Here. Now.

29 05 2013

It’s three years later.

Really, it’s six years later.

I spat something onto this page back in 2010, in a faint-hearted attempt to renew my creative juices.  They drowned again.


But something is different this time.  This time, I believe.

I knew I’d sit down this morning and write something, something REAL.  I drank the coffee, I turned on Radio Paradise, and I waited.  I filtered.  I took in my environment, heard the sounds around me, smelled the fragrance of cut grass and last night’s dinner in the sink.  I waited.

And it came.

Ray LaMontagne had to point out the obvious to me.  He had to tell me to be here, now.

So here I am, on my couch in an affluent Los Angeles suburb, in a townhouse decorated in a reflection of the pristine madness that whirls about in the minds of my husband and myself.  I am in a traditional Indian nightgown, purchased for me by one of my husband’s aunts.  I am under a godawful, somewhat smelly fleece blanket named Moishe Greenberg that resides as a permanent fixture on our couch.

But more important than my location on google maps, my wardrobe, and my current physical comforts: I am HERE.  NOW.

I am married, to the sweetest, weirdest, goofiest man in the world.  I have a wonderful life, filled with constant love and laughter.  I am healthy, and getting healthier every day.

It is May 29, 2013.  Wednesday morning.  Thousand Oaks, California.

When I’m done writing this, I will put in a load of laundry.  I will do an hour of cardio.  I will eat a healthy lunch, and then I will go to work.

But most importantly, I will live this life.  THIS life.  On THIS day, in THIS city, with THESE circumstances.

It finally hit me this morning, when Ray sang those words to me, that I’m HERE.  I’m done searching.  The life I’ve always wanted is the life I have.  It’s the life I love.  I’m free of all those self-constructed roadblacks.  All that dead weight is gone.  I’ve gotten out of my own way, and now I’m free to create, free to destroy, free to scrap a song idea and start over without that crushing self-judgment tearing me apart and my first stumble along the way.

All of this came from a re-reading of all my previous blog posts.  I saw that girl from so many years ago from a different perspective.  I saw her from the outside.  I tapped on the glass.  I tried to tell her to just open her eyes and look around, and she’d see what she was searching for.

But it took hearing Ray LaMontagne saying those same words to THIS girl for them to sink in.  I’m here.  Now.

And I laughed so, so hard when I read this post:

And I saw the first comment.

I’m here.

(Okay, enough aloofness for one day.  The laughs begin again tomorrow.  But for now, I have a date with a washing machine and a workout video, and this seemingly mundane life which is so far from mundane.)


And now for something completely different.

22 10 2008

Well, not really.  It’s completely related to all that shite I wrote last month, but I’m not ready to tackle it yet.  Or better yet, I don’t know if I’m allowed to discuss it publicly yet.

Yes, that was complete, unadulterated snark.  Deal with it.  😆

This post is a devotion to all the things I love about my Mocha Man, because I never, ever want to take him for granted.

I love his laugh, and the way his eyes twinkle.

I love his skin: the color, the softness, the warmth.

I love his twisted sense of humor.

I love his sense of adventure.

I love that he’ll eat ABSOLUTELY ANYTHING.  Especially absolutely anything that I cook.

I love that he cherishes the value of a good crap.

I love that he bought an orange couch.

I love that he adores red wine, the spicy, tannic, dry as sand kind.

I love that he trusts me completely.

I love that he loves my cats.

I love the way he lights up when I enter a room.

I love way he GETS me.

I love the way he smells.

I love the fullness of his lips.

I love his Sunday afternoon stubble.

I love the way he sees beauty in absolutely anything at all.

I love that he can express his love for me so openly.

I love his fearlessness.

I love his sense of integrity, and his insistence upon truth.

I love his sense of style.

I love his strength.

I love that he finds me beautiful no matter how fucked up my hair is when I wake up.

I love his goodness, and his respectfulness.

I love him, everything about him.

I am a very lucky woman.

And Now, I See.

14 01 2008

I’ve been gone for a while. I didn’t want to write until I’d snapped out of the funk illustrated in my previous entry. As you can see, that took quite a bit of time, but I have a new epiphany to share with y’all.

I was watching, of all the damned things, America’s Next Top Model. A marathon of said show, to be precise. It wasn’t my fault; my best friend was glued to the set when I arrived for a sleepover at her house. (Don’t ask me why a Harvard grad would lower herself to such drivel, ’cause I got nothin’.) Soon enough, yours truly was sucked into the spectacle as well; it’s mind-boggling what transpires when skeletons and egos collide.

A memory skirted around the edges of my consciousness as I pondered which of these coatracks needed the biggest helping of my Paradise cookies, the memory of a phone call from a modeling agency about 13 years ago. Seems this gentleman saw my senior picture in my high school yearbook, and thought I’d be a good recruit. Suspended between befuddlement and horror, I semi-politely told the caller that I was not at all interested, and turned my attention back to the day’s installment of Pinky and The Brain.

