Missing seasons

I can feel my eyes getting heavy, sleep is pulling me in... It must be late I think. I pull on my night shirt and plug my phone into the charger. As the screen is illuminated, and I spot the time (9:18pm), I suddenly feel like a grandma.
Matt works earlier than me, so the jaw dropped shocked and sad expression on my face completely confuses him. I try to argue that it is TooOOooOOooOO EARLY FOR BED! He just yawns and cozies up into the blankets. I don't know why, I suddenly feel like I must stay awake longer, and of course wanting to stay awake I suddenly feel sleep's strong and enticing pull stronger by the minute.
I feel stuck in a rut dear reader.... This  has less to do with my inability to make it to 10pm and more to do with time slipping by. It's like. Wake up, walk to work, work, walk home, make/eat dinner, enjoy small amount of couple time, go to bed. Where are all of the grown up adventures I was supposed to have? Okay, I am more of a home body, so maybe adventures aren't what I am missing. But my dosage of doodling, reading, and writing have been lessened.
When I feel this way, I generally pick up a pen or a book and set my self straight. But tonight I'm thinking about Halloween's approach and am looking for something autumn inspired. This time last year I was in Ashland, OR with the trees changing into brilliant Fall colors. It was easy to get inspired. I walk to work everyday and it's nice, but the beauty of my walk just doesn't measure up to the small town beauty I had enjoyed up North. Sometimes I really wish I had stuck it out there. That feeling has me wanting to take a trip to visit my cousin Avril (a truly remarkable and free-spirited woman). Maybe what I really miss is my girl time with her. Staying up late and talking about life experiences and lessons.
I made it past 10pm tonight, but now the pillow is calling me in. I will look for my Fall inspiration tomorrow even if I have to use Pinterest to find it! I am going to go join my husband now, because he's making sleep look super appealing (like a cat on a pile of freshly dried laundry :> )

The Answer is....

     I don't know why the simple act of choosing and opening a fortune cookie carries such a big and important feeling for me. I like tarot, the horoscope, and fortune cookies, because no matter what (whether it is perfectly accurate or completely off) you can learn from them. I like to think of these things as personal messages from the universe. By chance you chose this card, were born on this day, picked that cookie, and rather than scoff at the message that has been sent to me, I take it.
For the most part, all of these things are positive and provide some sort of direction. They often present me with a new way to look at myself, a new area to improve, something that makes me special (please don't add Ed. to that).
     I often feel like I am in the wrong time or space (like I was meant to be an archer with an incredible knowledge of the flora and fauna in some magical woodland living in a cottage with my husband and children with a pet goat and a dog too, of course), and these little signs send the message that I am exactly where I belong (in the ridiculously hot San Fernando Valley with my husband-no kids, no dogs, and no goats quite yet- in a small but sweet and cozy apartment with close to zero skills in archery and ever growing supply of arts and crafts). Ultimately I try to see the positive, though admittedly this can be difficult (come on, I have close to zero skills in archery and I will probably never own a goat). The fortune cookie that I got while I was at Chi's was a particularly happy and uplifting message. Of course, now that I am desperately searching for the fortune it is missing in action. That is fine (I choose to not see that as a negative message).
     Since I could not find the one that I was searching for, I decided to go through all of the one's that Matt and       I have collected over the past couple years. I can remember some specifically and find some amusing. I know that Matt got this one- You have a good head for matters of money- and I got this one-The project you have in mind will soon gain momentum. If you only you knew how out of place that money one would have been for me and how absolutely perfect it was for my hubby. I kept the project one in the underside of my cellphone case for over a year, and rediscovered it this week. I immediately wanted to start a new project.
     I wonder how often people feel this same sensation. Like the universe is actually sharing something with you. Presenting us with a bit of guidance, like a compass. Divination offered in the form of a cookie was a pretty brilliant idea. Whether or not you dedicate any thought to a fortune cookie, I hope that everyone enjoys these little trifles. Here are a few that are more universal (actually not from cookies but from tea tabs).

                                   Your life is based on the capacity of energy in you, not outside of you.

                 You will feel fulfilled when you do the impossible for someone else. 
   
   True understanding is found through compassion. 
                                                             
                                       We are here to love each other, serve each other and uplift each other.

Strength does not lie in what you have.It lies in what you can give.
                          
                        When the ego is lost, limit is lost. You become infinite, kind, beautiful. 

Just some food for thought :) Hopefully you smiled a little bit. 

1 bed, 1 bath, and a balcony :)

I am supposed to be searching for a dresser on Craigslist, but like a corny license plate cover... I'd rather be writing.
Matt and I moved out of my parents casa this week. It's pretty exciting, and, though we lived away from home while we were in Oregon, this is the first time we are out on our own. It feels pretty amazing... We finally get to put all of our wedding gifts to use (even more amazing). Everyone who has moved before knows that it can be stressful, time consuming, frustrating, sweaty, and even painful at times (all that glamorous stuff). Getting to see it all laid out- no boxes or junk left- is so rewarding though.
Now I get to do all the things that I have wanted to in my place:
Decorate to my taste (with husband's approval- not difficult to attain)
Keep the AC on while Matt's away
Not worry about people eating all of the food I put in the pantry within the day of purchase
Walk around in my undies :)
Walk to and from work (this is a shorter distance than from my parent's place, which ultimately means a more realistic commitment)
Cook in my own kitchen (this means diet control...I hope)
Play my own music (including French music without my father complaining in the background)
and... various other things

It's a one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with a balcony-the balcony is completely covered in dust and needs cleaning before any real use, and for our first place it's perfect. Why didn't we decide to do this sooner?!? It's too bad that we had to move in during this heat wave though. We quickly realized that the AC (located in the living/dining area) does not reach our bedroom and invested in a fan so that sleeping could be possible.


