Transformers: More than meets the eye

What the hell is this thing in the picture you might be asking yourself. It's called the makerbot. Sounds like the missing transformer doesn't it. It'd actually have been pretty amazing if they'd used this in the movie. In a nutshell you gotta just check out these sites if you don't feel like listening to me ramble. www.Makerbot.com, Thingiverse.com, and http://www.fayettevillefreelibrary.org/about-us/services/fablab.html/ or http://www.youtube.com/user/FYfreelib. Imagine, you've just received your order of the makerbot in the mail. You forked out about $1200 or so to get this so you're pretty stoked. I mean you could have used this money to get the iPad but you opted for something with more practicality in terms of your needs instead. You open up the box and it's like Christmas, only it was the Christmas you had when you were little and there were millions of pieces you'd have to put together that your parents purposely ensured were in the package to keep you busy all day long, so they could take a nap after being woken up at 5am on Christmas morning. You know what I'm talking about. You were so excited you couldn't sleep so you would wake up as early as possible to get to open your gifts. Only this gift was one that would take all day to put together. I remember I got one with little tiny transistors so you could eventually create a transistor radio using a grid. I mean how much more nerdy can you get but I was consumed for hours on end. I was determined to make the grid turn into a radio! It was like a 3d puzzle. So you get your box open and you start to put together the pieces. This time you know better than to enlist help from any loved ones or friends. You know how testy people can get if they're frustrated with pieces not fitting and then someone comes along and fixes it after you wasted an hour trying to figure it out. Word to the wise, if you're putting anything together, just find a nice quiet place to spread out. So this makerbot is finally put together. You did your research and you have already used Google Sketch and other software programs to iron out how to create your designs that you are planning to test out. Don't forget about the huge roll of plastic the printer will use. Eventually the printer is set to go and you're printing your first 3d object. You decided to start small. You opted for a spoon. Cutlery is basic and you're hungry anyways. I mean you could make two spoons and start playing music. But you don't have to stop there! The options are endless and you can go wild. Instead of shopping you can now think about making it before you run out to the store to get it. "This s*&% just got real" and just think of how many people will save money, how homeless individuals can support themselves if these are available at shelters and churches, how third world countries could access these at public locations to provide their families with the most basic tools. There's even possibilities for saving money on medical supplies! Check out the sites! My mind was seriously blown when I learned about this. It's time you blow your own mind. Transformers, they really are more than meets the eye. My class once made our teacher cry because she thought we were making fun of her with this trademark phrase. Go figure.

What about academia?

Sitting in the cafe at the library I'm surrounded by undergrads and more undergrads with the token grad student or staff member of the library. Being back in academia after years of working out in the "real world" I can't help but have a distinctive view. What is it about academics and conversation beat to a dead horse? I praise conversation and welcome it as I missed having educated conversations about issues other than "What should I wear?" or "Does this make me look fat?" to "Somebody get me a latte!" or "Where the hell did my notebook go?" or even "Get him on the phone now!" So maybe my previous years were surrounded by a bit more superficiality and minutia than most fields but that doesn't we weren't productive. Sometimes the conversation needs to end and proactivity needs to begin. Sometimes it is better to act before you think because if you think too much you may overanalyze and end up stifling creativity. Be passionate, be creative, be proactive! Just my thought for the day as I drink my latte while typing away at the keys on my laptop wishing I would be more proactive and take this time to write something worthwhile rather than my thoughts running rampant. Stream of consciousness becomes such an overwhelming distraction. You should be ecstatic I'm not letting my inner dialogue run even more wild. There's some student with his friend on speaker phone talking in another language while I just previously overheard a conversation on taxes, Charlie Sheen, and economic disparity. What the hell does Charlie Sheen have to say now? He can't be "winning." Speaking of which, anyone seen "Anthony Cooper 360" on CNN? Movies to see (Oscar watch 2012): MONEYBALL, IDES OF MARCH, and if you haven't already seen it, THE HELP.

Let the untold wait and bring on the funny

If you have known me for quite a while and even went so far as to know my family, your mouth would drop and your eyes would pop out of your head if I told you about all the things the Stewart family has endured in the last year. We became a cliche but we became a stronger family because of these unexpected events. Now I could bore you with these stories now but I'd rather wait and actually attempt to create some sort of non-fiction attempt of a "book" with numerous edits and reviews from family and close friends before I delve into revealing all. So why would I dangle the prospect of several great stories in front of you? Because I needed someway of segueing from living in Los Angeles, working in the film industry, and writing about humorous products like the "gal pal" to living in Syracuse, NY, attending graduate school, and working towards becoming a school librarian. Most people don't see the correlation between the two so I have to bridge the so called "gap" in some fashion. So why not torture you with "to be continued..." in effort to explain how I got from Los Angeles to Nashville (with several cities somewhere in between for work on the hockey all star pre-game celebration in Raleigh, NC and SELF workout in the park again in San Francisco, NYC, and Chicago) to Syracuse, NY.

Side note: I was working at Buckle over the summer in Nashville when a very attractive co-worker of mine asked the most simple but unerring question that might as well have been rhetorical; "Isn't it tough to have a relationship moving around so much?" Let me preface this with the fact that he's a young musician so he probably understands a little bit of what I've experienced. But YES of course it's tough and I know at my age I should be married according to most cities and states in the U.S., not to mention statistics, but I'm not. Do I regret my prior decisions and the one that led me to return to school to obtain a masters? Heck no. Do I sometimes wish I was married? Yes. But then I realize how much I enjoy my independence and freedom and know that I am still not "ready." Though everyone always says, "You'll never feel ready." Oh the wheels turn and my head hurts. "Blast!" (See if you know what movie that's from and which actress said it!)

Now for the funny. I'd like to take this moment to introduce a character who may as well have been my introduction to Syracuse, NY outside Syracuse University. You have to understand that Syracuse University is fairly small (not nearly as small as Trinity University but maybe about the size of Vanderbilt University minus the medical school and hospital) and a bit of a bubble. There are plenty of opportunities and ties with the community but Syracuse itself is only a college town because it coexists with SUNY Upstate Medical, SUNY, and LeMoyne. But the mention of Syracuse University to most people not in a university setting brings on a nod, tightened lips, and silence. What is that?! I still don't quite understand it but maybe Syracuse University is considered pretentious in this town. I call it a town because Syracuse the city itself is rather small in comparison to what I'm used to.

It was a Monday morning when my mother and I reached my new home. It was a two story house in a quiet neighborhood with an exterior that looked a bit unfinished. Exposed wood on the front exterior but new siding and some strange pole that looked like it was anchoring the whole house. I'd already seen the apartment on the 1st floor where I'd be living with two other girls via video chat so I knew the exterior did not begin to reveal the better looking interior. I knocked, my roommate Carli opened the door with a barking, hyperactive chihuahua. Kona is cute as can be though not my ideal choice if I had a dog but she is more friendly and less of a yippy dog than the other chihuahuas I'd encountered. As we entered the apartment it was exactly what I'd seen on video chat only better. It was cute, comfortable and well furnished considering Carli was a PHD student in environmental engineering and Joanne who was in Haiti at the moment and a med student at SUNY Upstate Medical. Then came my room; the smallest in the house, smallest closet I'd ever encountered in a bedroom, a huge scratch or dent rather in the floor due to the roommate who had moved out, and it hadn't been cleaned as there may as well have been a layer of grime across the hardwood floor. What landlord doesn't clean and charge a cleaning fee to the prior tenant? WTF?! But there was a bed and a desk to which the prior roommate had left for me which saved me a lot of money and storage space in my car. That's right, I stored a good bit of my stuff so I only brought what I could fit in my Honda Element. Call me a tightwad but I just call that smart packing.

