I've decided that I'm ready for a new adventure. The only issue I have now is what adventure it will be. And while I'm normally very pro-active about choosing my own adventure, I'm kinda curious to see what the universe might bring me instead. Kinda like being a six-year old on Christmas Eve, sitting in her feetie pajamas hoping that Santa brings a Barbie, but really excited about what else might come, too. That's how I feel right now. I want to see what else will come.
In the past, I've been very risk adverse because the way to manage disappointment is to prepare, research, manipulate, control, and prepare. Oh, and prepare. Did I mention prepare? Want to move to New York? Where will I live? How much can I afford? How much will I have to make? How will I make friends? What kind of clothes will I need? What kind of job do I want? Where do I find that job? Manage, manage, manage. Prepare, prepare, prepare. And then, when opportunity knocks, well, I'm sitting there with my jacket on and my suitcase packed. I am Ready. The only problem -- and it's a small problem at that -- is that it takes all the surprise out of life. There is no room for spontaneity. No room for a pleasant detour. No room for anything actually other than a satisfying end to a well thought out endeavor. Which is nice. And boring. Did I mention boring? Because it is. It's really, really boring.
Yeah. I'm bored. That's the problem with living a carefully planned and managed life. While I have had few disappointments, I've had even fewer surprises. While I've managed to keep drama low, I've also managed to keep exhilaration equally low. I am not a naturally careful individual. I've been nurtured into being one. But, as I've said before, I'm trying to think in different ways, give up the raft, and get a pair of hiking shoes. I'm thinking about taking a risk. I'm just not quite sure how to do that. It seems awfully, umm, risky.
Recently, I received an email from a friend of mine who is currently living in Germany. She has made me an offer: Quit my job and come live with her for six months while I write my book. I would love to do this but I'm scared. How will I make money? How will I pay off my debt? In the meantime, I've put my resume into my dream company and have gotten a tepid response. Considering I've applied several times before and never got a response, tepid feels pretty terrific. And, of course, I'm thinking about dating again and actually moving towards doing it with a little help of a dating website. So what am I doing to further these prospects? Very little, except to keep my mind wide open. And to allow the universe to move something towards me, instead of pushing against it to make whatever I want happen. I'm not going to prepare, research, manipulate, control, and prepare. And manage. Did I mention manage? I'm going to allow things to happen. Naturally. Finally. And see what comes.
Tuesday, November 24, 2009
Monday, November 16, 2009
A Modern Fairy Tale
Once upon a time, there was a single gal about town who was as fabulous as the feminist movement said she should be. She was well-read, well-rounded, and perhaps a wee bit too well fed. She cared about her mind and pooh-poohed vainglorious pursuits like waxing and Pilate's. She blithely moved through her life firm in the knowledge that there would be "plenty of time for boys later" and that "it'll happen when you least expect it." Until one day, the single gal found herself midway between 36 and 37 surrounded by boys who had turned into men and no expectations about any of them. At which point, she re-signed with eHarmony to her annoyance.
What the single gal figured was, if she joined a dating web site and kept her expectations as low as humanly possible, she was bound to get a date or two out of the experiment and -- at the very least -- stop feeling like a dateless, unattractive freak. Maybe, just maybe, she would start feeling a little confident about her abilities to attract a member of the opposite sex. Except, of course, as certain attractive men closed her out while other not as desirable men started communication, Single Gal came to the startlingly realization that in her heart of hearts, she was an uncompromising romantic. That somehow, she had bought lock, stock, and barrel into the fantasy that if she was her very best person possible, a handsome, well-read, well-rounded man who believed in egalitarian partnerships with fabulous women would see her from across the room and would be charmed by the silly way she tossed her hair when she laughed and choose her...conveniently forgetting, of course, that she did not toss her hair when she laughed. Hair tossing aside, this was a very unfortunate realization for the single gal.