Above I mentioned that I need to search for a dresser on Craigslist. I just want to say that our living room is pretty much a Craigslist masterpiece. So before you go spend hundreds of dollars on a new item at some furniture store, give it a shot. It is quite possible to find some awesome quality deals on there and is well worth the search when you come across a unique piece that screams "I want to be in your home". The people that we have picked things up from have been incredibly nice and interesting. (The people that we got our light fixtures from were getting ready to move to Germany, and they were so sweet. The women who sold us our coffee table were so living in a cool part of North Hollywood that I had never seen before and one of them was from Paris. I had the chance to practice my French with her.) So on top of a good deal, you can have the  pleasure of helping out some very cool people by giving their old furniture a good home (and some quick cash too).
Now that it has almost been a week, who's coming over? Bring a bottle of wine, would you? I could use a glass :)

     The month of July has gone by in a flash with the ending of a visit with family in Oregon, work, an opportune job interview, my birthday, a weekend trip to Solvang, studying my French, and a Cottrell family get together just yesterday (they tend to be as draining as they are fun), I have had a lot to do. Je suis tres occupe. The old cliche 'time flies when you're having fun' comes to mind, and right now that feels bittersweet.
     I am 24, which feels pretty much the same as 23 (it just sounds older). I still get carded when I order a drink, I still wonder what I am going to do when I grow up, and I am still battling with acne (what the eff?!?!) It's the year of the Dragon, which happens to be my birth year (woot woot), and so far there's been no real turbulence... I was invited by United Airlines to fly to Houston, TX (the flight was paid for) to interview for a flight attendant position, and, though I did not get the job, the experience was enriching. Matt and I have been together for a really long time, and I realize that I have had very few independent adult experiences. That is what the interview really was for me. I really enjoyed my day of travel, people watching, and the chance to meet and speak with interesting strangers. Not getting the job is a little bit of a bummer, but I think that it was important for me to go for it.
     I really appreciate my current job right now actually. The summer has been slower than the usual, and I have been trying to absorb every peaceful moment knowing that the Fall semester is approaching. I have been working on my coffee art and getting to know some of our summer regulars. I see a lot of my old college professors, and it makes me want to go back to school (though I know it wouldn't be a walk in the park). It has been almost a month since I last blogged, but I have been writing a lot and picking up my French studies again. I have no idea where I am going, but I don't feel like that is such a bad thing. I hope everyday older is a day wiser.. and stronger. Ultimately, life is good even though it is one confusing and challenging adventure.

The Gamine Girl

     When I was at Pierce College, which now feels like it was part of a completely different world, I took a cinema class. It was in this class that I watched the film Bonjour Tristesse and first knowingly laid eyes on a gamine girl- Jean Seberg.
     


     To some, gamine is synonymous with a skinny chick sporting a pixie cut (typing gamine into a search engine will bring up many images of that sort)  However, the term 'gamine' has come to mean a lot more than short hair to me. 

The two reactions that I got when I went pixie were LOVE and HATE. 
The funny thing is that to me it was just hair,
hair grows back, and oh yeah, it's mine not yours anyway :) 

     Growing up, I was never a girly-girl. I actually considered myself a tomboy, but looking back I don't think I would use that term to describe myself as a child. After all, I liked playing with Barbies, dressing up with my friends, and playing house (all that good old stereotypical girl stuff). I also liked climbing trees, playing sports, and getting dirty which may be the reason I improperly classified myself as a tomboy. Also I wasn't as girly as my sister. 

Just a cool picture from the last camping
trip I was on that I felt like sharing. 

   When I would get dressed on the weekends (or any day that I was not in my Catholic school uniform), it wasn't so much about looks as it was about comfort to me. My girly-girl sister would comment on my inability to dress myself, and I would go back and try again. I never seemed to put on anything she would deem worthy of a public outing. My outfit choices probably weren't that great (maybe they were God awful. I can't remember. I've put a veil over those moments- probably because I felt deeply embarrassed and horribly un-girly) I have always envied my sister in her effortless ability to dress, act, and look feminine without showing any signs of discomfort. She's been able to wear high heels with ease since her eighth grade graduation, keeps up with her manis and pedis, stays away from all things dirty, and her hair is always done.
     Hair... maybe that's ultimately where my difficulty has always been. My hair used to be long.. and annoying. When I had it down it didn't make me feel pretty. I never knew what the heck to do with it. One irritating swish too many and it was back up in a ponytail (and guys never seem to realize that a ponytail over the course of a couple hours = headache. Take it down to relieve your headache = ugly bump). In high school, I decided to try bangs. I thought maybe that was the solution since so many of my female classmates with bangs looked effortlessly adorable... Well that was a mistake, and for some reason growing out a pixie cut seems a lot less painful than growing out those bangs.
     Before I went for it, I told my ______ (insert female family member) my plan and she voiced a few of her concerns that, not going to lie, were pretty irritating:
1.) There's a possibility it will look dykey 
2.) You won't be able to hide your acne
3.) It could make you look fat 
4.) You won't know how to style it. 
     I still don't know how I went through with it after hearing that stuff. I actually called my hair dresser and told her I did not want to be talked out of it. When I came in with pictures of Jean Seberg and Natalie Portman, she seemed slightly concerned, but after years of resenting my hair for continually failing me (or me failing it), I was not going to be talked out of the chop. To my relief she did not try to dissuade me from my decision, and I left the salon with a bad ass pixie cut and a smile that lasted all day. I have had absolutely No Regrets for that decision.

   After I cut my hair off, I felt more girly then I ever had with long bleach blonde hair. It was easier to style, and it didn't get in the way. But even though I felt like it was the best decision I could ever make hairwise, everyone and their mother let me know how they felt about it and a lot of that was negative (a lot of the comments I received weren't exactly nice-even though some were nicely stated insults and then some were genuine compliments which I really appreciated). I felt like people with long hair were in this weird long-hair-lovers cult and that chopping my hair off was breaking their most sacred hair law. Everyone wanted to know why I did it. My answers never seemed to be satisfactory. The truth is I have been in the process of growing out my hair for over half a year now, and I have come to realize that the longer it gets the less I seem to like it (I mean I want to like it, because I kind of thought it would be cool to donate it to Locks of Love). 
     This hair experience has really helped me come to realize what gamine means to me. It has become one of my favorite words, and what do you know, it's French. Pixie cut only scratches the surface. It's simple elegance, it's about feeling comfortable in my skin, it's about the essence of femininity rather than the image of it, and it is my choice (one that I felt drawn to despite the contrary opinions of others). My self-confidence is at it's peak when my hair is at its shortest, when I am the Gamine Girl.