I had called the landlord earlier that morning after an email days earlier to ensure that he would be there at the house with my keys and a checklist to go over my room. I'd already learned that he had a poker tournament to go to even though it was a Monday! No wonder this guy acted so "slick." Keep in mind, I'm imagining an Italian Jew or some creepy looking fifty something with dark slicked back hair who attempts to manipulate any situation. But the point is he wanted me to call him again when I got to the apartment. Overwhelmed by having my mother with me, meeting Carli and Kona the dog, checking out the place, and seeing my room and what I was going to be living in for the next 1-2 years depending, I flat out forgot to call the landlord. Seeing as it was about to start raining we moved my stuff in with Carli's help quickly and efficiently into the living room. I had a missed call. Assuming it was the landlord as I suddenly realized I was supposed to call him again I made the call. This landlord was not only raising his voice at me for not calling but cussing up a storm while telling me that when he asks me to do something I'm expected to do it as if I was his employee or child. Excuse me?! Apparently he had said not to move anything in before he got there but he was late! Tired, frustrated, and wanting to share my inner dialogue with him, I closed my eyes, held my tongue from expressing how I truly felt, and explained that I'd forgotten to call and apologized explaining I could happily move my items in a more condensed area in effort for a "walkthrough" which technically was supposed to have happened before I arrived with my two roommates and then would happen again with me there to review the walkthrough and include my own notes. Word to the wise, avoid moving into an apartment where the tenants have already been there a year or more.

Aside from the drama surrounding my roommates and this landlord, the fact that there was all sorts of confusion over the "walkthrough" and that I could tell there was more to this story than I was told, I braced myself to meet this landlord character. Remember my impression of him over the phone? Well let me just explain what walked through the door; a tall rather large man who looked cornfed and probably born and raised in Western New York on a dairy farm. He had glasses and a loud bark and reminded me a bit of a Miss Trunchbull from "Matilda." A vision far from what I expected. Talking in circles, gruff, and obviously scattered he trudged in with orders to his assistant, a kind hearted but older woman who looked a bit rough around the edges. These two were quite the pair with their banter. As this landlord talked us in circles, may as well have attempted to verbally attack my roommate Carli to which my mother and I were ready to pounce in her defense like cats fighting off a big dog he finally left in a huff because he was going to be late for his poker tournament. The lasting thought I had was that if he won he would be easier to deal with and if he lost, well I might get charged for a maintenance fee and cleaning fee before I had even started settling in just because he felt like it.

The drama certainly didn't stop there as I wasn't even given a set of keys as they hadn't made copies and I had to sit down again with the landlord for two hours after several attempts to go over the lease and listen to him vent about the drama with the two apartments. Did I mention he had lived the year before in the apartment above us with a PHD student who had just moved out and another guy who was still living there. Only he now lived with now a law student and grad in fine arts. What landlord lives with students or better yet, wants to?! Furthermore, I had learned from my roommate that they had almost moved out after I said I would be living with them and sent in my rent because our landlord was so frustrating. Not only had they not even mentioned that but what else had they failed to mention?! Talk about unwanted drama and a lot of questioning whether I had made the right decision.

Alas, a couple week later things settled and though the landlord remains to be a constant but flittering annoyance, I am luckily content with my decision to attend grad school now that classes are underway and now live with two great girls who are my roommates. Happy ending for now, but to be continued...

Gal Pal

Talking to my mother the other day she interrupts our conversation to mention that she saw something that made her think of me. Now usually this is the part where a mother tells her first child that she saw something beautiful or sweet that makes you want to respond with, “Awww.” However, my mother, well let me put it this way, you never know what you’re going to get when she segues into another conversation like that. Let me take this opportunity to explain that she sent me a card for fun of an old man wearing booty bearing jean shorts and long hair because she said and I quote, “I knew you’d understand and get a kick out of it.” What would I understand? What, because I have the same DNA as you that I’m just as strange? Of course this is true so I have no reason to argue but it’s still worth bringing up before I delve further into this topic of conversation.

She tells me that she saw this contraption called the GoGirl. She continues to explain that it’s pink and you can use it to relieve yourself wherever and whenever like a catheter. Really, a pink catheter? Of course my mind starts wandering as I’m emailing someone while talking to her and contemplating what this pink thing looks like and how it works. Pause. My mother continues to try to explain that it would be so useful for me with my small bladder. “Tilted, mother, it’s tilted! Remember I came to this realization with some help from my girlfriends in college while drinking during what was likely another ‘Thirsty Thursday.’” Now, my mother isn’t one to take this serious because otherwise we’d be having major issues but we both enjoy a good laugh over this one. I continue to exclaim how great a gag gift this would be but of course her retort, “An expensive gag gift.”

Now expensive could mean so many things coming from my sale whoring mother. So what do I do? I google it and the first link is to the GoGirl pink themed site for the active woman; “Don’t take life sitting down.” Well frankly I prefer not to take life standing up or squatting for that matter but obviously that’s beside the point. This pink funnel like disposable or reusable instrument has it’s own stylish tube for storage, you can purchase a travel pack if you choose not to clean and reuse the one you have, or you can even buy swag with the GoGirl logo. Not to mention it’s mess free and hygienic. The best part about it is that there is a GoGirl tour!!! Can you believe it! Oh my gosh are they coming to LA?!

Amazingly there’s a woman in the film industry who’s included her success story. You “GoGirl.”

“Wow, this is going to come in handy for my job! I'm a stuntwoman, and there are times that I have to sit in a car, for a scene, for hours and hours on end. A lot of the car scenes are filmed all night until the sun comes up, so I drink a lot of coffee to keep me on point.....and we all know what coffee does. Bathrooms are sometimes miles from the set, and time is money when we are filming, so I have had to get very creative when I have to "go." The GoGirl is going to make my life so much easier!!! Thank you.”

Sure, I’m in the film industry and I’m active but do I really want to feel like I need to purchase a cute pink funnel in a tube to be stylish while I use the restroom in the woods, on the side of the road, behind a haystack, in the snow, or because I’m too lazy to get up? Maybe I’m an independent woman who enjoys squatting behind a tree and roughing it like they used to. I mean listen to this…

“My daughter is 8 and loves GoGirl. She insists on using it at home since we received your product today. I purchased one for her and one for myself for our weekend camping adventures… I'm getting a ton of feedback on Facebook from my girlfriends and I think there should be a toddler-sized product available for those who are working on potty training. Babies get used to peeing standing up in their diapers and there can be a big fear of sitting on public toilets with icky germs. My child never goes in public restrooms because of potty germs and this will make our roadtrips much easier. I have a feeling some mothers would have improved success with their daughters who don't want to sit to pee.”

Okay first of all, when I was eight I was peeing in the woods when I was building forts with my neighbor because we were hardcore. If you’re child is worried about potty germs, use toilet paper or tissues or a seat protector. Dive deep into that mother load of a purse you have and make your child sit on the damn toilet or lift her up so she can pee midair. Surely you don’t have to spend money on such frivolousness.

Now I realize this is a bit extreme and many elderly women would highly benefit from this pretty pink pee pod and not to mention Chelsea Handler, but really ladies? If I’m going to use something I want it so I don’t have to pull my pants down, I don’t have to leave the slopes or hide behind a tree still. I want to be able to sit next to someone and say, “Did you know I just peed while you were talking? That’s right, I have the new Gal Pal where life just got a bit easier for the lazy gal lifestyle.” **

(**Disclaimer: Please note that I will be purchasing a GoGirl because frankly I think this invention is brilliant and fully support their efforts in making active women like myself more comfortable. And this is not just because I think it’s super cute, pink, and will definitely make my tilted life a bit more stylish.)

http://www.go-girl.com/

Are you a "Bobble" Head?

Sitting peacefully in the midst of chaos, I work diligently at my desk in Grand Rapids, Michigan where we're working on the film "30 Minutes or Less." One of the many transportation drivers stops by on his morning drop in the office with items from set. Several moments later I hear, "Jessica, you got something!" Looking up, I see our secretary walking towards me with a strange looking contraption in her hand. As she places this odd looking bottle on my desk I start giggling. The guy who sent this to me is the same one I worked on "Bruno" with and all I can think is oh my god, he got me a sex toy. Of course I know he wouldn't do that and this odd piece of plastic must be some sort of water bottle but it sure looks like a deviant hot pink toy. Me likey.

As I read about this toy called the "Bobble," I'm still holding back giggles. I'm temporarily living in conservative country where bikini bars run rampant instead of strip clubs and the closet tea party patriots are likely lurking. I sit facing only feet away from a republican mayor's son for heaven's sake. Our group had already invaded bringing Jews, Blacks, Libertarians, and worse, independent single women! "Hide yo' kids!" Thanks Antonie Dodson for your incredible insight.

I resume examining this pink and clear toy, clearly marked as a "Bobble" on the packaging, only to learn that it is a self-filtering water bottle. Brilliant I tell you! Not only does the pink piece use a charcoal filter to remove the nasty as you drink but the clear plastic bottle is made of recycled plastic. Karim Rashid you bloody bastard you. Why didn't I invent such a fantastic, hip, environmentally friendly creation?!

