SUN!!!!!!!

I am sunburned right now. Seriously. My arms have the first farmer tan of the year and its itchy but awesome. I can't believe how nice it was today. The boy and I made the most of it, venturing out on bikes down the lakeshore and into the heart of the city. That ride is so magical, and so mood enhancing. We are very lucky to have it so close by. The wind in your face, the lake to your left, the city skyscrapers to your right, and so many different types of people walking along side you, it truly makes you feel alive and connected to everything around you.

Our expedition was a result of my nephew sending me a filmsy little paper doll called "Flat Stanley." Apparently the new thing going down in the first grade is a project where the child sends Flat Stanley to someone he or she knows in another state or country (what the kids who don't have relatives outside of their state do, I shutter to think) and asks the loved one to take pictures of little Stanley around the area, thus giving a snapshot into the life or history of said area. It is quite precious, really. My nephew decorated Stanley to his pleasing, and since he is a child born and raised in Orange County, CA, that meant plastering Stanley with every name brand for skateboards and surf gear possible. I think I am the only aunt involved in this project whose Stanley boasts "Volcom" across his chest and wears a beanie while riding a snowboard. And boy am I proud!
Seriously though, Stanley got us out today, being tourists and getting a major dose of today's beauty. So despite the fact that he and I may not share the same taste in clothing, I think he is swell, and I would like to publicly thank him for a lovely outing. Shout out to my man Stan.

I remembered again why I love this city, like a long lost friend that went away to camp for the winter, and has returned again to pick up right where we left off. I feel giddy with love for her again, and look forward to watching many more sunsets with her skyline as a backdrop.

I also look forward to this farmer tan evening out. But that can wait for now.

I don't nest very well.

I am realizing this more and more lately. I come into a living situation, I make a little nook for myself in someone else's cozy (or not cozy, as it were) home, and then I never make it my own, I just settle awkwardly for a time and then move shortly thereafter. Most of my things stay in boxes, I don't paint, I don't even stay at the house too much, usually. I end up staying at a significant other's house most nights (when I have one) because I inevitably end up feeling more comfortable at their place.

Since I moved out on my own in 1997 at age 17, I have moved roughly 12 times. I average about a year and some change at each place. Just enough time to get sick of not feeling comfortable, not enough time to really settle in entirely and as Paula Abdul on American Idol would say, "Really make it my own."

I often end up moving into someone's already established apartment, just to avoid all the hassle of a new one. But lately I have been aching to see a place of residence from start to finish. I want that empty feeling of a new environment in which I can plant my own seeds of comfort. I want to decorate (something I never ever do!). I want to make things match, put up shelves and buy a shitty cheap couch or something. I want to see what it is like to actually have my own space, to feel comfortable in that space.

I think I always felt safer avoiding getting too cozy in each apartment. I always knew it would be very temporary and what is the point of getting so elaborate with the space when I am just going to be leaving soon anyway? Maybe this is an accidental result of my very first apartment burning down. Perhaps now feel that life is too fleeting and your space can't always be your solace because it could go up in flames or be destroyed in a matter of seconds. It is sad, but I think there is something to that idea. All I have stock in is me, the clothes on my back and a couple of nice things, like a stereo and a TV and a bed and some books. And that has been enough.

Until now.

Now I feel a definite longing to be truly comfortable in my own space. And I don't mean just on a porch (which oftentimes becomes my "private space" in whatever apartment I share with someone else.) I want a bed that is big and soft and classy looking, a bathroom with colors I LIKE, that I picked out. A toilet only I clean. A kitchen with appliances and dishes that belong to ME. A place I can write and not be bothered...a desk even!

It will be difficult to spend the extra money, to live far away from my boyfriend, to get used to a very quiet space in my head, with no roommates to distract me.

But maybe it will ultimately be a good thing. Maybe it'll force me to finally clean up after myself and to REALLY invest in a home to call my own.

I hope it won't make me messier than I already am...yikes!

I am watching a really stupid movie right now. The Truth About Cats and Dogs, which tries to pair Jeanne Garafalo and Uma Thurman as BFFs. And thows in a hot Englishman. Stir and serve, and you've got yourself a tasty crumby movie!
As things spiral out of control for our poor romantic leads, I am struck by how idiotic everything is. The latest thing is that this guy makes a list of pretty intimate, romantic things he loves about the pretty girl, (but really means about the "ugly" girl), and tries to read them to the "ugly" character, to get her opinion. Who does that? I would never write beautiful heartfelt words about my boyfriend and then read them to some guy friend of his to see what the other guy thought of it! Those words are meant for my boyfriend alone!
And now the ugly girl and hot guy just had a deep convo about how beauty doesn't matter when you get to know a person...awww...right after he pontificated for the whole damn movie about how beautiful Uma is. I enjoy this movie for it's ridiculous contradictions and sappy "all works out" sort of feeling.

Ok wait...now the two BFFs just called each other "dumb bitch" and laughed gaily. I no longer have anything redeeming to say about all this.
Lets just call it a night, shall we?