Doodler in Distress

     There is always more going on under the surface than meets the eye. It has been a particularly emotional, stressful, irritating week or two. Things that are bothersome have become a blur, and the points that were particularly happy and good really stand out like: my bedtime duets with Matt, Charley cracking up as I did head stands for her on the front lawn, doodling on the dry erase board, unwinding on my walks, volleyball, bowling, lunch at Pho 999, dinner at Stonefire, watching a French film with Matt, and oh yeah, the Kings winning the Stanley Cup. Things to change for the next week- because it's bound to have its up and downs too: less drinking (or removing alcohol from the picture altogether), drinking more water, less phone, more Matt time, and less strong language.
     Fortunately, if next week goes horribly wrong I will have more than a week of camping and good times to look forward to (at Hunington Lake, Sequoia, and hopefully Ashland, Oregon) and to undo the stress. Ultimately, my bad week is not all healed... I am holding on to the things that made me angry, and I don't think my Healing with the Fairies cards or the Yeah Yeah Yeahs are going to help me resolve them (... or will they? I dash to find the cards and turn on my music player, and it is in fact helping).

     Maybe sometimes the key to releasing yourself from whatever has tied your heart up into an emotional knot is to do what you love and truly be in the moment when you are doing it... you may have noticed via facebook how much attention the dry erase board has received from me recently.

    Maybe a camping trip is just what the doctor ordered, and that in the wilderness among all of the beautiful trees, in the quiet fresh air that can only be found when away from the city, in the realm of the fairies :), I will be able to let go of all of the little things... if that doesn't work I don't know what will. 

Thanks a latte

     Sometimes I start writing and after a few dedicated minutes I read over what I've got and.. hate it. I begin to tear it apart (the inner critic's a *itch) The one thing I hate the most in my writing is my whining. My life is not nearly as bad as I make it sound or genuinely think it is at times. For one thing, I have no debt. Another, I am happily married. Another, my family is awesome. Another, I am not allergic to anything-that I know of. I could go on... I think.. wait let me think of one more for good measure. I whine a lot about my job, but as miserable as my job makes me at times, I feel hella important there. Alright, so don't feel sorry for me when I go on and on about what I want to do when I grow up, and how I'm not on the right path, or how lost I am in my labyrinth.

     My work is to serve a huge variety of people a not so huge variety of drinks. I can pour coffee with ease, steam foam with the best, and if you have a question about what to order (this surprises me sometimes) I can actually aid you in choosing- often, with very little to go off of beyond the typical "I want something that has caffeine but doesn't taste like dirt", and I can do all this with a smile. This is the part of the job that is seen by the customers, and according to our comment box- customer's like me. That feels good.
     To my co-workers, I am someone they can depend on when there is a line out the door, when they need help getting their shift covered, and when a strange coffee situation arises they can count on me to, at very least, masterfully improvise. Oh yeah and behind the scenes, I can do really good (or bad but still funny) impressions of our customers like: the guy that just realized he has an hour to finish a paper and truly believes that I can serve him a solution in a 12, 16, or 20 oz. cup, or the guy who has literally asked out every girl that works at my store.. in writing... usually on a napkin.. sometimes a pastry bag, or, the more common customer, that cannot get off of their phone to order, doesn't know the difference between a cappuccino and frappucino (btw BIG difference), just ordered the most UNhealthy thing on the menu to then ask how many calories are in it, or the low talkers that look really annoyed when you ask them to repeat their order yet still will not adjust their volume in any amount when they reiterate. Sorry for bashing. Honestly, for every crappy customer there are usually 2 awesome customers that "see" me (like they way the blue people in Avatar see each other), and about 10 that have no impact on my mood because all they want is their coffee and to get to class on time. (These statistics are complete b.s. but you get it.)
     To my big boss/es, I am a happy, little, blonde girl with excellent customer service skills who does the coffee, pastry, and milk orders well (or well enough), creates schedules and gets shifts covered, who doesn't call to complain about little things, and smiles all damn day long (despite above mentioned customer types).
That's three roles: barista, co-worker, and manager. I am three people every day at this job, and in each position I am in good standing. So what the heck do I really have to complain about.


Awkward story #1  Light or Dark?
My best friend got me a job at Starbucks. She had already been a barista for over a year  (by then you know the coffee world like the back of your hand), and I was working register. Someone asked "which has more caffeine? Light or dark roast coffee?" and I answered "dark." So the customer then chose the dark roast. My friend comes over from the bar to correct me,"Uh, actually the light roast has more caffeine." I think the customer and I said "Oh" in unison. I had already poured the darn cup, and now the customer wants light. Oy vey!- I just want to clear this up. Technically, if you are comparing bean to bean, yes, the light has more caffeine, but the difference in the amount of caffeine is so tiny that I would be surprised if you could even tell (There is more to it than that, but it's something you can google search when you are bored). I re-poured them the light with a smile.

Awkward story #2   Oh, Madison!
My first day at a new coffee shop, despite my past coffee shop work experience, I was nervous-like crazy-shaky-hands-even-though-I-haven't-had-any-coffee-yet nervous- and rusty. It had been almost a year between my Sbux job and this one. So when you are nervous and rusty, they cannot put you on bar or register without worrying about you, so they make you clean. I was asked to clean the counters, and I wanted to do a really good job because I couldn't do a good job on anything else yet.
After I have cleaned the coffee counters to their pristine glory, I decide to clean under the machines. I lift our espresso grinder and before I know what has happened, the floor is covered in espresso beans. Apparently you cannot lift our espresso grinder when their is espresso in it. I was so embarrassed, and at Sbux when you messed up, especially as a newbie, they made you feel awful about it. I waited for someone to sigh in anger or bark at me  to clean it up. Instead I got a laugh- this persons laugh is awesome btw- while my co-worker/ trainer grabbed the broom and started cleaning up. She even went as far as to relate that she had done this before. I must have looked scared and pathetic, because she kept telling me it was okay, not a big deal, that it happens, and cooing me back to reality.