The coolest thing about the "Bobble" is that you can replace the whole top filtration piece with different colors for only about ten bucks at many local store chains. Sure, it makes a strange noise as you drink, the water sticks to the head of the charcoal filter, and you can't guzzle water out of it since the filtration system uses a sport top bottle to squeeze water into your mouth. But I can tell you flat out, my pink "Bobble" has become my new favorite toy. I'm a newborn "Bobble" head.

Are you a "Bobble" head?

Ain't Nothin' but a Quarter Life Crisis

We spend our early years going to school and then mostly being groomed for college or some sort of career out of necessity with a family business, supporting family, or providing for a family of your own. But do we ever really sit down and accept that life is short and what is it truly about? Family? Money? Love? Friends? Career? Success? Parties? Experience?

I ask you, are you seeking out what you truly want, are you settling, or are you always searching for more? Perhaps we never really figure out what we really want but as long as we surround ourselves with people we care about, people whom are filled with love and life, and share with others then maybe that is what it’s all about. I don’t know.

I find myself in a constant circle of questions, lack of satisfaction, and need to incessantly feel unrest. I used to think it was A.D.D that teachers failed to diagnose me with which would have greatly helped with how badly I wanted more time to finish tests. I always wrote more than necessary. I like to call it elaboration or proof that I knew what the hell I was talking about except I’d forgotten the short answer. Teachers often thought simply I hadn’t studied as hard as I should have. On the other hand, it all could be due to the intense pressures of sports from a young age as a pitcher, point guard, and setter that I’d constantly been pigeonholed into which distinctly tied into a leadership position that was more stressful than most kids usually handle. Sure, I’ve always loved the encouragement and feeling of elation when you do well but it was always about the team doing well. If I did poorly, I let my team down.

It’s an interesting turn of events when you end up in college living selfishly and graduate wondering what’s next. You only let yourself down and maybe your parents if it’s of your concern anymore. In any case, the pressures of the real world and becoming an adult with responsibilities and desire for a family of your own and career path you enjoy holds a heavy weight on one’s shoulders.

I just want to yell RELAX but it’s never that easy. When do you get to take a deep breath and feel like you’ve succeeded? What does that even mean? Perhaps when you feel safe about how much money you have saved up so you can live off of it and not work as hard or retire? Or maybe when you have a job you enjoy and you’ve accomplished your goals of reaching the top or the position you desire? Or rather you find your life partner sharing love and happiness? And with that perhaps it is the bearing of children to whom you can pass on your knowledge, love and share happiness with?

Perhaps we’ll only know some of these answers or maybe most but it’s all simply a puzzle I look forward to putting together with the continuous need to explore and without sitting still. How can you just wait for life to pass you by?!

J. Rabbit back from MIA

What a whirlwind the last two months have been since I last wrote. I could use some lame excuse that I was working but really I think I just haven't felt inspired. I was a bit more addicted to my "Bruno" iflip as I captured the three cities I was traveling around this month. From San Diego to New York to Chicago I was caught up in helping put together SELF Magazine's Workout in the Park in each city. If you're really that interested you can check out the website as it's every year (www.selfworkoutinthepark.com) but frankly it's just a bunch of women working out in a park with a main stage and branded sponsor tents with their respective sponsors selling their wares and giving away free swag. Maybelline, Garnier, Asics, Reebok, Blue Diamond, to name a few. In any case I did this last year and I did it this year for the free trips to NY and Chicago of course. But frankly I'll spare you the stories that came of these trips because I'll hopefully crank out some form of a video at some point to put on facebook. Simply put I almost caused a fight in San Diego (not really but my "brothas" love trouble), I got to go to the top of the Empire State Building in NY, and with the help of my co-workers got kicked out of a bar by an angry pregnant bartender because I was convinced throwing my jacket around like a helicopter was a good idea. Wouldn't be the first time and nor will it be the last! If Petey Pablo says it's okay then it should be.

Back in LA only two days I was back out on the tarmac and headed to Grand Rapids, Michigan to work on a feature film for four months. That's right I'm now in small town Michigan until the end of September. Strangest part about all this travel is I don't miss LA. You would think after five years of living there and enjoying friends, the beach, partying, concerts, etc. I would miss all of it and be tired of traveling but frankly I feel like I don't want it to end and I just want to keep running. I should have chosen espionage as my career path. But maybe it's the fact that I have that "itch" to get out of the country and go to Thailand, London, Germany, or New Zealand among so many other fantastic places on my list or maybe it's just my horoscope on igoogle is hitting the head on the nail with the fact that I've hit a fork in the road and I'm preparing for a big change. I mean I don't know if I'd go that far but I think it's more like I'm ready for change and whether that's me moving out of LA, switching to the aspect of my career choice that I've always truly wanted but just haven't made 110% effort to go after because I'm afraid I will fail, or because I like to do what I do best "Question everything." In any case, I know what I truly realized and that's how tired I am of selfish, self-involved people. This is what populates most of LA and hence why I can only now say after five years that I have some pretty great friends in LA after finding these few needles in the haystack who mind you are not from LA. However, having been in Michigan almost two weeks now and having been to Chicago twice in the last month, I can honestly say I miss the people of the Midwest!! They're just nice, friendly, sociable, hospitable, and well just more attractive on the whole. And here I am with a full feature film crew invading this sweet small city and I guarantee we will leave people stressed out, exhausted, and feeling bad about themselves in our wake. I mean I've already made one poor woman cry and tell me how inconsiderate I am when SHE CALLED ME BACK because she was worried about the damn commission on the hotel sale and how was I supposed to know her father was dying in the hospital! I mean I started crying I felt so awful wishing I could make her life better and give her a big hug telling her things just happen the way they're supposed to but she will be okay and not to mention we all know I HATE CRYING and ESPECIALLY in front of people. I mean I apologized to my boss because of it and he couldn't believe anyone would apologize. But for myself it's like this: "There's no crying in baseball!"

So aside from my quick recap, ranting and realization after having been out of the Los Angeles smog filled bubble for a while, I have to share just one more thing; two words, Wrigley Field. And okay a few more as I might add, I don't know that I'll ever stop loving my trips to Chicago because truly, "What happens in Chicago, stays in Chicago." What a fun city. Can't wait to go back for Round 3! Oh, it's on.

Since I was a small child I've been surrounded by a love for Chicago and the Cubs. Certainly not die hard fanatics but a love for a ball team and city closer to home than most out there because we were a softball playing and baseball loving family. Well, maybe it was mostly my Dad but let's put it this way, I'll never forget the double feature my Dad took me to of "Babe" based on Babe Ruth with "Beethoven" back in the day. Nonetheless my dad has always gone to baseball games but it was only spring training our family was ever able to all go to which is cool and all but it's not the same as getting to experience a home game during regular season. After 27 long years, I finally had the opportunity to get to go to Wrigley Field not once, but twice in only a few weeks! The smell of the hot dogs, peanuts, and cracker jacks, the taste of beer in the hot sun, and hearing the fans cheer as Ronnie Woo Woo walks by with his silver, sequin Michael Jackson glove and a Cubs jersey that says "Woo Woo" on the back. He roams the stadium getting photo ops as he hollers, "Chicago Woo! Chicago Woo." I mean this old, black man just doesn't stop. I think Energizer should give him a commercial deal. The best part about the baseball game at Wrigley Field is the old school scoreboard. I mean you might not be able to read it like the big fancy screens at every other major league baseball stadium, but it's like living back in the days when things were less complicated. My momma always said I should have been born in another decade. I leave that for the day when I solve the mysteries of time travel.

The lead in to April Fool's

I guess the week of April Fool's needs to be eventful.

If you've had the pleasure of reading one of my former posts about my accident prone days just think of this as some sort of bad joke as a continuation of that period in my life.

They say you often have a "feeling" something is going to happen before it actually does. Maybe this is a woman's sixth sense, "instinct" or maybe it's just one of those strange inexplicable paranormal occurrences. In any case, I gave my blood, sweat, and well I saved the tears for later to Flag Football. That's right I bled for the game. One man had already gone down with a sprained ankle and somehow I was next.