"Sleeping Beauty. Waiting for the prince to wake her with a kiss," The Good Fairy, Andie, commented during a brunch when Single Gal brought up her romantic disillusionment. The analogy was so accurate that the single gal was acutely embarrassed. It was true. Growing up, she was a fairy tale fiend. Her teen years were filled with romance novels. She still, in her mid-30s -- preferred Meg Ryan romantic comedies -- You've Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle, French Kiss -- to any other kind of movie available. Movies where Fate brought the soul mates together in a happily ever after kiss! (And all with virtually no work on the woman's side!) To quote Meg in When Harry Met Sally, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" At the median age of 36.5-years old, Single Gal came to the gross conclusion that she still held the romantic notions of an 8 year old. (*ouch!*) It was a bitter pill, and one she didn't want to swallow. Life was so hard in all the other areas, couldn't she get a break in just this one? Didn't everyone always tell Single Gal how fantastic she was and that eventually she was going to end up with the very best of men because, well, she deserved it?! And yet, all the evidence was to the contrary. When she really started to break down the relationships of the women around her, she started to see a pattern. There were a lot of women out there who did the choosing. Her two married sisters, and twice married mother, for instance. Four out of five girlfriends easily. All of them had chosen the guy and got him! What was that about? And why didn't any one write a fairy tale or Meg Ryan movie about that?!
"Think about it," The Good Fairy continued, "if you do the choosing, then you get to decide your own fate. Men are flattered by a woman's attention. So even though they might not necessarily choose you, their ego is stroked if you choose them. So at the end of the day, you get the guy you want instead of having to take whatever comes your way."
The Good Fairy was right, of course, and appealed to Single Gal's ridiculously over-developed sense of self. So Single Gal went right home and logged back onto eHarmony ready to be a kick-ass princess of her own modern fairy tale. And after about twenty minutes, she logged back out feeling disappointed, underwhelmed, and depressed. Because suddenly, she wanted better princes to choose from.
The moral of the story is: kick ass princesses are more picky than sleeping beauties.
What the single gal figured was, if she joined a dating web site and kept her expectations as low as humanly possible, she was bound to get a date or two out of the experiment and -- at the very least -- stop feeling like a dateless, unattractive freak. Maybe, just maybe, she would start feeling a little confident about her abilities to attract a member of the opposite sex. Except, of course, as certain attractive men closed her out while other not as desirable men started communication, Single Gal came to the startlingly realization that in her heart of hearts, she was an uncompromising romantic. That somehow, she had bought lock, stock, and barrel into the fantasy that if she was her very best person possible, a handsome, well-read, well-rounded man who believed in egalitarian partnerships with fabulous women would see her from across the room and would be charmed by the silly way she tossed her hair when she laughed and choose her...conveniently forgetting, of course, that she did not toss her hair when she laughed. Hair tossing aside, this was a very unfortunate realization for the single gal.
"Sleeping Beauty. Waiting for the prince to wake her with a kiss," The Good Fairy, Andie, commented during a brunch when Single Gal brought up her romantic disillusionment. The analogy was so accurate that the single gal was acutely embarrassed. It was true. Growing up, she was a fairy tale fiend. Her teen years were filled with romance novels. She still, in her mid-30s -- preferred Meg Ryan romantic comedies -- You've Got Mail, Sleepless in Seattle, French Kiss -- to any other kind of movie available. Movies where Fate brought the soul mates together in a happily ever after kiss! (And all with virtually no work on the woman's side!) To quote Meg in When Harry Met Sally, "Yes! Yes! Yes!" At the median age of 36.5-years old, Single Gal came to the gross conclusion that she still held the romantic notions of an 8 year old. (*ouch!*) It was a bitter pill, and one she didn't want to swallow. Life was so hard in all the other areas, couldn't she get a break in just this one? Didn't everyone always tell Single Gal how fantastic she was and that eventually she was going to end up with the very best of men because, well, she deserved it?! And yet, all the evidence was to the contrary. When she really started to break down the relationships of the women around her, she started to see a pattern. There were a lot of women out there who did the choosing. Her two married sisters, and twice married mother, for instance. Four out of five girlfriends easily. All of them had chosen the guy and got him! What was that about? And why didn't any one write a fairy tale or Meg Ryan movie about that?!