Awkward story # 3  Gaston le Chat

This is not the original, but its
a very close recreation done
by the marvelous Claire Moles.

We have this white board at work, and it's supposed to be for important work related notes but it's a coffee shop so... not too many super important work related notes are left on it. It has become a doodle board more or less. (Or crazy list board-celebrity crushes, annoying customer comments/questions, and what not). Often one person will start drawing, another will add something, and then another, and another. One of our drawings started with a really fat cat, and as the night went on he became a really fat French cat named Gaston who had enough of these annoying customers. He had funny word bubbles, a few expletives were thrown in, and he was even smoking a cig and waving the bird... anyway, when you close it is your job to erase the board. After all we don't want our manager to see the sort of thing that goes on our important work related note board unless it's an important work related note.
It didn't get erased.. Thank goodness the boss found it funny. She didn't even erase him.
She did erase the expletives and the middle finger though.


     I love being a barista- for the most part.
     I love the people I work with. We are allies. We can get through the day together. We can share a laugh. We can double bar. We can make polo shirts and aprons look cool (no? oh well).
     I love the people I serve. They need coffee as badly as I do. They smile. They joke when I blotch the coffee script (ex. asking if someone wants room for cream in their frappuccino). They say they missed me when I was in Oregon and that they're happy I am back.
     I like (love's a strong word) my bosses. After a truly hard day or week, they assure me I have done well. They congratulate me when I exceed expectations. They have freed me from wearing the polo shirt of lameness (free dress = yay yay yay!- dorky dance included). They appear more and more human. They even curse and swear when their day is rough or they've blotched something (that's right, they blotch things too)

     I still do not want this to be my career, but I am definitely fine with it for now. After all, I still want to learn how to do a rosetta on a latte.

Marilyn and Me

     I do not remember with perfect clarity when my obsession with Marilyn Monroe came about. I was probably 7 or 8 and had decided that I wanted to be like her, because she was so pretty and likable. I hadn't even seen her in a movie when I had decided that. I remember my mom telling me that the mole on my chin was a beauty mark and someone saying that Marilyn Monroe had a beauty mark too, which made me feel special- actually more than special. It made me feel beautiful. 

My Marilyn themed
dress and hair... and yes,
that's Matt. We have been
together that long.

     I have to take a moment to reflect on that. Yes, I remember feeling beautiful, before puberty struck. Then came acne, and hips, and boobs, and a bunch of crap magazines with pictures of celebrities with waists as big my wrist, and... well I kind of didn't feel so beautiful anymore. That lasted a while (most of high school actually, which of course felt like forever), and the sugary caffeine-loaded frappucinos from Starbucks paired with lots of fast food was a big step in the wrong direction.
     During that period of my life that I sometimes think of as my dark ages (especially when my dad loads the most awful pictures from those years onto our digital picture frame for friends and family to see), I had a growing collection of Marilyn memorabilia that included posters, two shirts, and a clock. I kind of started to idolize her. Or at least the image of her. In my senior year, I even bought a dress and styled my hair to look as Marilyn as possible for prom. 

     I may have had a collection and all, but I didn't really know much about the woman. I mean I knew that her real name was Norma Jeane, she was an actress and a sex symbol, sang happy birthday to JFK in a sultry voice, that diamonds were her best friend, and that she died young from some sort of drug over dose. I could say that I know more about her now because I've read Wikipedia entries about her, did my fair share of Googling, read magazine articles, and watched a number of her movies- as well as My Week with Marilyn.Yet I still feel like I don't know who she was. There's a lot about her laid out clean and clear, but beyond her stardom, her image as a sex symbol, her way with the camera (clothed or not), she remains a mystery. Marilyn Monroe was really a pseudo identity. Norma Jeane was sort of... lost to Hollywood. So I wonder what it would have been like to be that girl.
     Almost fifty years after her death as I was placing my groceries on the check stand, her face on the cover of Vanity Fair held my attention with a force as could not be ignored. I made the purchase (with zero buyer's remorse- can't say that when I buy In Touch, Star, or People ) and instantly flipped to the pictures... I mean article.
After I finished reading, I realized she was human and vulnerable yet still beautiful. Always beautiful. The obsession I had in childhood has sort of evolved. There's something about her looks, her smile, her energy that is captivating. But it's that realness that I like so much about her now. (That and she makes femininity seem like a super power.) It's probably not right to idolize anyone, but I definitely think that both Marilyn Monroe and Norma Jeane are worth remembering.

"I didn't pay much attention to the whistles and whoops, in fact, I didn't quite hear them. I was full of a strange feeling, as if I were two people. One of them was Norma Jeane from the orphanage who belonged to nobody; the other was someone whose name I didn't know. But I knew where she belonged; she belonged to the ocean and the sky and the whole world."-Marilyn Monroe

I spent Saturday night with Matt at the Getty. We Missed the Kings game for some romance, and hey, they still won. We have been married just over six months now, which Brings our total relationship time close to 8 years (no small feat for a 23 and 25 year old). And somehow, marriage has made a world of difference. First, it feels like something has been accomplished (there's a big sigh of relief), then it feels like I am looking back on a dream when I think about my wedding and honeymoon, and then the start up, which was perhaps not so dream like (We moved to Oregon for 3 months but our job search had no avail. Then we came back to California searching for work, back in with my parents -don't worry we still love each other.. and my parents, back to work, and now looking for apartments-some great and some not so great- on the weekends.)

It is strange, though, to go from seeing each other all day every day to seeing each other a couple of hours with only the weekends to fully spend together. Maybe that's what being grown up is all about. That seems unfair though. It would be more accurate to say that is what working full time is all about.

Anyway getting back to the Getty (which is no longer free after 5 pm on Saturdays), Matt and I succeeded in having some peaceful, romantic, wonderful alone time at one of my favorite places in Los Angeles. I did the unthinkable by asking if we could leave the tv screen during NHL playoffs, especially when our team was playing, and Matt did the most beautiful thing a husband could do. He turned it off and took me out.