It was my signature play and as I go for the touchdown I catch the ball and before I know it I hit the ground like a skater on pavement. Luckily this wasn't pavement and the grass pillowed my fall or well gave me grass burns, bruises and scratches up the left side of my body. However, the large tortoise shell sunglasses I had stubbornly decided to wear in effort of shielding my tired eyes from the burning California sun pierced my temple leaving a bloody gash in their wake of falling from my face. It all felt like a bad slow-mo montage on MTV. Thinking I just hit the ground pretty hard as everyone crowded around, I eventually stood up as I kept hearing gasps and a stunned silence. It's not like I was dripping blood. Well that is until I put my sleeve up to my head when someone said there was blood. My whole reaction to the incident was "Fuck." Simple, expressionless, and just annoyed with myself for wearing my damn sunglasses. Arriving back at the picnic tables where our stuff was sprawled, one of the other girls tells me it just looks worse than it is while my friend walks up with a big wad of toilet paper laughing and telling me to use it. Dude, this isn't where I'm desperately asking my unknown neighbor in the stall next to me for some TP because my stall is out. TP? Really? Didn't your mom teach you that shit sticks to anything wet. I think I still have TP stuck in my gash. (Wow that sounded dirty. Forgive me or not.) Anyways, for some reason I was either stunned or just like well this sucks as I look down at the bloody wad of toilet paper. Thank god it wasn't like when I hit the back of my head on the grocery store floor leaving a bloody mess after I fell off the back of it. I was kind of a bloody mess.

The great part about the park we all play football at is that the bathrooms are relatively nice for a park but there's no mirror! It's like they want you to suffer. All I wanted to know was if there was dirt in my wound and if I needed stitches. But knowing I would have been crying if it was that bad I went to the bathroom with a couple of the girls who cleaned and bandaged me. So of course what do I do but go back out and play of course! Yes I'm that hardcore. Okay really I just wanted to play and it's kind of like if I'm not crying from the pain then I must be good to go.

A trip to the pharmacist later then led to Hydrogen Peroxide, Neosporin, and Waterproof Disney Princess Band Aids. The Transformers weren't big enough. Believe me I'd much rather be donning Bumblebee than Belle. All set and ready for my close up. Okay maybe just my launch at Angels Stadium for Bamboozle among So Cal teeny boppers thinking I'm making some sort of fashion statement.

AFter all of this chaos as I'm still cleaning my wound three times daily, my car decides to hyperventilate and the Check Engine light starts yelling at me. A call to my mechanic leads to a tow truck ride home with some dude from Idaho trying to buy my car on a payment plan for his 18 year old "funny and smart" son who goes to the University of Washington. What is this, a set up? The nightly chaos is over after learning your car hates you despite you hating it more and wanting to sell it only desperately hoping the mechanic won't end up ripping you off the next day with over a grand in labor charges. This leads to worry and non stop playing out every situation until you're still not satisfied only to wake up at 3:30 AM to your neighbor upstairs still editing with loud ass music as you grab the damn Swiffer Mop and bang on the ceiling. I felt like the little old lady from some Comedic film. I can't think of one but I can only imagine if I'd had a knee length nightgown on, slippers, and a hair net with glasses I would have come straight out of an 80s movie. Needless to say I toss and turn and my gash starts pounding as my alarm goes off at 5:15 AM. Lucky me.

One tow truck arrives only to inform me he'll kill my bumper if he drags my car behind him so he tells me to call for a flatbed which of course isn't something you can get a hold of until after 7 AM. The car shop opens at 7 AM. Awesome. Another tow truck later with a flat bed leads me to meeting the most angry black man I've met in a long time. I mean I was fearing for the lives of others on the road as he'd telling me how people call his number to complain about his driving and how it goes straight to his phone line. I mean he was a pro with the words "I'll get right on that." Oh Office Space I heart thee. So after his rants about stupid drivers and how flatbeds can't drive in Culver City because of city regulations we finally pass the stupid "wreck" which was really tree cutters on the 405 parking lot and I make it to my mechanic. Some more bitching from my tow truck driver and some texts to my co-worker, who is nice enough to drive me to and from work and the shop, finally lead to a much needed latte and work at last. Whew. Lucky break.

In the end the night before April Fool's Day I'm left still smiling because I was charged less than a grand, thank god and my gash appears to be healing as it now itches like crazy and it's bruising up nicely. I mean frankly the side of my face is starting to match the assorted colors of my band aids. Neato.

Guess we'll see what else is in store for me or NOT in store for me the rest of this eventful April Fool's week.

(Did I mention another friend of mind fried her computer with tea and the other one he blew up his car as it went up in smoke! What a week! They say shit happens in groups of threes. Chew on that.)

The -Ness

I'm sitting at work talking to my co-worker and posing the question, "Is geniusness a word?" The response I get, "Sure. It's not in Webster's Dictionary but I took a cultural studies class where we used the -ness to add essence." (Maybe not word for word how the conversations went but BRILLIANTNESS!)

So in light of unlocking this discussion I looked up "The Ness" on google. What do I get? Not what I expected. http://www.theness.com/ The New England Skeptical Society. Not only does this cater to my nerdy love for science but you're looking at one of the average Skeptics. What do I usually mention in most of my posts?! QUESTION EVERYTHING! (I was groomed from an early age kind of like I was trained to use the ladies room before I leave anywhere, and I mean anywhere.) But frankly despite the radness of this site this is not the point.

The "-ness" is what you can add to just about any word and add eloquence and give emphasis. Think about the Loch Ness monster and the River Ness. I mean yes the myth precedes itself but the River Ness and Scotsmen had no idea it would have such a killer name. So let's give a few examples shall we. (And for you video game nerds, this has nothing to do with the Nintendo game "Earthbound" and its character Ness even though he may have a bit of awesomeness since he uses a baseball bat to fight but I just learned he existed so forgive my naiveness of Nintendo games.)

Geniusness
Greatness
Brilliantness
Courageousness
Brightness
Awesomeness
Radness
Dudeness (Maybe this is a stretch but I like describing The Big Lebowski as "His Dudeness." I mean that just sounds like royalty.)
Rudeness
Sadness
Happiness
Forgetfulness
Thoughtfulness
Thoughtlessness (Ssssssuck on that one)
Hopelessness
Helpfulness
Goodness
Neediness
Pokiness (I had a softball coach named Poky. No joke. But yeah he was a joke.)
Coolness
Amazingness
Sweetness

I'd just like to point out that next time you are writing an email or describing someone or something why not throw in a -NESS.

I will now sign off here as "Yours truly, JStewNess" (This just sounds like a soup. Maybe I'll opt for Jessness? Maybe not.)

"What do you want from me..."

This line from Adam Lambert's stupid song has played over and over intermittently with some techno music for two nights now above me. I can't decide if the idiot who suddenly decided to do this is editing or just went through a break up!

All I want to do is make a shotgun appear and blow a hole in their freakin' speakers.

Let's get this straight, I love good music, I love to party, and I do not have a problem with loud neighbors until midnight on a weeknight. BUT 3 AM and blasting lyrics clearly? Really? And where my walls actually shake? This building has some kind of quiet curfew of 10PM so how is this possible?! For those of us getting up at like 5:45AM in the morning and working long hours, this shit is just RUDE.

Yes I've been up until this late playing Rock Band on weekends BUT not on a Monday or Tuesday night! So what it's LA and no one works or they're all unemployed. Maybe you're in school and you have no life so you sit at home listening to shitty music. I don't know. Is this some kind of mental breakdown? Maybe some girl cheated on you and you're feeling like the blatant lyrics of commercial music speak volumes despite their lack of imagination. Maybe you are training for American Idol or wishing you were on Real World. I just think you're a wannabe editor. Final Cut Pro and your Mac Pro desktop literally just spit out a "duh" screaming at your lack of skill. Obviously you are set on waking the entire complex with your amateur editor skills so GO BACK TO SCHOOL before it's too late! Perhaps I should offer my own critique or maybe just pose a simple "WHAT DO YOU WANT FROM ME!!!!"

Note: I woke up at 5:20AM to a rap song. Just thought I'd add that.

Bedtime Habits

We all have our own ritual of getting ready for bed and what positions we sleep in. It isn't until you share a bed with someone or even a room that you learn to adjust your habits or get used to the other person's. What am I referring to? Brace yourself.

