortillas that were blessed by the Gods?

Sip the most incredible Horchata of your life while you're doing it.

Finish off with the Enchiladas con Mole (spicy mole enchiladas topped with mushrooms and cashew cheese, served with sauteed greens and beans).

This is how good real food can be. It was one of the most amazing meals of my life, but also because I let myself mentally enjoy it too, with really good company.

Thoughts Upon the Hunt: Part I

A Side Note of Inspiration: I've been trying to think like a man lately. Yep.

Some History: When you grow up as a smart little girl into an intelligent and semi-sophisticated (my hair isn't always in order) older woman, there is something about the male species that you might never want to admit you know. You might try really hard to believe that some men are capable of not being typical. That some men, due to breeding and education and a really great mother figure in their lives, somehow lack (or evolved) away from the gene where they size up your looks the minute they see you. 

A Fact: Men are hunters.

A Second Fact: Men are very very very very very visual.

Some Explanation: When a man is a hunter, I see it in two ways.

Way 1) Mostly they are going to hunt with their eyes before they ever decide to hunt with their brains. This has been a hard concept for me to grasp in my life, but I think I'm finally at a place of embracing it. I'm finally at a place where if I'm the object of desire, then it might not be such a bad thing. Did you hear me feminist world? Ahem, being an object of desire might not be such a bad thing (thanks to Patty B over at MMP for helping me voice this).

Way 2) Hunting is all about winning or losing. And men like to win. And they want to win even if they don't want you. More on this in Part 2.

The Realities of Conclusion: These thoughts on the hunt stemmed from a conversation I had with a smart, caring, intelligent, funny man who has been my dear friend for a long time. We've been friends with benefits some times and other times we've just been friends. He knows me well. He knows I have a brain and a graduate degree from a top university. He knows I care about feeding poor children and helping the homeless. He listens to me when I rant about being misunderstood by some one. He laughs with me during a good movie. He's been there for me emotionally and physically when I've wanted the one or the other. Knowing that he sees me as a valuable human being makes it ok for him to finally admit that sometimes he sees me purely as an object of desire. And he added to this that it might be safe to tell me that he just plain likes it when I dress like a slut. And, that most men like it when women dress like sluts. 

I have never dressed like a slut before. Well, not often. I've alway been pretty modest because even a V neck shirt can make my lush, brainy breasts look provocative. 

Moving On: This was hard for me to hear because I fear that dressing like a slut will give people the wrong opinion of me, but I also relish the idea of dressing like a slut and taking my sexual power to a very new and higher level. To be able to be the object of desire, know it, own it, even if it's only for the man that sits and watches the news with me. 

What are your thoughts on dressing like a slut? Or looking at girls who are dressed like sluts. Or am I saying the word "slut" so many times that you are now uncomfortable (like I sort of am.)

If I'm Wrong, Please Don't Tell Me

Recently, I entered into conversation with a religious zealot (at least he seemed to be to me, he was probably just an average religious person). I did not mean to. These days, I'd much rather talk about the weather. But we were traveling together, and I didn't know how to stop the onslaught of questions that came from being seatbelted next to someone for the next three hours.

I am usually good with religious zealots. I'd like to think I could take Michele Bachmann on like any quick-witted high school student and have her eating out of my agnostic hand with gratitude. I'd like to think that I could invite over the fundamentalists who predict various days and months for the long-awaited Rapture and woo them with my logic and creme brulée until they start donating to Planned Parenthood, just like me.

But, after the three hours with this religious zealot, I felt as if I might reclaim Mormonism just so my head could stop exploding. He wanted to know why I left. My reasons of patriarchy, racism, lack of human rights/equality, historical cover-ups and fuck-ups, feeling like shit in the Temple, not really believing in polygamy, Prop 8, not really believing in much of an afterlife (which caused him to shake his head at me in hopelessness and sadness at my current state of beliefs), and a slew of other problems didn't seem to be enough.