Don't settle. Seek!

 It has been almost a month since my last post.. and it has been crazy. I recently was hired back to my old work place as a supervisor. It's a step up (but kind of to the side if you know what I mean). Since my goal in life is not to be a coffee shop store manager or to completely ignore my degree, I have been wondering if going back to this job is a good idea.

     I find my new position to be a big time stress factor in my life. I know that I am fully capable of managing a coffee shop but this is not really moving me forward in any way. I absolutely hate being the person to cut people's hours, and ordering coffee and keeping track of inventory is not exactly a fulfilling task. It is what it is. It is becoming increasingly obvious to me that it is the type of job that you should not have to take home with you (... wish there was an off switch so that when I have to be in at work at 6am on Friday, I am not tossing and turning on Thursday night about getting my pastry order in by one the next day) and ever more obvious that I cannot help but bring it home. Matt has told me repeatedly that I need to stop letting everything get to me and that I am bothered too easily by my work life. I wonder when it will click and I will feel free after I clock out. In the meantime, I enjoy the weekends off although they pass too quickly for my long reading list. 

     Which brings me to what I am currently reading. The Hunger Games (forgive me for picking it up so late). The night before the Hunger Games start Peeta says "I don't want them to change me in there. Turn me into some kind of monster that I'm not...... I keep wishing I could think of a way to.. to show the Capitol they don't own me."  Suddenly I am trying not to laugh aloud while I am reading this. This is all that I want out of a job, out of life. I want to be me. Not some phony who tells people "if you have time to lean, you have time to clean" or sends people home early when I can see in their eyes they really need the hours right now. My fear is the same as Peeta's only I am not a contestant in a death match.  I know that is possible to be good at something even if you are not passionate about it, but if your heart is not in it (even though your performance reads as excellent) then you are still settling for mediocrity. 

     I think ultimately that my coming back has really lit a fire under my bum to start seeking rather than just accepting whatever opportunities fall into my lap.  I think it is high time that I follow through with my passions. The quote "You miss one hundred percent of the shots you don't take" keeps flashing in my mind (and flashes all the brighter while I am watching the LA Kings in the playoffs). I will always love coffee, but I know that I prefer to be on the customer side of the counter. Once you have a realization or dream of what you want to be or how you want to live your life, you will be miserable if you settle for something rather than work to pursue that goal. 

Attitude Adjustment

      Today began with me waking up later than I had intended. The night before I thought I am going to get up early, walk to Starbucks, and write. So I already messed up with the getting up early, but why is an early start so important anyway? I decided I could still go walk to Starbucks and sit down and write. Then the phone rings, and my sister says that she is pretty much at the house with my nieces. Of course, my nieces are adorable, and by now I feel like I really can't leave anymore. So I sit around looking for a movie for Mia, holding Charley (who has learned the slobbery art of blowing raspberries btw) while I wonder what my own kids will be like someday, and how I will ever go for walks or write when they come into my life.
      I do not want to say that my day is going badly. It is more fitting to say that my day is not going as I planned or hoped. That is kind of life's way, right? What I had been certain of last night was that I should do a physical activity followed by some writing. The day has flown by with a phone call, a fruitless search on Netflix, laundry load number one, a peanut butter English muffin, lots of attempts to keep a five year old and six month old entertained, laundry load number two, and my third cup of coffee. I hate when I get all whiny about not doing anything productive with my day (mainly because then I start worrying about the bigger picture).
      So physical activity, well let me count holding a baby while searching Netflix my physical activity. Writing is well... I am blogging, aren't I? So maybe it is not the exact intentions that I had last night, but it is ticking the boxes on a bunch of technicalities. What I hate more than me getting whiny about my unproductive day is me being whiny about my day and taking it out on the people I love. While I did not write a story or have an intense workout, I did get to spend time with my favorite ladies. If the key to life is balancing mind, body, and soul, then I need to work on keeping my attitude in check (and this is, as most things said on blogs are, easier said than done).

     Perhaps today did not go as planned, but yesterday and the day before I did something worth while and productive in my opinion. I had remembered from a high school art project carving a stamp out of linoleum, so I bought some carving block and linoleum cutters and got to it. I've made four stamps so far and am going to need more carving block soon, because I am addicted. The idea is to use my stamps to decorate wrapping paper, cards, and the like. It also happens to be pretty fun stuff.

 This sort of thing is what I love to do. I have not had so much fun with a DIY project since planning the decorations for my wedding, and I wish that I had thought of it then. I would have thought of some way to have used them.

       I have another craft idea that I hope I will get the chance to do sometime this week, and if I do I will of course post some more pictures.
     

      Overall, I have learned that the selection for the instantly streamed Netflix is lousy, that searching for a movie with a baby in your arms is difficult but not impossible, and that things may not go exactly as planned but there is no use in whining about it (instead I choose to blog about it ;> ). I am going to watch a movie with Matt tonight, and maybe I will get to go on my walk tomorrow.  

     

Body Mind and Spirit

     Before my amazing honeymoon in Ireland, I was rather obsessed with Celtic symbols and knots. One or two stand out in my mind. I am particularly fascinated with the trinity symbols, which have been said to mean various things (Father-Son-Holy Ghost, father-mother-child, maiden-mother-crone, past-present-future, birth-death-rebirth, etc.) but my favorite is body-mind-spirit. I believe that we need to find a balance between the three to live life to its fullest potential. Currently I feel physically, mentally, and (dare I say) spiritually healthy, but not to the extent that I have all of my kinks worked out.
     I feel physically strong, and I do not like going a whole day without a little physical activity. What about diet? I think I eat the right foods. I definitely should be drinking more water. Overall, I think I get an A in body, and I am not saying that I look like a supermodel rather that I pay attention to the way my body feels and don't push it overboard.
     What about mind? Well, I happen to be fond of my mind despite all of its quirks. I read frequently and think a lot. I communicate with my husband and whoever else can stand to listen. However, I do not make myself sit down and write like I know I should. Sometimes I think I need to work out, or look for jobs, or think of what to make for dinner, or.... a million other things that are all dying to be a top priority in my brain (and unfortunately, I allow little things to make it to the top on occasion). I am honest with myself and though this may not sound like a challenge it has been for me in the past, especially in those juicy teenage years (I have some awful and hilarious diary entries to remind me of this).