The Cover Stealer: Someone who either gets cold easily or is used to sleeping alone most of the time. This kind of behavior will often lead to a cover tug of war where you can only imagine what you'd be witnessing if there was a spy cam catching every move. Clepto.

The "Cocoon Monster": A stealer of not only covers but someone who completely enwraps their body with the covers. There's no winning this war. Typically the other person is stuck with a separate blanket or being cold the rest of the night. Ousted.

Snuggles: The cuddling type who can fall asleep soundly doing this with just about anyone. Someone who craves attention or just a warm body to wrap themselves around. Warm laundry. Mmmmmm.

Spooner: Someone who may enjoy forking but this can just be a more common version of snuggling only limited to one position. Kiss my neck?

Human Bubble: When you need your own space when you sleep. Someone else too close to you causes your temperature to increase, your body to go into a state of denial, and you get so frustrated you can't fall asleep that you need your own bubble. That's right, YOU stay on your side! Sit boo boo sit.

The Pet Parent: A cuddler, a snuggler, and someone who enjoys keeping their pets close and letting them rule the bed. The cats sit on your head, they curl up in your side, they paw at you, and wake you up when they move. But this person enjoys this and the closeness of someone warm. Or the opposite of the pet parent; stop creeping me out you evil staring cat!

Human Vacuums: This happens when you're sick sometimes but more often than not this is an issue for those with allergies or just nose issues. Sometimes they're breathing loudly, sometimes they're snoring, and sometimes they're so loud it's like a tornado. At least the tornado will pass where this type of snoring could last for hours. You would think someone would wake themselves up like this! Major suckage.

Wipe it up: Exhaustion. Mouth left open. Snoring. These lead to drooling. Just wait until you have the pleasure of drooling on someone else. Or waking up in a pile of your own on a wet pillow. No this is no wet dream.

Karate Kid: The kicker. The one who lashes out in the middle of the night and you want to punch them back because it hurt damnit. But it's not their fault and you know they didn't mean it but it does make sleeping in the same bed as that person difficult. I'll cut you!

Talk of the town: Mumbling incomprehensible sentences and words can be strange and awe inspiring. Someone who talks in their sleep is usually quite the dreamer and vocal about it. Too bad they're so hard to understand. My college Guatemalan roommate used to sit up and yell "Mierda!" or some other curse word.

Black out: The sleep walker. I've been fortunate enough I guess to never have witnessed nor experienced this. We all know what it's like to be walking around half asleep but to be completely in REM sleep and be walking around. Dangerous man. People fall off balconies and die.

I'm sure there are way more sleep habits I could describe but I'm hungover and not feeling so enlightened or interested in what I'm writing anymore.

Point of all this was simply that we all have our own habits, our own rituals, our own side of the bed, and when we have to share those habits our bodies sometimes react or they have to grow accustomed to the invasion. We all learn to adjust one way or another. Ain't love and friendship grand.

TGIS (Translation: Thank Goodness it's Saturday)

Just a little ode to the days of TGIF on ABC :)

But this is about how I look forward to Saturday mornings. Not because of cartoons but because of FLAG FOOTBALL! Let me break it down for you.

Every Monday or Tuesday a reminder email goes out from a familiar outbox. The email reminds you of the rules and when the official email invitation will go out. Rules are as follows:

"CO-ED FLAG FOOTBALL RULES
4 spots will be held for females. Ideally we play 3 guys and 2 girls per team each week. This game is such a success BECAUSE of the females! It's competitive BUT not too competitive that people feel like they can't have fun. If you have any other female friends you'd like to invite, do it!

Sub Rotations - With the 1 sub per team policy we will rotate a sub player every change of possession. So basically everyone gets the same amount of playing time. It doesn't matter if you confirm first or last, this is the policy. Translation, you play 5 changes of possession, and then you rest for 1.

Confirming and not showing up = RUDE. Please don't do this. It's just... rude."

THURSDAY 3PM! It's confirmation email time!!! It's become so popular with spots filling within two hours that people have to email from their phones while they're driving, at work, in class, or working out. Not to mention if you're not on time or if you bail it's not only frowned upon but you could get BLACKLISTED! You don't want to be in that situation. Not to mention you don't want to get stuck as the all time sub. That just sucks the big one.

SO let's introduce some of the players shall we.


MARK A.K.A. "BASH": CHAZZ

Ladies, you're in luck if he's on your team. Not only does he ensure every girl gets to touch the ball and at least get to attempt a catch but he makes you feel like you are part of the team. BOOM! On a good day he may even have plays actually drawn on his arm because he's that hardcore. He's the guy who sends the email out every week and enforces all rules and true to his filmmaker style he brings a camera and captures video so he can create "Highlights" from the game.

JOHN: WILD THING

He is "that guy." You know what I'm talking about. The one who is crazy enough to introduce the idea of taking shots of tequila at 9:45AM which has now become a ritual before the game to get the blood flowing and during our "half time break." His hair is even true to his style as he pulls it back in a ponytail because really his hair is growing like the mane of a Lioness. Hear him ROAR!

SANDEEP: BROWN CHICKEN BROWN COW

I had never heard this joke until the night before I played with Sandeep who proceeded to wear a brown shirt that says "Brown" on it. How perfect could it have been?! Brown man, brown shirt, and Brown University (no idea if he actually went there). This guy makes shit happen. He evokes seriousness. He's faster than a cheetah. He will make you run until you hurl. Embrace it.

LAFITTE: SEXY SEXY MAN

The man who's dressed all in white and is light on his feet. He broods true to his shirt that often appears on the field with the name "Sexy Sexy Man." It is he who looks at the camera and says "I will intercept this one." Too bad that attempt went awry and he looked at the camera like "Fuck" but hey, it could have happened. At least he didn't twist his ankle and have to sit out due to a prior Sand Volleyball injury. Weak.

ARI: RED RUN

I've never seen someone dressed in all red before unless it was a uniform or a woman in a red dress. But faster than a speeding bullet he will take the ball and make a run for it. He's not so keen on giving new players a chance as his rule of thumb is you have to earn his respect. BUT if you have, he will honor you with switching defenders just so he can guard you. It's a COMPETITION and HE WILL WIN and HE WILL SPIKE THE BALL ON THE GROUND IN YOUR FACE! Maybe someone should show him that SNL Short that Adam Samberg did... http://bit.ly/AD0Zx

JOE: RAINBOW BROCK

Meet Joe. The guy who wore a rainbow shirt two weeks in a row. Not so sure he even knows what that means! But his energy level is through the roof like he's just thrown back twenty pixy sticks. He still has the record for "Best catch" from the highlight video because he made it look like something out of the NFL. Perhaps his secret is he sees everything in heavily saturated colors. Joe not only sees the rainbow but he "tastes the rainbow." Somebody give that man a bag of skittles!

MATT: WAX ON WAX OFF

I would never want to get in a fight with this guy. He's like that guy who comes out of nowhere and kicks everyone's ass. But yet he may show up in a ditch somewhere wasted off his ass but still manage to make it to teaching kids how to kick a football and then show up and play flag football with us an hour later. Sleep is overrated. Go ahead Matt, show us how it's done.

DEREK: THE LUMBERJACK

The tallest guy on the field, this guy doesn't say much but you can only wonder what he's really thinking. He keeps showing up so he must enjoy the looniness. Maybe we're all characters in his screenplay or pilot. I mean I don't even know what to say except it would be an amazing site if Ari jumped up on his shoulders and tried to bring him down like a scene from "The Princess Bride" where Westley and the Giant, Fezzik, fight. I'd pay to see that.

MIKE: MAGIC HANDS

I swear he has one up on us all because he wears "Special" gloves. Not to mention I've had the pleasure of playing catch with his "Special" football with intense grippage. Is that even a word? I don't think so. Anyways, this Lindy Hop Dancing man makes us all want a piece of the "Special." Show me the SPECIAL!

Celina: GET NAILED

Women enjoy taking care of their nails and keeping them at "pretty" lengths. Playing sports doesn't always help with keeping them "pretty." BUT I've never encountered in all my life anyone with a nail as long as Celina's except from what I've seen in pictures from the Guiness Book of Records. Thank god she taped that shit down because I think she could have slit someone's throat with that. Too bad she's like the nicest person in the world and despite her long ass nail she would never hurt a fly even if someone rips the ball out of her possession. Oops, did I do that?!

