Blonde Story Short

I feel like I'm the white (my bad, caucasian) girl in a movie of an entirely black (African American, although most aren't from Africa) cast. I'm the one who moved to the ghetto for Dad's job, which is never actually clarified. I just got home from school (it's work for me, but still a school nonetheless). I am lying in bed, put on some jams and started to write in my journal. I also took off my medium sized silver hoops and set them on my nightstand so I could lie my head down on the pillow comfortably. It's been a long day. Are you starting to feel the scene yet? Hopefully you are picturing Kristen Dunst or Julia Stiles right now. I'm feeling inspired, might have something to do with the delicious peach salsa I just ate, probably not though. So here's a little ditty I just word vommited onto the pages of my journal. I call it my (Anti) Poetry. After the horrific experience of receiving corny poetry (rhyming in fact) from a high school bf, I cannot

I love how in life we come into contact with people that are so different from us. Some we cannot stand to be in the same room with (they make my top 5 in the car game "Name 5 people you don't like...I made it up) On the other hand, it can be a beautiful thing to have a friendship with someone who is so opposite of you that you wonder how you even find your lives intertwining. The biggest blessings in my life are my dear friends. One of those fabulous femmes is a little (little in size, big in heart) friend of mine, Ms. Green. You've heard of her before, see "Sometimes it's just a Yoga Mat" for a quick brush up! Every time I spend time with her I observe her, and since I'm the queen of externally processing, end up telling her about my observations. This might include, "I noticed you put all your Tupperware lids in their own drawer" or maybe something like "How come you sprayed one cookie sheet with PAM and not the other?" I observe

For some reason the word FEAR has come up in an oddly frequent way the last two days. Some of the conversations that the "F-word" has been a part of include (but are NOT limited to): a deep convo with a friend about what can keep us from diving (or flailing I suppose) into life...Fear, an episode of Fear Factor (I work with junior highers who like the idea of people eating tape worms covered in mud, naturally this show comes up), and overcoming the F-word's ability to keep me from surfing in surf-sational San Diego! And there was a lot more where that eFfen came from! I got to thinking today...When I taught Kindergarten (the cute little banchies who thought I was queen of the universe, I loved my job), I would have them line up for recess and they were not allowed to leave the room to head for the playground unless I was in front of them, leading the way. They were okay with it since I'd lead them while singing songs like "I like to move it, move it...&qu

Today is the day my fam and I (including the Bride of course) head up to the site and will attempt to relax. Rehearsal dinner done, tomorrow is the big day. I always think it's so cliche when people call it that. I picture a nerdy guy with huge glasses or a really old grandma with a squeaky voice saying "Are you excited for the BIG DAY?" Then both push their glasses up so that they aren't falling down their noses anymore. Somehow I find myself saying it anyway, it's all the rage. After checking tan and dental appointment off my list I was in the OC ...waiting. Waiting for the MOB (Mother of Bride) to get finish getting ready, hopefully without hurting herself or anyone else in the household i.e me and the dogs. I escaped to get us some lunch, maybe a taco would help? In a fit of thinking ahead (all new to me) I hit Rite Aid to purchase some sleep-aids for the fam (possible Friday night jitters on the agenda) and Excedrin Migraine for me (I can't begin to

Feeling much better today about a few things. First, at the end of the work day yesterday i was pretty much certain that my kiddos would be failing the current huge project they're working on. Today, with a styrophome (go green) cup of coffee in hand, I was not only able to finish up the biggest part of the project with them, but able to help everyone out with their photo shoot portion (thanks to the 'ol Box o fun Costume box) and dance a little with my two favorite middle schoolers. They think I'm crazy. I'm okay with it. Now I can leave for Sister's wedding and not feel like it's the end of the world back at work! Second, date #1 down. A rendezvous recap: I had to push the time back a half hour, so not to rush my gal time. I took a survey of my 4 besties, very intelligent women of course, and asking him to pick me up at 8:30 instead of 8:00 was perfectly okay. So I went with their opinion, being that I know close to nothing about dating...and hate the proce

...between now and the last blog. Trust me I've wanted nothing more than to share my thoughts and recent observations. My journal (the unedited and even more personal version of my blog) has gotten a lot more action lately! My bad. So yes I've still been writing, helpful to keep some form of sanity and YES I've missed all of my blogtastic readers! Got a lot going on in my head and my heart right about now...I feel compelled to go on and on about the last three weeks of life occurrences, but I generally try to refrain from a "keep updated on my life" blog and stick to more of a "huh? that's kinda funny" type of blog. As solely a means of showing how incredibly crazy life has been, I'll give you a brief run down in bullet point form: 1. Cinco de Mayo=White people drinking Margaritas...PB...eery feeling it's 2007 again (my crazy year which included a lot of PB, and I don't mean peanut butter)...seeing one of the old "P4" an

It doesn't interest me what you do for a living. I want to know what you ache for, and if you dare to dream of meeting your heart's longing. It doesn't interest me how old you are. I want to know if you will risk looking like a fool for love, for your dream, for the adventure of being alive. it doesn't interest me what planets are squaring your moon. I want to know if you have touched the center of your own sorrow, if you have been opened by life's betrayals or have become shriveled and closed from fear of further pain! I want to know if you can sit with pain, mine or your own, without moving to hide it or fade it, or fix it. I want to know if you can be with joy, mine or your own, if you can dance with wildness and let the ecstasy fill you to the tips of your fingers and toes without cautioning us to be careful, to be realistic, to remember the limitations being human. It doesn't interest me if the story you are telling me is true. I want to know