     Spirit is a tricky beast. This is where morality and dreaming come into play. I think that it takes a lot more than physical or mental exercise to make a healthy spirit. Otherwise, I could just go for a run, play tennis, or volleyball and read, play boggle, or pictionary everyday and be set. My spirit can only be healthy when I discipline myself to do good and to choose right over wrong. I may not consider myself Catholic (because I hate religious dogma), but I know that my parents chose to raise me that way because they believed in having a moral code. My dad at one point last year (regarding the fact that I don't go to church and that I was not going to have a Catholic wedding) looked at me very seriously and told me that he was worried about my soul. I spent quite some time worrying about it too. (I am sorry to any of my Catholic readers, because I have not started going to church again) Now I sincerely believe, after deep consideration of my own father's words, that God (and I do believe in God) is more loving, forgiving, and accepting than any person on this earth can even imagine. This is the God that I choose to believe in, and I hate the idea of fearing Him. It is not my religious beliefs that make up my spirit anyway. It is my attitude, will power, instincts, intuition, aspirations, and my own moral code.
     Body, mind, and spirit collectively make up our essence. They are incredibly intertwined with one another. A psychological issue can manifest into a physical ailment, people! I think that we need to challenge ourselves to involve our mind and spirit in our physical activities, to consider our body and spirit during mental activity, and to be present in body and mind when we go into our spiritual place. Banish feelings of shame, worry, and guilt from this trinity because they create imbalance.

Mardi Gras

     Today being Fat Tuesday, I thought I should plan out all of my over-indulgences before I give something up for the next 40 days. However, I woke up with a tummy still full with yesterday's over-indulgences. I have this really irritating feeling too, that no matter what I give up I won't be able to stick to it. Today is indeed Fat Tuesday, and yet as an American, many of my days are spent chowing down all sorts of junk foods and nights spent gulping down many alcoholic beverages (most often without anything to celebrate). 

     This weekend, I told a friend that I am a three-drink girl. Then, I come across this article in Home Journal magazine and the author says she has been called a "three-drink girl" by her mother with negative connotation. It seemed too much of a coincidence for me to come across this article. The woman who wrote the article could have been me as far as experience goes, and the fact that I could relate so well to this article did not make me feel so good. I have thought about my own drinking habits and wondered if I am on the verge of addiction. I always come up defending myself, and though I do not believe I have any real problems with addiction, my habit of three is not as healthy as I pretend it to be.

      I have a dark side, just ask my sister... or anyone else in my family (but not Matt because he won't speak a word against me despite the fact that he has indeed seen my dark side- we are married afterall), and I can easily say that my drinking brings out this dark side of mine. That is why my first choice in Lenten sacrifice is to give up alcohol (no matter how many birthdays there are to celebrate, the possible trip to Solvang with my mom, or St. Patrick's Day), because I find too many things to celebrate with a glass or two... or three. Just the same with Fat Tuesday, as I could go out for a burger and add fries and a milk shake, have ice cream after a not so healthy dinner, and wake up once again with a tummy ache. I can't do that, however, without thinking that I do this a lot more than I should as it is. 

     So today rather than making a trip to In-N-Out, I told my mom I would go on a hike with her, even though it is Fat Tuesday, and I am not fully in the mood to get off my bum today. I am going to do my best to ditch the irritating feeling that I may not succeed in my Lenten journey by way of using the calendar I bought myself to track my successes. 

     I am not trying to make anyone feel guilty and hope that everyone has a wonderful Mardi Gras! I wish you all the pleasures of the world without a tummy ache to follow.

      

       

Reading Girl

      I am reading Gone with the Wind and now understand the power of the famed book. I have to applaud Margaret Mitchell as I have only read a tenth of the book and feel a feverishness taking over me. I was hardly able to put the book down to answer the phone for my sister (fortunately for her, it was high time for a bathroom break). The power of a good book is that it is intoxicating! Only now after having put down my Kindle, I have realized it is lunch time, and I am hungry (Women, we don't need diets. We need literature!). I graduated with an English degree and took up that course of study because I loved to read. My love of reading was not so connected to a passion for analysis or critique, unless it was in a fiery discussion, as it was to the experience. Now I have the freedom to just experience the book without over thinking, without wondering what my next paper's thesis will be. It's so marvelous I can hardly stand it. Above all, this book makes me feel gloriously feminine. I loved the movie, but you just cannot beat the book.

  

   If I someday have come to terms with my inner critic and can write with as much freedom as I read, I shall have found true bliss. So the journey to becoming a writer has begun with reading. I am as close as I have ever been, but somehow a good book in my hands is my strongest ally and motivation. Hopefully someday I can give that experience to someone else. 

     

     

       We are officially back in Southern California. I had wanted it to feel like cloud nine when we got here, but that would just be too dreamy and easy, wouldn't it? I am finding it harder to write here. There is something stifling in the air. It might be the population size. I cannot help but feel minuscule in Los Angeles. The labyrinth I was dealing with in Oregon just got one hundred times larger. I have to readjust and breathe. My optimism must trump my pessimism.

       I have done a lot of self-reflection lately and know that it can be hard for me to decipher intuition from impulse. This makes a job search incredibly difficult. I do not want to act on impulse. I want to follow my intuition. I want to find a job that speaks to my heart. The money aspect is so unattractive. The cost of living is so high here that I cannot help thinking if I do that will I make enough money? Instead of thinking would it make me happy? The consequence of this mentality is prostitution- doing things without passion for money and sacrificing happiness for success. I know that is below me, but I feel the unpleasant pressure sure enough. After all I dream of having a family someday, and I want to be able to take care of that future family of mine. I don't even want that day to be so far away. My childhood naivete allowed me to think that I would have it all figured out by now.