This wasn't his first time maneuvering around this kind of discourse. He craftily counteracted most of what I had to say--hitting on sore spots and soft spots alike. So much so that any faltering ex-Mormon might feel motivation to immediately find their nearest Bishop--repent, and get on with procreating. I kept trying to explain my point of view. I kept trying to explain the way I felt. I kept trying to tell him I was happy with my decision. None of these worked or satisfied him--but only angered him.

It was a surprise attack from a source I hadn't anticipated. And, it was a battle I thought I could win. I keep learning the lesson that some people just aren't worth the energy, but I think I'm finally getting it.

From now on, I'm going to adopt the mantra of my dear friend Nubian, who, before sharing her opinion with me casually says,  "If I'm wrong, please don't tell me." 

Be Bold

Recently, a lovely friend of mine wrote a post that I applaud. It echoes a declaration that I made myself about four years ago. I forgot how harrowing it was for me to make this declaration in the forum that I did. I forgot how harsh the responses could be from fellow Christians. I simply forgot.

This post made me remember how real the battle for equality still is in many parts of this state of mine. If you want to chime in and offer your support (and read the comments out of wide-eyed curiosity's sake). then please do so.

Coming Out

Breakfast in Bed

Traveling wears on you, especially after the age of 25. Jet setting all of last year to Switzerland, Portugal, China, Norway, New York and Salt Lake City--I did decide that it might be nice to take a year off. Go no where. Do nothing. Apparently, I am bad at doing nothing.

The last few weeks I have been to San Francisco, New York City, Boston/Cambridge, Portland, Newport (OR), and now Corvallis.

I haven't rested much.

So, imagine my utter delight when my hostess brought me breakfast in bed this morning--granola, creamy yogurt, and fresh berries. No one has done that for me, perhaps, ever. It was, in my opinion, what heaven just might be like.

No More Pencils. No More Books

Today is the first day of the last week of school. I can BARELY CONTAIN MYSELF. As many of you know, I'm in a little charter school in the middle of nowhere. We get out earlier than most schools because they didn't have enough money to pay all the teachers for that extra week. Good Times.

A few days ago a friend came over for a visit. And when he saw me bubbly and happy and singing and being the me I usually think of as me he asked me if I had been drinking. It's a sad, sad realization to know that for people to see you peppy you had to have taken to thee ole bottle (not that I get super peppy when I drink. I mostly just get tired and silly.)

Alas! No! I did NOT need alcohol to feel this way! I felt this way naturally! I felt this way because I could taste the freedom of summer and the knowledge that I had been offered another job (a good job!) so that I would never have to return to that part of the world AGAIN. And I realized how hard this year has been on me. I reread my blog posts about heartbreak and life's hardknocks and it makes me want to throw something (sorry about that). I remember when I used to be funny. I used to be able to spin a good yarn. I used to not quote Jean Paul Sartre in response to people talking about Heaven. I used to wear yellow! I used to do my hair!

So, I've decided, with this summer vacation it might be time to take that portrait of Emily Dickinson off my refrigerator and replace it with Doris Day! Because that's what I feel like. About time.

Rewiring the Brain.

Sometimes I try to pretend that I was never religious. I'm tired of religion. I'm tired when I think of all the decisions that I made about my education and my life because I was worried they would take me away from my true calling as a wife and mother. I'm tired of trying to talk in circles about how to change said religions so they make more sense and are more egalitarian.

I just get tired. Or maybe, I'm just still so hurt. I think I avoid religion lately because it's still so emotionally taxing on me. Having made a break from the Mormon faith just over two years ago hasn't dissipated all the hard wiring my brain has had to try and undo after 30 years of thinking one way. And it's hard fighting with yourself all the time. It's hard second guessing your well thought out decisions. It's hard having friends and family look at you like you are a problem to be fixed. It gets hard. And tiring.