Carly: HOT POTATO

This girl can catch, most of the time. Bobble, bobble, catch! Sometimes it sticks and sometimes it doesn't. BUT she's always smiling with a shot in hand. She is definitely part of Team Blonde. Somehow almost every girl that's ever shown up to football is a blonde. Graceful like a gazelle and a photographer, I think she should be bringing her damn camera so we can get some black and white action shots. That's Hot!

Rachelle: PIG PEN

I can fully attest that there are few who dare to play in mud over the age of mmmm ten. But Rachelle makes us all feel like we should be nostalgic of our youth and play in the mud. Too bad she's so easily distracted by someone yelling her name in the middle of a play that her offender takes off without her. :) I say this with a smile and fully knowing that she giggled uncontrollably after this happened. I wish I could spend a few minutes in her head just to see what she is really thinking.


There are so many more I'd love to mention but I fear I've run out of things to say and I've run out of time.

FLAG FOOTBALL is serious business.

Questioning Everything

1) What makes you happy?
A hobby, good company, someone special, a smile, a job, money, stability, being wreckless, kids, volunteering, being with people you care about, a hug, a laugh, sleep, accomplishment, success, feeling something, screaming, traveling???
What does happy even mean? Dictionary.com says...
hap⋅py  [hap-ee]
–adjective, -pi⋅er, -pi⋅est.
1. delighted, pleased, or glad, as over a particular thing: to be happy to see a person.
2. characterized by or indicative of pleasure, contentment, or joy: a happy mood; a happy frame of mind.
3. favored by fortune; fortunate or lucky: a happy, fruitful land.
4. apt or felicitous, as actions, utterances, or ideas.
5. obsessed by or quick to use the item indicated (usually used in combination): a trigger-happy gangster. Everybody is gadget-happy these days.

So basically, if I'm lucky or get to see someone special or feel good then I'm happy? I think there's just too much involved to truly sum it up like this.

2) What is love?
A feeling, caring, sharing, attachment, sex, happiness, affection, desire, connection, being happy?
Dictionary.com says...
love  [luhv]
–noun
1. a profoundly tender, passionate affection for another person.
2. a feeling of warm personal attachment or deep affection, as for a parent, child, or friend.
3. sexual passion or desire.
4. a person toward whom love is felt; beloved person; sweetheart.
5. (used in direct address as a term of endearment, affection, or the like): Would you like to see a movie, love?
6. a love affair; an intensely amorous incident; amour.
7. sexual intercourse; copulation.
8. (initial capital letter) a personification of sexual affection, as Eros or Cupid.
9. affectionate concern for the well-being of others: the love of one's neighbor.
10. strong predilection, enthusiasm, or liking for anything: her love of books.
11. the object or thing so liked: The theater was her great love.
12. the benevolent affection of God for His creatures, or the reverent affection due from them to God.
13. Chiefly Tennis. a score of zero; nothing.
14. a word formerly used in communications to represent the letter L.
Can love really be summed up in 14 ways? And I'm discounting #13 as I could care less about Tennis. Sorry people.
How do you really know if you're "in love"?
At least the movies "Paper Heart," "500 Days of Summer," and the "The Notebook" address it. But don't think these will explain it all.

3) What is faith? (And I'm not just talking about religion)
A devout belief, trust, fantasy, something intangible, loyalty, trust, love?
Dictionary.com says...
faith  [feyth]
–noun
1. confidence or trust in a person or thing: faith in another's ability.
2. belief that is not based on proof: He had faith that the hypothesis would be substantiated by fact.
3. belief in God or in the doctrines or teachings of religion: the firm faith of the Pilgrims.
4. belief in anything, as a code of ethics, standards of merit, etc.: to be of the same faith with someone concerning honesty.
5. a system of religious belief: the Christian faith; the Jewish faith.
6. the obligation of loyalty or fidelity to a person, promise, engagement, etc.: Failure to appear would be breaking faith.
7. the observance of this obligation; fidelity to one's promise, oath, allegiance, etc.: He was the only one who proved his faith during our recent troubles.
8. Christian Theology. the trust in God and in His promises as made through Christ and the Scriptures by which humans are justified or saved.
—Idiom
9. in faith, in truth; indeed: In faith, he is a fine lad.


Three words that we all use whether it's their synonyms or these words themselves. BUT do we really understand what they mean or use them properly? I throw these words around like they're water. Especially the L word. I mean I can say "I love string cheese." But really what I mean is I like eating string cheese but I'm not going to feel too bad if it goes bad in the fridge or I throw half of it away or someone takes it from me. It's just cheese. If I say "I'm so happy to see you." Am I really happy about it or am I just saying it's good to see that person after several weeks or months and they put a smile on my face because it's someone I care about. That might make me happy for a brief moment sure. But then we get into happiness. The epitome of being happy most of the time as most of the parts of our life including family, friends, significant other, career, and hobbies are all adding to our lives in positive ways.

We've been groomed as humans to have "faith" in "love" and "happiness." This is what we hope to achieve. This is what we live for ultimately right? BUT when is it enough? When can you say "Well I have all the love I could ever need and all the happiness in the world so I'm good thanks. No more." I can't say I've ever heard anyone say that and truly mean it. It's usually the old, "Well I can't complain!" In other words, things can always be better. We all strive for better usually. We should strive for better. To better ourselves will make us better in the end and that end is not death, but in the end of that brief period of time where the cycle ends and begins again.

So what can I leave you with? Question everything because it will only strengthen whatever you ultimately seek.

Favorite Poems and Literature

I was just reminded the other night how much I loved reading Jonathan Swift's "A Modest Proposal." Satire people. It's awesome!
http://art-bin.com/art/omodest.html

Not to mention I grew up in love with the movie "Anne of Green Gables." (Yes I was an interesting child. Come on, my first word was "hot.") So due to this, if memory serves me right, my favorite ballad was always, "The Lady of Shalott" by Alfred, Lord Tennyson. http://charon.sfsu.edu/TENNYSON/TENNLADY.html

Funny how so much can be said in such short eloquent phrases or hidden in satire. Just wanted to share my nostalgia.

A Gentleman vs. The Prick

You head to your friend's house party. Before you make it you have to stop at the grocer to pick up some "Adult Soda" or some ice or maybe some snacks per your friend's request. In any case, you make your purchases and load your car up heading off to your friend's. You contemplate calling your friend for help from your car because you bought the twenty pound bag of ice that was cheaper than buying several smaller bags and you opted for the 36 pack rather than the 24 pack of beer because it too was cheaper or on sale rather. But instead you decide you're a strong woman and you can carry it all by yourself. It's not that far. As you make it to their door you're like oh wow I may drop this. The ice is busted open at the top from when you almost dropped it or maybe when you pulled it from your car. Your fingers are aching because the cardboard from the beer box or the grocery bag handles are digging into your skin by your wrist. You're thinking, "That's gonna leave a mark." But despite that factor you're at their door knocking. You hear the routine "Come in." Of course you're thinking, "Hey assholes I can't open the door with my hands full but fine I'll figure it out. You open the door and everyone either just stares at you as you waddle in hoping you don't drop everything right there as you're perspiring and wishing someone would come help you and take away some of the items in your hands. Instead, one of your friends just says hey and you hurry over to a wall to drop the items. Now there's a brief moment there where a true gentleman or gentle woman would come try to help you and at least offer or hold the door or something. A prick of any kind will just watch you suffer or try to see who's at the door and literally walk away from you.

You're not alone. This happens all the time in LA. It's like guys here left their manners back east or in the south or maybe they never learned. I mean WTF?! Help a girl out. Maybe it's time everyone got a reality check and remembered that something as simple as holding a door open for the next person behind you or just paying forward an act of kindness is worth the smile and thank you you get back. What have you done for a stranger lately?

Whoopsy Daisy

In the past couple weeks I can't tell you how many times I've found myself referencing a string of "accidents" I had in middle school. Where to begin? Can't really remember what happened first but here it goes.

Sixth grade P.E. class in the new gym. That's what we called it because the old gym was well from like the 60s with neck high bleachers and it was well small in comparison with a dirty ass floor. Talk about dirtying up your knee pads that had suddenly turned black. We were playing on two small scale courts. You know where there's four goals on the two sides by the bleachers so you can play two games at once. Anyways, I was running backwards to get back on defense and this girl stopped as I turned to run into her falling to the floor. BOOM my teeth hit head on with the floor and I catch two pieces in my right hand. Breathing hard from running and weirded out because I just caught pieces of my teeth in my hand, all I can feel is cold air hitting my front teeth where it feels like my teeth are enduring Arctic air.