      I fear looking like a fool for the decisions I make. None the less my decisions are exactly that. Mine! I am the one who will have to live with them, learn from them, and follow through with them. I keep looking to people for advice, but they don't know what I should do. Surprisingly I find support where I expect criticism. I am my largest source of indecision and negative criticism. I desire to let myself aspire more freely. By making myself post on my blog today, I feel that I am regaining the strength to write and to dream.

      

Journey

     Ashland has been an absolute pleasure and a great learning experience, but Matt and I are saying goodbye and going back to Los Angeles (at least for now). We had been going back and forth about what we should do: Stick it out until Ashland's tourist season comes, which is still two months away, in hopes of getting jobs when business picks up, or head back to LA. The back and forth nature of our plans was driving me up a wall. Our decision to go back was in no way sudden or without great consideration, and ultimately we came to this decision because I love Ashland not Medford. A fifteen minute drive between the two cities, and yet they feel like different countries. Ashland is, however, much more expensive than Medford.... might as well be in LA.
   

     It is kind of funny how unpredictable life can be at times and how unclear our paths really are.

I was walking in one direction with confidence only to find myself somehow off course having to back track. When I got back to the place I had trod so confidently before I did not find a single perfect path but rather an intricate labyrinth. Fortunately, it was not frightening for me to see all of the different possibilities. Instead I stood there marveling at the beauty of it all before I tried again a bit more cautiously.

  

     I walk my path with intent. I have a purpose. I have dreams to follow. I have a direction. I have many lessons to learn.
     Goodness, I miss free parking after 5PM at the Getty Museum on Saturdays. I miss day trips to Solvang. I miss my mom arguing with me about how to pronounce 'Solvang'.
I am going to miss the scenic beauty of Ashland, the walker friendly roads, and most of all my cousin, her husband, and their kids.
I look forward to the future and walking in a new direction.

French Garden

     Matt suggested that I name my most recently finished painting French Garden. I was not quite sure if it fit. The painting was actually based off of a friend's Facebook photo, though it came out very different from what I had first had in mind. I have been ignoring painting lately, because somehow I decided that writing was the most important thing for me to do at this time when really both are very important to me.

     When we first arrived in Oregon (after our honeymoon) we were job and house/apartment hunting, and I had decided that I needed to devote my time mainly to this search. I did not bring any canvas or paint with me. I did bring notebooks (of course, because I don't even travel without them) and I wrote here and there. After a couple weeks however, I began to feel the urge to paint (probably due to the fact that we arrived in the Fall, and Oregon is absolutely beautiful during that season). Instead of buying acrylics, which has been my paint of choice since I started painting, I bought oil.

     I warn you that oil is a pain to clean off of your brushes, it takes forever to dry, and is definitely not the best choice if you have curious little kids around you that want to touch your unfinished project. But I am absolutely in love with it, and for now I cannot even think of going back to acrylic. 

     The job search is still extremely important. I have simply decided that sending out resumes and waiting for call backs is not a very fulfilling life style, and I will no longer ignore the Muse calling me to canvas, computer screen, or notebook. It has been three months since I have been without a job (the bright side is that I have been married for three months!), in a different state, away from my immediate family. I miss home. I miss my mom and dad. I miss my sister and brothers. God, I miss my nieces. I miss my friends. I miss California (well, maybe not the traffic).

     The larger picture of my family is spread out across the U.S. in California, Texas, Louisiana, Oregon, Virginia, Florida, and Washington (I may be missing something... do you know how big my family is!?!). It makes me wonder how they all had the strength to get through their moves, how often they thought about going back, was sticking it out worth while, and if so, what made it so worth while? No matter what anyone tells you, whether they say "It is going to be awesome, you will love it" or "You must be crazy moving that far away from family",  if you feel the need to do it, then you should. It will pan out later whether it was awesome or crazy. It is better than just sitting around wishing that you had tried it. I still have my youth, my awesome husband, and no children as of yet. My heart said "go", Matt said "okay", and we did. 

     When times are tough I try to count my blessings, I go to Starbucks and write(... though my gift card just ran out), I sit down and paint, I read, and I still dream about what it will be like to live with just Matt. When we find a place of our own, it has to have a bathtub, because I plan on taking a lot of them. 

     I don't know if any of my hobbies will ever pan out as careers. I have a responsibility to myself to do them no matter what though, because they make me happy. 

     I finished reading the book French Women Don't Sleep Alone, and I highly recommend it. I have decided to incorporate some of the tips from that book into my every day life, and I feel like I am just beaming with feminine energy when I do. I walk to the coffee shop, I smile at strangers (not a big smile, just a closed lip smile) that I pass on the street, I wear matching under garments, my writing is my 'secret garden', I wear pretty smelling lotion or perfume, and I just appreciate being a woman. Oh and I started studying French again. It ends up all I needed was a break from the classroom environment. I think college grads miss and romanticize their college days (I am certainly guilty of this at times.. until I see posts during finals week on FB). Learning does not have to stop. In fact, it should not. It should merely become more specific to your own tastes and passions. 

    The fact that I allow myself these little bits of joy every day makes me think that years from now when I am looking back on this moment the struggle will seem so vague that I may not even believe that it was really even going on. 

Healing with the Fairies

I am stealing this title from a set of tarot cards I received from my cousin a summer or two ago. Tarot is something I resort to when I am feeling a bit low... so today guess what. Yep, I am feeling low. A barista job that I thought was a certainty has somehow slipped away. I am currently living in a children's playroom. The jobs listed on craigslist sucked today. And I don't know what to do when I grow up.

My tarot cards are:
Follow Your Dreams
Vacation
Raising Your Standards

I cannot tell you how many times it has come up in tarot for me to "Follow my dreams". This is something I am striving to do. This sounds so simple and easy, doesn't it? Follow- like there is this perfect little path with flowers along the sides and happy bunnies urging me forward. My dreams- I can see it now. I have my book in my hands with Matt by my side, I've learned French, I look really cute in that dress I sewed myself, and I have three kids. If only it were this easy.
I haven't stumbled across my magical path, and every time I sit down to write or use Rosetta stone there is this little voice in my head saying "you really should be looking for a job". It doesn't help that this voice sounds whiny.
I love my fairy tarot reading. I do! And I am happy that it stays somewhat consistent. It makes me believe in them even more, but tarot cards do not do the work for you. They do not tell you directly to go to a coffee shop and write for an hour, to study French, to get off of Facebook, to go for a walk, make a nice dinner, plant a tree, donate blood, kiss your lover more often, etc. They state the rather obvious, and then we are supposed shut up and listen to our hearts and figure out what we think that actually means.
I am currently experiencing one of those "when life gives you lemons make lemonade" moments. Except it feels more like I can't find my lemons, I don't have a juicer, and there isn't any sugar in the pantry.