I recently read this article that really moved me. I understood her story. I lived her story. I think you could read it too and see what a lot of women in the LDS church deal with--though it may seem silly that it's engrained in us so fully, but it really is.

She tells her story, and then she optimistically paints a solution to how you can balance your faith, family, and career if certain changes were made. I like the story she paints. She paints it in shades of warm yellow and orange that make me start to feel something. But, my blueness regarding the situation comes back after only a few moments. Sometimes the problem seems so big. And, why should I even try and change what I perceive as a problem, when so many women are ok with it? That's the big question. Do I just get out and then leave the church and it's consenting women to their own demise? Many would say yes. Many would get upset with me even calling it a "demise". But all I know is that if I didn't have a friend who was brave enough to voice her concerns and leave the church and then tell me about it, knowing, or at least hoping, that I would love her anyway--if I didn't have her to see that it WAS possible to be actually happy and religion free--then I'd still be in that same church. I would be meeting my own demise. My soul and spirit and whatever you want to call it were dying in that church and I didn't even realize it.

You can read the full story about this woman here.

Also, you can read this little excerpt below.

Women’s invisibility is at the root of all their problems, and this invisibility comes from women’s profound lack of representation in the major decision making councils of the world and their lack of influence and power. To have their voices heard and better the lives of all women, men, and children, they must find their way into governments, academia, international affairs, and business administration. In that way, those making the decisions will have women’s needs and interests (and by extension, those of the family) in mind. However, this presents a major dilemma for those who are Latter-day Saints and who believe that motherhood and family cohesion are preeminent.

It is broadly accepted that Mormons traditionally believe in stay-at-home moms. For many years the counsel to the members of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints from the church leaders has been for mom to stay in the home while the children are still being raised. They were strongly counseled against taking any kind of career when it wasn’t necessary. Many Latter-day Saint boys are raised to look for a girl to marry who is committed to staying home with her kids, and girls are raised with marriage and homemaking as their ultimate ambition. How is a Latter-day Saint to reconcile the need for women to take positions of political influence, when those positions require work outside of the home and a lifelong investment in a career in order to reach any type of authoritative level of influence? Considering that a woman cannot be simultaneously in her home with her children and in the workplace making a change in the world, and boards of directors and politicians cannot and will not hire someone without experience, major societal changes are in order to reconcile this dilemma. These changes must take place in the workplace, in societal values, and in societal expectations, particularly for men.

I feel like it's Indecision 2011 for me. I'm almost 34. I feel like I need to decide if I want to go out and grab that husband and have that baby, or if I want to do what I feel so passionate about in my heart. Is there really a way to do both? I don't really believe that there is. I think having children changes the playing ground so completely that your life is never the same. That you focus so fully on them you let other things fall by the wayside. That's a good thing. I want mothers in this world that would be involved in mothering. And I know myself well enough to know that if I had a child, I would give so much of myself, my time, my talents (and that I would WANT to give those things to that little baby) that all of my other dreams would still sort of be realized, just not as fully. Or my dreams would change. Which isn't a bad thing at all. But it seems bad now. It seems lesser. It seems like I won't reach my full potential. It seems like I'm talking in circles, doesn't it? Meh. 

Stellar Love Stories

If you follow my private blog about my love life (fascinating stuff that)--I am here to inform you that it has finally been updated. And it will be receiving many more updates over my summer vacation.

So, please go read it now because I need advice.

Rapturing

I finished reading Earth by Jon Stewart yesterday. It wasn't what I expected. It was written for Aliens. It was written as if all of Earth was dead and Aliens had come down and were vacationing in the carnage. Well, maybe "vacation" is the wrong word. Maybe it isn't. I don't know what Aliens like to do on vacation.

So. I read that. Then, I watched the news and saw people who think the rapture is happening tomorrow. As someone who lived in the South and has a magnet on my fridge about the rapture, I feel like an expert about it. However, I never did watch those movies with Kirk Cameron because I wanted my childhood lust and love for Kirk to remain constant, and I worried those films would diminish the lust and love. So, maybe I'm just an amateur expert.