I’ve recalled this moment only a few times in the years since, never quite able to fathom why I, of the dyed-black hair and alabaster skin, received this proposition. It wasn’t a mass-marketing thing; none of my other female friends were called. But as I watched these mophandles transform from hum-drum to heart-stopping I suddenly understood: It’s the canvas, not the paint, that makes these ladies able to become the perfect subject for the lens to capture.

I often look upon the blank canvas that is my unladen face with disdain. My lack of natural coloring, nearly invisible lashes and brows, and angular features make me neither dainty nor stunning. In my own opinion, they make me invisible, to the point that I consider myself a chameleon; people often tell me that I look like a completely different person from one day to the next. But lo and behold, the tawdry excuse to show skinny girls catfighting in next to nothing made me see that this ability to transform my blank canvas into whatever visage is necessary and fitting for the day is a huge, huge gift. It is the single most important quality the judges sought out in the show’s participants.

And it’s something I’ve taken for granted my entire life.

Until now. 😉

A True Thanksgiving

23 11 2007

This is not at all how I envisioned Thanksgiving 2007.

It was great, better than great, actually. I spent the day with my friends the As, eating delicacies far surpassing that of any Thanksgiving in years past: roast duck, cranberry-orange relish, wild and basmati rice pilaf with orange and green lentils, green bean salad with goat cheese and fennel with a dijon mustard vinaigrette, The World’s Best Stuffing, country ham, yeast rolls, duck fat gravy, and homemade apple pie for dessert, all accompanied by spectacular wines. It was beyond delicious, and I am so much more than satiated. I am so grateful for being taken in as family by these wonderful people whom I met a mere ten months ago.

So, why do this year’s festivities differ so greatly from my initial vision for late November of 2007?

Oh dear, where to begin.

This time last year, I was freaking the fuck out about a 25-year-old boy who seemed completey into me, but who cut and run before I could even use up the small block of Grana Pedano I bought the first time I cooked him dinner. My life circumstances, my job status, those people whom I call my friends… My god. I never, in a gabillion years, could have envisioned the drastic changes that would befall yours truly from Thanksgiving 2006 to the present day.

I’m not going to say that today was easy; it wasn’t. Last week at this time, I was looking at cute little bungalows in which J and I might possibly raise some kids; today, I constantly fought the tears and reminded myself that I made the right decision. (J, if you’re reading this, I’m sorry to shine a public light on our private matters, but it’s my blog, and I’ll say what I want; however, I AM glad that you’re reading it.) Last month at this time, I still had a full-time job in the city of my residence, at which I made a decent living; come Monday, I’ll make the 70-mile trek to a job that’s well beneath my intellectual mark, hoping beyond hope to make the rent money. Six months ago, I renewed the lease on this apartment that I adore, with the understanding that my budding relationship needed the chance to flourish in the light that close proximity would shine; now, I would give up the space and the city I love so dearly for a decent job and a social scene that’s slightly more conducive to the 30-something yes-I’m-still-single set.

God, what the hell happened?

But really, honestly, truly… my life is sooooo much better now than it was last Thanksgiving. I have a much more realistic grasp on life and love, I know so much better who I am and what I want, and above all: I have met some incredible, earth-shattering people who love me no matter what color my hair is, or how much I’ve been crying, or how long I borrow their KitchenAid.

I never could have envisioned a Thanksgiving like this.

It reiterates the fact that we just don’t know what lies ahead of us. Next year at this time, we could be riding the coattails of a Democratic president-elect who knows how to bring our troops home without enabling World War III. I could be typing this from the depths of the Alaskan wilderness, where my new husband has located a honeymoon cabin with WiFi. And it’s entirely possible that I might not even make it to see Thanksgiving 2008; any manner of catastrophes could end my sojourn on this planet prematurely.

My point is this: we, as a race of intelligent, insightful folk, get so wrapped up in what’s happening this very goddamned second that we lose sight of the big picture. We forget that we have one life. One frikkin’ life. ONE CHANCE. We get so pissed that we got a speeding ticket, or that the neighbor’s been smoking in the lobby again, or that our pork sandwich came out with mustard on it and we distinctly ordered it without mustard because we hate mustard, that we forget that at this time next year, we might not even be around to see Thanksgiving.

So, what am I thankful for, on this difficult Thanksgiving Day of 2007? I am thankful for my life, because I gave up living it in 2004 and am running on some incredible bonus miles. I am thankful for amazing friends, who love me because of who I am. I am thankful for every sunrise I witness, every purr of an adorable kitty who just wants my love and affection. I am thankful for every step that brought me where I am today, even the tear-sodden steps of late.

I am thankful for LIFE.

I hope all of you are, too.


20 11 2007

For the past few days, I’ve thought I knew a little bit about pain.

Over the past few decades I have known a lot about pain. 

One thing I learned in this particular decade is that PAIN IS NOT A GOOD THING. 

Pain is not something I want.  And it’s definitely not something I want to inflict upon myself. 

Precisely where and when this enlightenment dawned on me, I can’t pinpoint. But I do know that I’ve been a different person since I came to understand that. 


Can I get an amen, hollaback?