Dear Grandma,

Did some part of your brain know what was really going on before you died? Like was there this tiny part that stayed rational and knew who everyone was, but it's just that the rest of your brain rotted and grew bloated until it covered up the tiny rational part?

I tried to picture this tiny part--this glimmer of recognition inside you--whenever I'd come to the home to visit. I'd look deep into your ice blue vacant gaze, and strain to see you in there--small, frustrated, banging on the glass that separated you from yourself.

The alzheimer's ward was scary and I worried about the real you inside being upset about
getting stuck in there. A former priest wandered to the locked hall door every day and shock it violently, shouting, "Let me out!" desperately to anyone who walked by. They had to hold him back whenever mom and I visited you, so we could get through the door without him running out. Even though you would just sit there and not seem to notice the priest and all the chaos surrounding him, I pictured the real you, the tiny one, somewhere deep in your brain, trying to convey your annoyance despite the thick layers of this bloated, rotting you that overshadowed everything.

They washed your body for you, dressed you and wiped your ass when you went to the bathroom. That must have been really demeaning to the real you, as you watched with horror, unable to do anything to stop it, to tell them you could do it yourself.

This you that overshadowed--it didn't seem to mind anything at all. It was a very pleasant you. It smiled and was quite polite and said "thank you." That's how it got in there so thick. No one noticed it taking over because it mimicked all the kind parts of you so well.
By the time we knew it was there, you had shrunk to the tiny little part I hope still exists. And all the rest of you was commanded by "it," this thing that took over and mimicked you. But looking at this thing, talking to it, we all knew it wasn't you anymore. You didn't even know my name. You called me "dear" to cover your tracks.
I just want to know that somewhere inside, you were still looking at me, knowing me, watching me grow up into the woman I am now. I want to know that though you were trapped under all that rotten, bloated nothing that overtook you, you still had a window to look out of, where you could see the ridiculousness going on, even if you couldn't respond to in in ways we could see.
I like the idea of that better--of you being inside, wishing you could tell me you loved me, call me by my name, fight out against being spoon fed and bathed by nurses. But instead, being only able to watch from that window.

As awful a fate as that sounds, I think you being in there sounds better than the alternative...
you being gone.

Love,
L

I went to a workshop by accident today, and got a free book about fixing my life as a result! What fun!
I set out to attend open house at the massage school that is currently at the top of my list of possible schools. It is small, affordable, intimate, mature, and a warm environment at that! What more could I want?

Well, I wanted one last look at the place before I applied. I am anal about these things. At this stage in my life (yes I feel old, shut up) I want to be sure of what I am doing when it requires this much money and commmitment. So I went this morning and they happened to be hosting a guest speaker, a world-renouned chiropractor/holistic health guy who wrote a book and was quite a force, I must say. He exuded such love and gratitude. Which were the exact topics he was there to discuss, go figure.

So I stayed an extra hour past the open house to catch a few words from this guru of sorts. I had to leave half way through, but I saw a little of where he was headed in his speech, at least, and besides, I got the book for free so I can read more about it if I so choose. I am happy with the way that all worked out. A perfectly worthwhile morning. Especially after the night I had last night. Let's just say I had a tough time pulling myself out of fear and loathing land. Not the Hunter S. Thompson kind, but the kind where I hate myself and fear my life and think I am sick and dying and all that fun psycho emotional crap that sometimes overcomes me.

But what the guy was saying was that your body shows you symtoms and illnesses when you are not balanced, or when you are not embracing your emotions and giving love and gratitude to everyone around you. It gets more complicated, with talk of a Chinese Doctor who wanted to find out if water has consciousness, and the different patterns the water makes when frozen while playing various music. Also how the water reacts to certain words, like "peace" or "you fool." (Guess which pattern in the water is more appealing and intricate? ) And his point seemed to be that since human bodies are made up of 80% water, we are affected by loving sounds (like "thank you") verses negative talk (a la "I want to kill you,") much like the water was. Our bodies break down, get sicker, more achy, whereas spreading love and gratitude will strengthen us all, internally and externally.

Seems logical enough, in a way. Wild, but not without a basis in reality. I wanted to go with him there entirely, but the skeptic in me only allowed me to play with the ideas, batting them around with amusement like cat playing with a ball of string. I could only marvel at the concept, but not entirely buy it for a dollar. Too bad I had to leave early. Maybe he would have convinced me otherwise.

But once he started telling us we needed to befriend cancer, I sort of felt the need to jump off the bandwagon either way. Even if I hadn't had previous plans to leave, I probably would have had to leave once he mentioned that idea. It was a little too much to handle in the course of one 2 hour lecture.

So I walked away with a new knowledge I never had before. I may not believe in all of its nuances, but it is new and fun to think about. And really, in the state I was in before the day's adventure, any little new insight helps ease my mind and raise my spirit.

Oh, did I mention he had a doll that sang, but only when we were all connected by holding hands in a big circle? As crazy as that sounds, if you knew the details of the senario, it wouldn't be as screwed up as it appears out of context. Hmmm... yeah...maybe it is good that my mind is half open, half skeptic.