Last night there was a huge lightning storm in my back yard. And thunder. Lots of both. If I were in Ancient Greece I'd be rolling my eyes that the God of Lightning and the God of Thunder had to have it out at 4am when I was trying to get some precious sleep. Those Gods! So mercurial in their emotions! But, I'm not in Ancient Greece. So, I thought of the next logical explanation. THE RAPTURE (say that in a booming, scary voice, like I do in my head when I use all capital letters). Yes, THE RAPTURE was here. Fox news was finally right!

I lay in bed and listened to the noises and telltale signs that people were going to be lifted out of their homes and taken up to the skies. I pretty much knew I wasn't going to be in that group, I had just had a glass of wine before bed, you see. And it made me hopeful that I wouldn't have to fight morning traffic. Then I laughed at the ironic thought that maybe ALL of Utah would be Left Behind and then, boy, wouldn't their faces be red! Those are basically the thoughts I had while the rapture was supposedly going on.

The other thought I had was that I was glad I just bought food storage because that storm sounded like it was never going to stop and that it was going to take everything except  my basement with it. The third thought I had was, "Oh God! What if something really does happen and I'm stuck in my house alone for DAYS and DAYS?!?!?!?!" Then I started talking to myself and calming myself down and telling myself how much I liked myself and how funny I was and how good it was that I had a lot of books I wanted to read because a huge catastrophic event where I am stuck in my home living off of packaged food items I got at Emergency Essentials (who promised me the pasta and meatballs in that package would taste like the real thing) is the perfect time to catch up on all my reading.

Spoon

Remember the first time you ended up spooning all night with someone you were nervous to care for, nervous to feel for, but the nerves didn't stop you from fountains of care and feelings. You got a little out of sorts to have them next to you. They wanted to stay the night. They brushed their teeth in front of you and winked at you when they caught you staring. You wondered what sounds you would make in your sleep and hoped they wouldn't be too unfeminine. And yet, they snored the whole night long and you forgave them without a moment's notice. Remember when you needed to turn over and you thought that maybe he would stop holding you, but instead, he turned too, and your bodies fit together. Think about that. A body that fit with yours. Remember that. These are not questions. I want you to remember. Now. Remember when you kissed his shoulder because it was the closest thing to your lips, and he rubbed that back part of your neck, just where your scalp and neck connect and it made you think of sunshine and warmth and this one song by Stevie Wonder, of all people. You felt all of that, All from one little spot by his one hand? Remember. Good.

Sometimes I try to Believe.

Sometimes I try and believe in the goodness of men. Sometimes I try to believe that they aren't all the way societal cliches claim them to be.

Sometimes I try to believe that they will listen to me. That they will be interested in what I'm saying and not how pretty it is when my mouth moves.

Sometimes I try to believe that it doesn't matter if I have make-up on that day or not because I never care if they have make-up on either.

Sometimes I try to believe they will see past my blond hair and full mouth and cleavage and see me as a whole person.

Sometimes I want to believe that it is my wit that charms them, and nothing else.

Sometimes I like to believe that they really do want to be making eye contact and that it is not a chore to not look at my lovely breasts (I really do have brilliant breasts). Or watch my ass sway as I walk somewhere.

Sometimes I try to believe that they won't their manhood insulted if I know more about politics then they do. That they won't want me to walk around in 5 inch stiletto heels so that I can turn them on. That they won't feel the need to avoid real conversations. That they actually do want to communicate and commit.

Sometimes I like to believe that the fact that I have an ivy league education, that I own my own house, that I own my own car, that I am completely independent and confident doesn't make them feel like they don't know what they could offer me. Sometimes I like to believe that men know they are actually much more than just providers and protectors. That they can be needed in a woman's life for more reasons than just those. So many more reasons.