I hope no one is reading this in hopes that I can give you an answer. Maybe comfort. It is hard for a lot of people right now. If you have a job you are step ahead of one girl at least.

I do not want pity or worry sent my way from my parents, siblings, friends, or readers (if I have any). I just want the voice in my head to tell me "It's going to be alright. You are doing great. Keep your head up. You are going to get a job (insert exact date and time here)" and sure I would like the voice to sound like Julie Andrews or Professor McGonagall. Is that really too much to ask for?
I know it is, but it would still be awesome.

As far as "raising my standards" goes, well, that is hard for me to do while I am not getting jobs at my current/low self-standard. The words "ugh" and "help" come to mind.

And "vacation"- how the hell am I supposed to do that right now. Though it would be very nice indeed, and if I get the chance, of course (Solvang and Paris are the first things that come to mind).

This far in the New Year I have read the book The War of Art, and I am currently reading Abhorsen (great book. The last in the Garth Nix trilogy) and French Women Don't Sleep Alone.
Each has given me some bit of strength at this time of my life. (That's why I read and why I write)
1. Resistance is a human experience, and it is universal. Giving in to resistance is easier than fighting it off. And though resistance is the enemy, the artist has allies like a productive routine, the muse/angel, and the passion and strength of your own heart.
2. We all have a purpose.
3; I am woman hear me roar... no, but seriously, it feels good as a woman to embrace my femininity and even flaunt it sometimes. I am wearing some sexy undies right now, and I am wearing them for moi.

Allow me to end a little abruptly (I have to work on a dinner plan) with a quote that has been playing in my head for the last five minutes or writing. I feel I have to pass it on to keep my Muse from getting cranky with me.
                     "Keep calm and carry on."

Seeking, Searching, Finding, and Doing what I LOVE

I do not know how to write, and yet I can tell you that is certainly my passion. The thing I would find myself doing if I were the only person on this planet. I would probably paint as well, but I have never felt truly at war with painting. I just buy a canvas and do it. It becomes something that I like every time. The next time I paint I like it better than the last one. It is magical.
When I write I over think. It is possible that dealing greatly with words produces so many words in my head at once that I cannot get all of what I wanted out fast enough and some of the words, perhaps the best words, just disappear. Lost in my brain to possibly resurface or stay hidden forever. I read a part of Hamlet when I was 12ish years old, and my teacher said something like "see, he over thinks everything and that is his fatal/tragic flaw" and 12ish year old me said "I do that too," and then I thought about that and felt guilty for comparing myself to a Shakespearean character. I told one of my friends, and she looked at me like Yeah Right. I literally thought and thought about how she looked at me.
I realized later that I thought a lot and talked a lot and it was possible that I did not always express myself in a way that made me look super intellectually. I speak and think from a place of emotion, and so when people disagree with me (whether they are aware of it or not) my feelings get hurt. I doubt myself.
I am 23 now, and I am sick of doubting myself. I still over think and talk uncontrollably about things that I myself do not always truly care about, BUT when I write it matters to me. And the loss of words due to the speed at which I think is probably a good thing. Garbage is naturally dumped. I will write and want to throw away plenty of my stuff, but I have learned to keep even the things that I think are crap. Also I have learned that sometimes I need to draw write in the middle of a writing session. I used to get angry at myself for doing this. I no longer do. I love to draw and doodle and write and doodle some more. I am creating something that requires both.
I recently posted 2 resolutions, and have already failed both. I have only applied for one job in the new year and I had my husband cut my the back of my hair on New Year's Day. Why? Well just before the New Year I had an interview with US bank. I had applied over two months before, and had done it out of fear. I had/ have no interest in working at a bank. It sounds dull and painful. I don't even like dealing with my own money let alone yours or anybody else's. I sat and participated in the most fake setting lying to these two haunchos about how I would love to do this job and take these crappy hours. I had interviewed previously with a hole in the wall coffee shop in the tiny town of Jacksonville and been told that the job was mine if I still wanted it but the position would not be mine until mid-January which is yet to arrive. I was afraid this Pony Espresso job would fall through. So when I got the interview with US bank I said Yes, I am interested, even though I wasn't at all.
I have worked in the coffee industry for about three years and never saw it as a career option. I still do not see it as a career. It is not my calling nor is banking. Writing is. If it wasn't I wouldn't feel so irritated when I wasn't writing. I sat in a Starbucks for a couple hours and got out maybe three pages, and I read too. I can't tell you the satisfaction I got from this little part of my day. Maybe I should buy a license plate frame that says "I'd rather be writing." I could own that.
I get my writing done in coffee shops a lot of the time. Not at a desk, in my bedroom, living room, kitchen, etc. In a coffee shop! I suddenly understand that maybe being a barista is not my calling. In fact, I got my younger brother a job with a coffee shop I used to work for, and he has already surpassed me in a lot of ways. He can put a rosetta on top of a latte and is better with cranky customers. But sometimes I just need to bang out some pages in a coffee shop. It's my writing home.
I forgive myself for making a resolution that I couldn't stick to. At the beginning of the New Year, my hair started looking mullet-esque so Matt chopped the back of it off. I don't care what my old hair dresser thinks about it. I don't want to apply for a bunch crappy jobs that I would be miserable working. I want to care about what I do. I will apply for jobs that call to my heart and I will cut my hair when it feels like a mullet. Most importantly I am going to Write and write for me, my heart, my passion, and my truth.
I won't put my writing into a category. I am just going to let it flow from my head to paper or computer screen and hope that, out of all of my many scrambled thoughts, the things that are important to me get put down somewhere!