"Think about it," The Good Fairy continued, "if you do the choosing, then you get to decide your own fate. Men are flattered by a woman's attention. So even though they might not necessarily choose you, their ego is stroked if you choose them. So at the end of the day, you get the guy you want instead of having to take whatever comes your way."
The Good Fairy was right, of course, and appealed to Single Gal's ridiculously over-developed sense of self. So Single Gal went right home and logged back onto eHarmony ready to be a kick-ass princess of her own modern fairy tale. And after about twenty minutes, she logged back out feeling disappointed, underwhelmed, and depressed. Because suddenly, she wanted better princes to choose from.
The moral of the story is: kick ass princesses are more picky than sleeping beauties.
Wednesday, November 11, 2009
Magic, Miracles, and Luck
If I had a million dollars, (if I had a million dollars!)
I'd buy you a house. (I would buy you a house!)
Oh, excuse me! You caught me singing in the blogger. I was just thinking about the Barenaked Ladies song, If I Had a Million Dollars. They were willing to buy a lot of things with a million dollars, but I think they were tragically overestimating how far that million would go. (Because I'll tell you right now, my love alone would cost more than a million. Have you seen the lead singer of Barenaked Ladies? No? Here's his mug shot.) I've been thinking about money a lot lately, mostly because I haven't any. No raise this year, and no freelance writing assignment either. Man. It's hard out here for a, um, well, single gal with steady employment. I have no reason to complain really, so I won't, especially since everyone I know has this same kind of cruddy feeling. "Be happy you're employed," they say. "I am, I am!" I reply, hands waving in surrender. But still. Can't help but to feel slightly crappy and fatigued with the whole recession thing. I wonder how people got through the Great Depression. Years and years of feeling like this. Must've sucked. I mean, it does suck! So... (this is a tangent that's not going anywhere, just so you know. Anyway...)
I've been thinking about playing the lottery again. I've decided that one dollar isn't enough to win, but that five dollars is too much to lose, so I've settled on three dollars. I think I can spare three dollars a week to buy lottery tickets. The way I figure it, even if I don't win, I'm still helping the state of California and the good Lord knows the state needs something. I encourage Bill Gates, Barbra Streisand and all other multi-millionaires/billionaires living in the Golden State to do the same. Play $20, maybe $50 a pop. If you win, give the proceeds to charity. Your state needs you! Of course, what I really want is to win myself. I don't even want to win big. Just big enough. In fact, big enough to invest wisely and not feel threatened, but not enough that it becomes national news and my family finds out. I would like to win, um, maybe, ten million (after taxes). Ten million would be nice. I could pay off my debt, buy my new favorite car (in red!), buy spontaneous gifts for my favorite little human beings, and go on any and all vacations as they arise. Doesn't that sound lovely?
My newest problem (isn't there always a new one?) is that I've recently realized that I have held a steady belief in magic and miracles my whole life and with all the crushingly bad news about the state of the economy, the rise of unemployment, the anti-abortion amendment in the health care reform bill, the Fort Hood murders, Glenn Beck's book jacket, -- just about everything in the news, really! -- I'm beginning to think there is no magic or miracles to be had. This knowledge is depressing me in ways that I couldn't have even expected. I seem to have lost hope for something good to happen mainly because everyone else is screaming about how bad it is and will continue to get if we don't hand power over to Sarah Palin now! OK, well, maybe that last part is a bit hysterical, but you know what I mean. My therapist, however, thinks that this death of miracles and magic might be good for me as it means that I will work from a place of reality. He seems to have forgotten that the reason I've opted for magic and miracles is because I've had just a little too much reality in my life prior to age eighteen. If I didn't believe that miracles and magic could happen, I'd probably be dead of a drug overdose by now and not living in L.A. following a fantastical dream. As if to bribe a child away from its pacifier, my therapist offered me "luck" instead of my m&ms. That's right: luck. I'd rather stick with magic and miracles.