These attempts at belief go out the window when I change my facebook page photo to one of my recent  photo shoots. Photos I have TAKEN, not photos that I am IN. The photos I take are of very stunning people most of the time, and when I put a new one up, I usually get about 10 to 15 requests from strange men I have never met who send me a one liner like "Hey, you're hot (though, let's be honest, in this day and age it's usually, "Hey, your hot.")

That's really when my beliefs about what I imagine the amazing possibilities that reside within a man sort of wane.

Don't Be Frightened.

Life Doesn’t Frighten Me

Shadows on the wall
Noises down the hall
Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Bad dogs barking loud
Big ghosts in a cloud
Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Mean old Mother Goose
Lions on the loose
They don’t frighten me at all

Dragons breathing flame
On my counterpane
That doesn’t frighten me at all.

I go boo
Make them shoo
I make fun
Way they run
I won’t cry
So they fly
I just smile
They go wild

Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Tough guys fight
All alone at night
Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Panthers in the park
Strangers in the dark
No, they don’t frighten me at all.

That new classroom where
Boys all pull my hair
(Kissy little girls
With their hair in curls)
They don’t frighten me at all.

Don’t show me frogs and snakes
And listen for my scream,
If I’m afraid at all
It’s only in my dreams.

I’ve got a magic charm
That I keep up my sleeve
I can walk the ocean floor
And never have to breathe.

Life doesn’t frighten me at all

Not at all
Not at all.

Life doesn’t frighten me at all.

Maya Angelou

House in Motion

Dining room is now hosting dinner parties.

Found a lovely, old wine rack that would make my teetotaler mother cry.

My very first tool box. It belonged to a veteran who sold it to a lady who sold it to me.

That's right, the movie aficionado in me decided to give Coppola's wine a go.

Late to the Game

I'm totally late to this game, but Friday  night, stuck in the SLC airport for 6 hours, I got introduced to the lovely, bloody, crazy, addicting world of Dexter. And while I do have to look away when the blood is the main star, I definitely don't have to when Dexter is on screen. Ding dong!

Spring Fever

I have it. Do you?
This photo was taken by the ever talented and ever amazing Chelsea! She's a friend of a friend and a fantastic photographer! Check out her blog!

Cake Wrecks

Yes. This is a cake of a pregnant lady in a blue dress and her baby inside her uterus in amniotic fluid that you can cut right into. Give your very own CESAREAN section!

One of my best friends is expecting a baby this year. If I am in charge of the food for her shower.....I don't know if I'll be able to resist.

If I Were a Lesbian...

I would have a major crush on Tina Fey. Actually, I already do.

Here's some information about her new book that I can't wait to read:

Once in a generation a woman comes along who changes everything. Tina Fey is not that woman, but she met that woman once and acted weird around her.

PRAISE FOR TINA FEY:

"You'd be really pretty if you lost weight." (College Boyfriend, 1990 )

"Tina Fey is an ugly, pear-shaped, overrated troll." (The Internet )

"Mommy, where are my pretzels?" (Tracy Morgan )

ADVANCE PRAISE FOR BOSSYPANTS:

"I hope that's not really the cover. That's really going to hurt sales." (Don Fey, Father of Tina Fey )

"Absolutely delicious!" (A Guy Who Eats Books )

"Totally worth it." (Trees )

"Do not print this glowing recommendation of Tina Fey's book until I've been dead a hundred years." (Mark Twain )

"Hilarious and insightful. Laugh-out-loud funny -- oh no, a full moon. No! Arrgh! Get away from me! Save yourself!" (A Guy Turning into a Werewolf )

   Product Description

Before Liz Lemon, before "Weekend Update," before "Sarah Palin," Tina Fey was just a young girl with a dream: a recurring stress dream that she was being chased through a local airport by her middle-school gym teacher. She also had a dream that one day she would be a comedian on TV.