One blurred walk to the infirmary and a call to my parents leads to another call to my dentist who is unavailable. Luckily my dad knows a guy who used to be his dentist and works out of his home. Too bad this is the guy who was the magician that performed at my sister's birthday party a year or so earlier. My mother tells it like the parents that showed up were a bit concerned for their children with his adult commentary but he had doves fly out of a hat. Maybe he'd make my teeth fly back into my mouth good as new. Ironic part about all this was I'd been to my dentist just days earlier and she had brought in another dentist just to brag about how great my teeth looked and how beautiful a smile I had. Thanks a lot for setting up that jinx lady.

Looking in the mirror of my dad's passenger side seat I admire the large gap in my front teeth where my teeth broke diagonally leaving a big triangle shape in their wake. He's worried as I'm sure my mother put him through hell since he was closer from work than her from home and getting me to his dentist to save my roots and thus save me the pain. We arrive and honestly I didn't really feel much pain. It was just a weird feeling to not have complete front teeth. My Dad and I enter Doc's house. That's what my Dad calls him and that's all I've ever known him as. Doc and his eccentric life with his lovely wife. We enter through the living room and down the stairs we go into Doc's lair. I still remember the smell of smoke as he was a big smoker which is really such an appropriate habit of a dentist. I mean it's odd enough when your dentist has yellowing teeth and his breath smells like an ash tray. His dentistry certificates and diplomas line the wall as he sits me in his chair. One thing leads to another and he shoots me up with a couple novacaine shots where I can't feel the entire lower part of my face from the nose down to my neck.

Doc's oversized hands go to work as he breathes heavily in my mouth as I hold back gagging noises. Poor Doc probably never had a clue how horrified I was that afternoon. But in any case I made it out alive. Only I came out with temporary adult size caps until he could get the ones he took a mold for. Talk about the worst yearbook photos ever. That's right it was like having two chiclets for teeth. You know that gum, I mean you can see from the pic above. But let me just segway to reference that having a mother with three brothers and two sisters who were mostly older leads to a mother who loves to tease her children endlessly. So who do you think started the chiclets comments which will never end to this day. I mean we're talking about the years in your life where you're most self conscious and insecure. Hello?! Puberty! Boys! Hormones! Anyways, after the new installation of my chiclets, I got to enjoy a magic show. I mean who doesn't want a magic show with doves appearing out of a hat with a numb face and shock from the trauma of such an eventful afternoon?! I mean I had a whole entire visit to look forward to the next time once the real caps had come in from the molds he'd taken.

Lucky for me, after college I got my fancy porcelain teeth that at least look somewhat natural and aren't as oversized and bucked out as before.

Hmmm what was next. Oh right. Most shit happens in threes right? I mean you have one bad incident and then two follow leading to what you can only hope will be a period of luck after that. This was my seventh grade year in a nutshell.

It began with a visit to my Mom's art class or where she basically helped teach art to elder individuals. My sister and I were riding with her and probably just picking up some of her art works. It was early and I was exhausted from who knows what and what do I do but slam my thumb in the car door. Ouch. Talk about annoying and painful. I think I cried because I was so pissed at what an idiot I was. A week later I'm playing volleyball and for those of you who know the game I was on the back line because I was good at digs. We're playing the middle school of which I knew most of the players because I played softball with them in the summertime. So my friend Courtney is serving and well, softball players are known to have killer serves. She served a floater which curves as it shoots onto our side like a bullet and the eighth grader goes for it with me giving her coverage just as she backs off at the last minute and I go for it half assed and half shocked she didn't go for it. Wow. I look down and my right thumb, the one I slammed in the car door with a black thumbnail is now pushed behind my other four fingers. Rushing me to the school's trainer I sit there looking at my thumb on the other side and out of joint. It was kind of like something out of a bad horror movie. Poor Courtney feels all bad because she knows me and I'm just sitting there shocked, disgusted, and in pain from the jolt and bummed I can't keep playing.

My mom rushes me to the ER at Vanderbilt. We sit there for hours as my thumb, now numb from the pain just chills while we watch people rushing by as I guess there was a bad car accident causing me to sit there longer. Finally we get into a room with none other than Dr. Love. Talk about one hell of a Doctor's name. It was like out of Days of Our Lives or Grey's Anatomy. Oh McDreamy! Seriously he's dreamy! I've seen him in person at LAX! So Dr. Love says he'll put my thumb back in place as it's dislocated and I have the option of a shot to numb me or he can just reset it right there. At this point I'm so numb and just want it to look normal again I opt for resetting as soon as possible. CRACK! Oh that's much better. Then it's time to put my arm in a cast. Good times. Talk about itchy and wow what a smell when that thing finally came off. You all know what I'm talking about if you've ever had the pleasure of enduring a cast.

But rewind, I'm at school with a black cast and matching black thumbnail and decide it's a great idea to play basketball in P.E., again, but this time in the old gym. Smaller courts and small bleachers, remember. We're playing coed and the P.E. coaches don't notice that I should be sitting out and instead I'm playing. I mean what could happen? I'm going up for a lay up and one of the guys is stupid enough to push me and what happens, I bounce into the bleachers and ricochet off like a rag doll. Probably resembled a skit from the Looney Tunes or Robot Chicken. I believe I was knocked out for a few minutes as I remember coming to looking at Coach E, our high school basketball coach who coached me in AAU basketball and was also our P.E. teacher. There must have been blood everywhere because he looked horrified as my peers and friends stand over me gawking and the right side of my face is pounding. Back to the infirmary I go and you can imagine how pleased my parents must have been to receive this call. Luckily the school nurse knows a great plastic surgeon in the area as my parents are both there and take me over themselves. All I really remember from this was being wide awake with classical music playing in the background as my parents sit watching as this Surgeon guy stitches me up with those dissolving stitches that itch and make you want to just rip them out. I mean it was cool for a little while as it looked like I got beat up and I could say I won but in a nutshell it pretty much made that year hell as I couldn't play sports and I wanted to just cut off the right side of my body and start over.

What was the saying from Forrest Gump? SHIT HAPPENS.

Do the Limbo!

Every limbo boy and girl
All around the limbo world
Gonna do the limbo rock
All around the limbo clock
Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let's do the limbo rock

Limbo lower now
Limbo lower now
How low can you go

First you spread your limbo feet
Then you move to limbo beat
Limbo ankolimboneee,
Bend back like a limbo tree
Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let's do the limbo rock

la la la etc (instead of instrumental break)

Get yourself a limbo girl
Give that chic a limbo whirl
There's a limbo moon above
You will fall in limbo love
Jack be limbo, Jack be quick
Jack go unda limbo stick
All around the limbo clock
Hey, let's do the limbo rock

Don't move that limbo bar
You'll be a limbo star
How low can you go
http://www.weddingvendors.com/music/lyrics/c/chubby-checker/limbo-rock/

How is it that this is so relevant to well life?! I mean I don't know about you but it sucks when you go as low as you can go and you get stuck under the stick and go where no one has gone before, yet. Either you make it through unscathed or you knock the limbo stick down and better luck next time. I guess religious nuts might think this game is blasphemy considering limbo is being stuck between heaven and hell or in some religions actually a division of hell or outer circle. Isn't that why we have ghosts? Where are the Ghostbusters when you need 'em.

Imagine you're life completely up in the air, stuck between a rock and a hard place or just stuck. More simply you're feeling like a nomad with no place to call home whether it's a place, a person, a group of people, work, and/or school. You're probably just thinking, "What? Isn't that what happens when you're homeless?" Um, literally maybe but no. Point is, have you ever felt like all aspects of your life were just stuck or going back and forth without a solution or sense of stability. Of course you know what I'm talking about. If you haven't experienced this well you're just lying to yourself. Maybe you're in the "limbo of admission." What do you do when you're living in limbo?! Don't ask me, I'm just writing this.