I don't know what's going to happen, not in the world or even my own psyche. I suppose I'm just hoping for a little hope right now, no matter what form it takes. New employment. A well-paying freelance gig. Something that makes me feel like tomorrow is going to be a little easier than today. Like winning the lottery for example. Which, coincidentally, could be considered either very lucky or magical and miraculous. I'll leave it up to you to decide...after it happens.
I'd buy you a house. (I would buy you a house!)
Oh, excuse me! You caught me singing in the blogger. I was just thinking about the Barenaked Ladies song, If I Had a Million Dollars. They were willing to buy a lot of things with a million dollars, but I think they were tragically overestimating how far that million would go. (Because I'll tell you right now, my love alone would cost more than a million. Have you seen the lead singer of Barenaked Ladies? No? Here's his mug shot.) I've been thinking about money a lot lately, mostly because I haven't any. No raise this year, and no freelance writing assignment either. Man. It's hard out here for a, um, well, single gal with steady employment. I have no reason to complain really, so I won't, especially since everyone I know has this same kind of cruddy feeling. "Be happy you're employed," they say. "I am, I am!" I reply, hands waving in surrender. But still. Can't help but to feel slightly crappy and fatigued with the whole recession thing. I wonder how people got through the Great Depression. Years and years of feeling like this. Must've sucked. I mean, it does suck! So... (this is a tangent that's not going anywhere, just so you know. Anyway...)
I've been thinking about playing the lottery again. I've decided that one dollar isn't enough to win, but that five dollars is too much to lose, so I've settled on three dollars. I think I can spare three dollars a week to buy lottery tickets. The way I figure it, even if I don't win, I'm still helping the state of California and the good Lord knows the state needs something. I encourage Bill Gates, Barbra Streisand and all other multi-millionaires/billionaires living in the Golden State to do the same. Play $20, maybe $50 a pop. If you win, give the proceeds to charity. Your state needs you! Of course, what I really want is to win myself. I don't even want to win big. Just big enough. In fact, big enough to invest wisely and not feel threatened, but not enough that it becomes national news and my family finds out. I would like to win, um, maybe, ten million (after taxes). Ten million would be nice. I could pay off my debt, buy my new favorite car (in red!), buy spontaneous gifts for my favorite little human beings, and go on any and all vacations as they arise. Doesn't that sound lovely?
My newest problem (isn't there always a new one?) is that I've recently realized that I have held a steady belief in magic and miracles my whole life and with all the crushingly bad news about the state of the economy, the rise of unemployment, the anti-abortion amendment in the health care reform bill, the Fort Hood murders, Glenn Beck's book jacket, -- just about everything in the news, really! -- I'm beginning to think there is no magic or miracles to be had. This knowledge is depressing me in ways that I couldn't have even expected. I seem to have lost hope for something good to happen mainly because everyone else is screaming about how bad it is and will continue to get if we don't hand power over to Sarah Palin now! OK, well, maybe that last part is a bit hysterical, but you know what I mean. My therapist, however, thinks that this death of miracles and magic might be good for me as it means that I will work from a place of reality. He seems to have forgotten that the reason I've opted for magic and miracles is because I've had just a little too much reality in my life prior to age eighteen. If I didn't believe that miracles and magic could happen, I'd probably be dead of a drug overdose by now and not living in L.A. following a fantastical dream. As if to bribe a child away from its pacifier, my therapist offered me "luck" instead of my m&ms. That's right: luck. I'd rather stick with magic and miracles.
I don't know what's going to happen, not in the world or even my own psyche. I suppose I'm just hoping for a little hope right now, no matter what form it takes. New employment. A well-paying freelance gig. Something that makes me feel like tomorrow is going to be a little easier than today. Like winning the lottery for example. Which, coincidentally, could be considered either very lucky or magical and miraculous. I'll leave it up to you to decide...after it happens.