She has seen both these dreams come true.

At last, Tina Fey's story can be told. From her youthful days as a vicious nerd to her tour of duty on Saturday Night Live; from her passionately halfhearted pursuit of physical beauty to her life as a mother eating things off the floor; from her one-sided college romance to her nearly fatal honeymoon -- from the beginning of this paragraph to this final sentence.

Tina Fey reveals all, and proves what we've all suspected: you're no one until someone calls you bossy.

(Includes Special, Never-Before-Solicited Opinions on Breastfeeding, Princesses, Photoshop, the Electoral Process, and Italian Rum Cake!)

Struck

Here is the trailer. The full 7 minute video can be found here. You'll be glad you watched it.


Many of you may not have seen this. I think you should. It's a short film that says a lot about what I feel like lately. I've been pondering a lot about the healing process. It seems, in life, that I have old wounds and those I date have old wounds and that these wounds make it too difficult for either of us to get close. Like trying to hug with arrows poking through our hearts.


I've been wondering about my own healing process and it's something I've always thought I would have to do on my own, but what if I let people in to help? I've been wondering about other's healing processes. What if I help them heal and then they leave for someone that's not me? That's happened to me before. It's happened to you. We wanted to be the end goal and we ended up being a milestone of healing towards the end goal.


I've decided to stop thinking so much about that and to just focus on healing. On really healing. On healing myself and on doing whatever I can to heal those people I am lucky enough to call friends and family. Because, in the end, I guess it shouldn't be about what they can give me, but about what I can give them. So, I'm ready to give. I've always been ready to give. The thing I'm working on now is also being ready to receive.


I'm struck.

How To Kiss Without Tongue

How do you kiss without tongue? Apparently, I DO NOT know how. At all. I found this out last night when I kissed someone who was too demure (is that the word we want to use?) to USE his tongue. I think it's because I'm one of those people who goes after EVERYTHING she does with such passion and little restraint that when I did start kissing, I just went for it. Yee Haw.

Let me set the scene. There was a man that I was DESPERATELY in love with for most of 2002. I was young and Mormon and in love. I wanted to kiss him and date him and marry him. We did date. And we did hold hands. But, we did not kiss. This sounds weird, I know. This sounds weird, I guess, mostly to non-Mormons. The Mormons reading this post will understand that sometimes people make stupid pacts--like they aren't going to kiss until they are engaged. Or, they aren't going to kiss until they are almost engaged...and the kicker...they aren't going to kiss until the wedding day! (yes, this happens). You see, Mormons are so afraid of breaking any type of chastity law, that they try not to kiss often, they aren't supposed to French kiss or rub up and down against each other in horizontal or vertical positions.

Got it.

Moving on.

Over the years, said boy and I have stayed in touch. Last year we both admitted that we liked one another at the time and we should have kissed and that it was a shame that the golden opportunity passed us by. So, we decided, if we ever saw each other again (he lives far away from me) that we would make out like crazy. This night happened to suddenly arrive last night. We were both going to a lecture up at the local university. He was here for Sundance. He was with people. I was with people. We both had separate plans, but decided to steal away during intermission and make out. Problem was, there was just NO place to go. I scouted out handicap restrooms--none! Since last night was the coldest night Utah has had in my lifetime, we couldn't go outside. Finally, it was decided to meet in the elevator and ride it up and down while kissing.

Yes, I DO feel like I'm 15 while I'm writing this, thanks for asking.

So, we met in said elevator, said hi (we haven't seen each other in about 4 years) and went for it. Up and down (the elevator, sheesh!) and kissing and kissing--but NO TONGUE to be had. It's been about a month since I had a good make out, and I was ready.  I LOVE kissing. LOVE IT. But, this was almost worse than no kiss at all, because this kiss had the chance to be great. Two people. Willing. Two pairs of lips. And one pair WOULDN'T open. Not a bit. At all. I kept gently nudging it--you know, with MY tongue--and nothing. I think it must be because he's still active Mormon? If there is one thing in life I'm pretty solid on, it would be my kissing abilities, but I can't work with lips that won't part! How is this possible? I left the elevator so frustrated that I just sort of beat my head against the door when I got home.