Ask your magic 8 ball! It could be any of the 20 answers:
● As I see it, yes
● It is certain
● It is decidedly so
● Most likely
● Outlook good
● Signs point to yes
● Without a doubt
● Yes
● Yes - definitely
● You may rely on it
● Reply hazy, try again
● Ask again later
● Better not tell you now
● Cannot predict now
● Concentrate and ask again
● Don't count on it
● My reply is no
● My sources say no
● Outlook not so good
● Very doubtful
http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Magic_8-Ball

Scrub a Dub Duds

I'm like the biggest laundry nerd. I like to be able to do laundry when I want and when I need to. I HATE, no I LOATHE doing laundry at laundromats. Maybe it's my days in Texas when my roommates and I would go together and pile our laundry in and we'd sit in these non air conditioned places where you felt like you needed to strip just to clean the clothes on your back it was so humid. Or maybe it's the fact I hate hoarding quarters to save for these epic days.

I've been so lucky to have had a washer and dryer inside my last two apartments. It's like a little piece of bliss. I spill something on myself or get spilled on in a bar, no sweat. Throw it in when you get home or the next morning and no worries. I work out everyday and play softball on clay dirt and I don't want that red dirt to stain or sweat smell to settle, no problem. Not to mention it's free!

But now that I'm moving I'm back to a communal laundry room with my laundry basket and the old school shit to deal with. You know what I'm talking about?! You forget about your laundry and someone impatient or under a time constraint throws your clothes on top of the dirty dryer or washer in a dirty laundry room. I mean, I don't really want some old dude pulling out my underwear and putting it out for all to see and for him to touch. Not exactly something I want to think about. Or the fact that some people have sticky fingers and there goes your favorite shirt. It just took a walk into someone else's closet. Not to mention that some dryers don't work as well because there are too many people using them and they end up breaking or not drying your clothes sucking more money out of you. It's like you have to devote so much time to protect your laundry from strangers and ensure it gets done. And what about the fact that you could have clothes in the dryer and it breaks as soon as you put quarters in. Not only are you SOL but you have to call maintenance and wait days until it gets fixed. I actually heard some dude on my kickball team talk about how he has saved himself so much money by using a paperclip or some other item to make the washer and dryer think he just put a quarter in. Brilliant. Too bad my new place doesn't use quarters. It's a card. These apartment managers get smarter all the time.

But seriously, do you have any idea how much laundry sucks when you don't have your own to use as you please?! It's no wonder people wear the same thing the next day hoping no one notices!

The Little Things

What is it about something so subtle or so minute in the larger scheme of things? Somehow it's the little things in life that make our day or get us through the week. Forget the cheese and the cliches, some things are just meant to make those moments last forever.

Making someone smile or laugh
A kiss that says a thousand words or is just simply a genuine kiss
A hug, and not the patty cake hug, a REAL hug)
A sunset on the beach or with no beach at all
A Full Moon with stars in a clear sky
The Sound of waves crashing against the shore
The warm sun hitting your face when you step outside
A food fight
Music that fills the soul and don't tell me you don't know what I'm talking about
A school of dolphins swimming by as you're walking, sitting or running on the beach or a whale sighting
A smile from a stranger
Sharing a laugh with a stranger
An unexpected call, text or email that makes you smile or even laugh out loud
Encouraging words with wisdom or no wisdom
A fortune from a fortune cookie that somehow applies so well
Laughing until it hurts
A green light when you're running late
A meter with minutes still on it
Something free like a cool t-shirt or a break light replaced
Food or drink you have time to sit and enjoy without scarfing it down in a hurry
Paying it forward
Giving someone a gift and watching their ecstatic reaction
Catching a shiver and curling up under the covers
Goosebumps
An ice cold beer on a hot day
Sitting by a camp fire and perhaps roasting marshmallows
The rush of going fast
The first rain drop to hit your head
The tickle in your throat you feel after you take a shot and then it's all warm
A hot drink on a rainy day
Lying in bed on a rainy morning and not having to be anywhere
Finding a piece of clothing or outfit that is just what you were looking for
Getting ready before a theme party or halloween party
When you first step into the shower
Doing something you've never done before


Whether any of these or all of these are your little pieces bliss, just remember it's the little things that can make it all worth it.

Damn, It's the Po Po

Oh Rudy. How you truly made one of my nights in Los Angeles my first year here so memorable. What is the deal with the LAPD? I know one cop could just be trying to warn you that your tail light is out and you should get that checked out. OR they could be some asshole on a power trip.

Let me preface all this with a valuable lesson I learned in the good ol' state of Texas. I was working out of a hotel in Dallas and three of our rental cars were broken into. With the responsibility as liaison with the hotel it was my fantastic job to clean up the mess and deal with the Po Po. So, the hotel manager, a sweet lady, helped me deal with the cop who came to check out the "scene of the crime." Ironically, the questions become interrogative and I become on edge because I'm tired and none of this shit was my fault. I didn't leave a stupid GPS in the rental car knowing full well Dallas has become a high crime area because of the influx of individuals cast out of Louisiana by Katrina and left with nothing. The sweet hotel manager lady approaches me asking if I feel like I'm being interrogated and explains her father is a cop. She explains that a lot of cops take a certain tone with all citizens because they don't know what they're going to deal with as you can only imagine the druggies, murderers, liars, cheaters, etc they encounter. With that she kindly speaks to the cop on my behalf asking him to lighten up and in a immediately he turns into the nicest guy who acts like he cares and wants to help me find the thieves who did this. Amazing right?! We so often forget a lot of these cops have children and are just doing their job.

Now I prefaced this story with my experience in Texas because I don't want to hate the Po Po because I understand the above is true and I want to support our local police for doing their job and taking care of the real bad guys. HOWEVER, that doesn't mean the LAPD doesn't have assholes on a power trip or losers wanting to harass young women in Hollywood because they're bored or want to catch a celebrity doing something to make an example of them. So let's talk about Rudy the ridiculous.

It's a Friday night, I've been out with two girlfriends at a bar and then a house party. I'm DD so I'm taking Sunset Blvd. headed to one of their apartments to drop them off before I head home. Now, yes I've had two beers in a matter of like five hours. As a woman I know full well that two beers can put me over the limit if I'm not careful and don't allow enough time. But clearly, I've allowed enough time and knowing me I probably ate some cake at the house party (a birthday party) which absorbed some of the alcohol. My first mistake was I used my horn. I never use my horn. I'm not a New Yorker, I'm a defensive driver and I don't use my horn unless absolutely necessary. On this night, a car full of guys waits as a group of girls cross the street. But instead of going they remain stopped clearly checking out these guys. So I honked just annoyed with the situation and wanting to drop off my friends who mind you are drunk so I can get home. Two seconds later, the lights go up and siren on and I get pulled over. Nervous about getting pulled over with my friends freaking out next to me and in the back seat we wait. Cop comes up and asks if we've been drinking. I say no and explain I'm just driving my friends home. I don't remember the entire exchange at this moment because I was nervous as hell and probably just trying to hold it together. I remember debating crying on cue but I wasn't by myself and my friends are drunk so it wasn't the best move given the situation. He asks me to step out of my car and instead of giving me a breathalyzer or walk in a straight line he puts me in the back of his cop car. Mind you, he didn't take my license or registration so I'm thinking this guy just wants to scare me. I mean here I am as a short blonde in a little yellow bug full of smiles with my two girlfriends and he opts to put me in the back of his cop car? Hmmm. Yeah interesting. It's my turn to take control you fucking asshole. He starts talking down to me like I'm a child so I come back with some shit about my father being a lawyer and I know my rights which he's welcome to read to me if he wants. Not to mention that despite what he might think based on appearance of my vehicle and my going out attire, I'm incredibly capable of driving my friends home. I didn't even mention the fact that he at no point gave me a valid reason that would hold up as to why he pulled me over in the first place. Needless to say, he changed his tune after my response. He's telling me I'm a good kid and introduces himself as Rudy and lets me out escorting me back to my vehicle urging us to go to Mel's Diner for an hour. Perhaps, I played up the southern girl charm but it worked and no, we did not go to Mel's Diner.

Po Po, I ask you, please stop wasting your time pulling over people for no reason or just to meet your quota. If I break the law speeding, swerving, or running a stop sign or light then yes, pull me over. But, otherwise stop wasting your time with pointless paperwork and our time. We're just as scared of you as you are of us. What was it one cop told me when he pulled me over for a busted tail light, "We're not the bad guys. The bad guys are out there. We're here to protect you." Then protect me! Don't pull me over in an unlit area when I'm clearly by myself as a woman and the streets are desolate because it's 2 am when I'm driving home from work or from a friend's.