Friday, November 6, 2009
Little Dresses for Little Girls
You might have noticed recently that I'm a little ga-ga over my nieces. I am seriously in love. And considering that Christmas is coming up, I'm already plotting to buy their love in return. Hey, I'm 3,000 miles away. I've gotta come up with something to make me memorable. "Who are you again? Oh! The woman who sent the American Girl dolls?! I love you!" I was just in GAP looking for a wrap sweater and maybe some detailed or appliqued tee shirts and never made it past BabyGAP and their dress selection. Did you know the Stella McCartney has new line for GAPKids? Oh, yes, she does. Some little boy needs that band jacket. Hello, Sgt. Pepper! Anyway... I love being an auntie. All the dress up and none of the spit up. Although, I have to say that my sister needs to start posting more pictures of Abigail. My brother and his wife are ridiculously good about posting photos of the twins on Facebook, and I think my sister needs to take a lesson. Ahem.These babies, of course, are making me think about my own procreation. I think I've been in denial for a long time about my chances. And maybe even about my age. (Umm, OK, de
finitely about my age.) I keep thinking that once I've got my act together I can get married and then have some kids. Because that would be the adult and responsible thing to do. But I'm really beginning to think that I'll never have it together. (And quite frankly, who really ever does?) So, should I not get married and have my own little princess to dress in a fabulous Stella McCartney tutu? No! Should I be looking for a Baby Daddy to seduce with my feminine charms and get cracking? Yes! Am I? Erm... OK, so the Baby Daddy part is still a wee little hurdle to get over. But I'm working on the issue. (No, I really am this time; I mean it!) In the meantime, I will be ogling small Callahan children from a far and patiently bidding my time until Christmas when I can get my hands on them. And, if by chance after Christmas I go off the grid, it's because I've stolen one of the twins. Probably this one...
finitely about my age.) I keep thinking that once I've got my act together I can get married and then have some kids. Because that would be the adult and responsible thing to do. But I'm really beginning to think that I'll never have it together. (And quite frankly, who really ever does?) So, should I not get married and have my own little princess to dress in a fabulous Stella McCartney tutu? No! Should I be looking for a Baby Daddy to seduce with my feminine charms and get cracking? Yes! Am I? Erm... OK, so the Baby Daddy part is still a wee little hurdle to get over. But I'm working on the issue. (No, I really am this time; I mean it!) In the meantime, I will be ogling small Callahan children from a far and patiently bidding my time until Christmas when I can get my hands on them. And, if by chance after Christmas I go off the grid, it's because I've stolen one of the twins. Probably this one... 
Look at her in that beret! *Sigh!*
Wednesday, November 4, 2009
The Lob
I'm tired of my hair. Long is nice and all, but it's a bit blah. The only thing I like about my hair right now is that I can put it up into a relatively nice bun. But that's kinda blah, too. I spoke to my stylist about this back in September and she suggested that I check into a "lob." That's a long bob. (Yeah. We both agree it's a stupid name for a haircut, too.) So, I checked it out. I kinda like Nicole Ritchie's lob.
The only thing I know for certain -- and which I'm terrified of -- is that I don't want Gwen Paltrow's lob. It looks stringy and unfortunate.
But, Nicole and I don't have similar hair. I'm pretty sure there is a lot of processing and straightening that goes on there, which adds to her volume.
I think I can get the Lauren Conrad look.
But that kinda looks like the haircut I have right now, just three inches shorter.
I'm pretty sure Heidi Klum and I have similar hair, but it feels less lob and more bob on Heidi.
The only thing I know for certain -- and which I'm terrified of -- is that I don't want Gwen Paltrow's lob. It looks stringy and unfortunate.
What to do, what to do?! (Seriously, what am I going to do?)
Monday, November 2, 2009
Abigail!
My newest little niece with her grandmother (better known to me as Mom). Sigh. I'm so happy!
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