I feel, lately, that I'm the aggressor in most of my interactions with men. I blame this on my age, and my sexual peak. I should probably try and date a 21 year old for the amount of times that I think about sex during a given HOUR. It's THAT bad. The problem is that I now date older men who are focused on their careers, so even when we're dating I have to start taking clothes off in front of them to get them to stop talking about their goals and get down to the real business. TMI? Good. It's my blog. Please let me vent.

The BEST part of the evening came when I was liplocked with the boy in the elevator, and the door opened and a little old Russian lady entered. I gathered she was Russian from her accent. I have a gift with identifying accents. She looked at us as we stood there silently smiling. She eyed us carefully, smiled and then got off at level two. We resumed making out...or, should I say that I resumed TRYING to get SOME satisfaction! Five minutes later, the elevator door opened and the same sweet lady (she must have been 5 foot tall, and the elevator was tiny, and I'm 6 foot tall and he is 6' 4" so--I'm sure we were looming and heaving all over her) entered again. Now, my sensitive skinned face was red, and my hair was askew and all the telltale signs of a tongue-less makeout were there.

She hid a laugh.

Conversation ensued.

Russian Lady (read in accent if you can please)"Ah, you two do the, the date, yes?"

Him "Yes...ma'am."

RL: "Good for you! Good for you! You go at it in the elevator, yes?"

Me: "Um, yes?"

RL: "Good for you! Good for you! Ah, you two remind me about youngness."


So, that was MY evening. All about youngness, and unfortunately--no tongueness.


The End.

F-Word

I miss writing. Seems that part of me goes to the background when I focus so much on photography. I did a shoot the other day for this Mormon documentary on Feminism. I've been a pretty loud voice on that front, so no wonder that they asked me to be in the film. They came and did the interview stuff and then followed me around on a shoot. I did a photo just for them. I think it's one of the most beautiful things I've ever caught on film.

There are so many more breathtakingly poetic shots from this session, but I'm saving them all for an exhibit. Any of you coming to Utah to see it? I sure hope so.


And yes, I wrote that on her lovely breast myself....with black eyeliner from Sephora.

Amanda Blake Art

It's no secret that I love art. It's probably no secret that I love Amanda Blake art. And now, it looks like she's painted a painting I could actually afford. Too bad I doubt I could really see it if I hung it on my wall. However, I was obsessed with this miniature store my mom used to take me to as a child. Looks like these little pieces would have fit right in.

Happy Weekend. I've got about 5 photo shoots and about 3 Sundance premiers to go to. I'll need another weekend after Sunday, for sure.

Humor Me.

After the drama of the last novel I taught in English, I figured my juniors were ready for something fun and lighthearted, so I decided it was time for Huckleberry Finn. That's right! That's exactly what it is, too. It really is a fun satire that Twain wanted people to enjoy and think about without feeling preachy (I'm looking in your direction, Crash). 

So, we started our class discussion today about what makes something funny and why Mark Twain is considered one of America's best humorists. That's right. I took them straight to the Awkward Family Photos website. Here were some of their favorites.

I'm sure the stuffed animals are just as much a part of the family as everyone else.

A family that shares the same hobby, always stays together.

Great minds.

Best Positioning EVER.

George Clooney started the trend.

Reindeer Games?

Republicans?

HEAT

It got so cold here that I couldn't stand it anymore. I booked a flight to the O.C. to see my stellar cousins. We'll be beaching it up, hanging out in Hollywood cemeteries, and eating gluten free food together. I can't wait.

I'm also thinking there might be a reason for a black tie event on the beach. If so, I get to be the one with the untied bow tie.

We Don't Care About the Young Folk

Actually, we DO!

Because they are hosting the Oscars.

Seriously? SO EXCITED to see what these two do! I'm glad they are giving some Newbies a whirl.

Some Sundance

Last night I went to a Sundance party. I met a man with a mustache like the one featured on Daniel Day Lewis in Gangs of New York. Not kidding. He was nice, but after five minutes, I was bored.


Is it because I'm not good at conversation?


Is it because he was boring...even though his facial hair was exciting?


Is it because my heart just doesn't care about trying to connect and flirt with men anymore?


Is it because, while the party was amazing, and people were fashionable, and rumors of James Franco being there (because his directorial debut film was showing) circulated through the dark, saturated walls--that despite all that, I didn't really connect to anyone?


Is it because I've lost my ability to connect with anyone at all unless I'm behind the camera?

That's a real fear. And it's growing.

Here's another. I like to photograph people, but so do a lot of people. What will make mine special? What will make me satisfied? What is it all about? I guess if everyone stopped creating because the person before them created something similar, then American Literature would have stopped with The Scarlet Letter and we'd have no Huck Finn, no Poisonwood Bible, no House on Mango Street? But at the same time, shouldn't some people just stop the dream and do something else? I'm surrounded by talent on a daily basis with people I know, speak to, facebook, blog, and even the local cafes. I go to galleries and look at other people's creations. I like them, I always have. I used to enjoy them more. Somewhere, deep inside I have this drive that has exploded over the last three months and is telling me that this next year is my make it or break it time. This next year will determine if I have any talent at what I'm doing. This next year I'm giving my all to do something that many, many, many other people have already done before me.


So, my question is, will I be better off if I just sit at home and read a book?

We Love Jenny Auction: 36th Item: Makeup & Photo Session with Bee Photogr...

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We Love Jenny Auction: 37th Item: Earrings from 28th Street Photo & Gift

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We Real Cool

We like Gwendolyn Brooks. In fact, so deep is our love, that my 11th graders all had to write their own version of "We Real Cool". Here is the original poem, along with four of my favorite adaptations.

We real cool. We
Left school. We

Lurk late. We
Strike straight. We

Sing sin. We
Thin gin. We

Jazz June. We
Die soon.

We Are Great

We are great. We

stay out late. We

Shoot drugs. We 

Chill with thugs. We 

Drink our drink. We

Puke in the sink. We

Smoke weed. We 

Have what we need.

YOU REAL DUMB

You real dumb. You 

Jump the gun. You

 All hate. You

Infiltrate. You

All fall. You

Feel real small. You 

Now loose. You 

Can't choose.

We Talk Fast 

We talk fast. We 

Leave last. We 

Stress out. We 

Scream and shout. We 

Obsess. We 

Distress. We 

Have cracks. We 

Need to relax. 

WE REAL COOL

We real cool. we 

Like rule. We

Joke 'round. We

think sound. We

Know legit. We

Have fits. We

Think chill. We

Live thrill.

In Just Two Weeks

I painted my room blue. And I went with those decals I was apondering about.

My white pillows got a spot on some old couches.

I bought a paint color called "Country Dairy" with no shame and put it on these here walls of my kitchen.

I took my little childhood chair out of storage.

Found a resting place for an old milk can.

Put my rusty bench on my very own front porch.

Loved this pillow so much I went back for it after a week of salivating.

Discovered these old vases I bought from a lady in Tuscany a few years ago.  I liked her.

Had tea.

Bought fruit.

Lined up glasses.

In addition I have:

Painted three rooms and four ceilings
Refinished an antique dresser
Unpacked over forty boxes
Caulked a bathtub
Painted cupboards
Mudded and sanded walls
Replaced power outlets
Visited Home Depot about 23 times
Replaced blinds
Hung curtains
Hammered things
Got a power drill of my own
And so much more.

Phew.