#1- Nightmares aren't all about boogie men anymore...
I've had two intensely horrifying dreams recently. The first developed around me missing a flight out to LA where I was to have a meeting that would inevitably launch my entire career. No such meeting, or flight, exists but I woke up panicked and panting.
The second was about me adopting a three month old baby... and quickly coming to realize that a) I can't afford it (why is Simalac SO expensive?), b) I suddenly had no time for myself and c) I just wasn't ready to be responsible for the likelihood of someone other than myself. I looked on the adoption papers for a return policy, there wasn't one, and I awoke totally freaked out and wondering if there was a crib beside my bed. Luckily, there wasn't.
What do the dreams mean? Who knows ... but I guess me obsessing over the direction of my career vs. starting to turn the gears on creating a family, may have something to do with it.
#2- Christmas just isn't the same...
Guess what I asked for this Christmas season- a digital thermostat (to help cut the cost of my outrageous heating bills) and Crest Premium White Strips ( I want pearly whites!). How boring is that? But, when your 25, killing your credit cards, and running around like a maniac, stopping to figure out what you'd like for a gift is just too time consuming. So, you just think about what would save you money. (Ok, the strips aren't going to save me money, but they'll save me from insecure bouts of faulty dental stains.)
#3- Relationships...
Whether it's the one you share with your parents, or the one you share with a significant other, it doesn't come as easily as it once did under the veil of naivety you once wore. Now you "read" your parents, they are going through their own shit that comes with age and you have to find ways to tipey toe around it. Dating isn't what it was in high school. No one says "want to be my girlfriend/boyfriend?" It's never that simple. You're left to figure out where you stand on your own and no matter how many times you tell yourself to live for the moment, you immediately place a newcomer into the game board that is your life and wonder how they will fit in now and ten years from now.
Where did my childhood go?
Wednesday, December 20, 2006
Tuesday, December 19, 2006
All in a day's work
I don't DO Mondays.
Sometimes I believe people should just be happy I showed up, let alone think I'll be at all approachable, more like grumpy and disheveled. So, like any other Monday, yesterday was no different. I arrived on my floor a mess, and yapping on my cell phone. My boss and I share something like an executive suite, so there is a waiting room beyond my cube (but it's not a cube b/c I have a huge window behind me- yay!). As I passed the waiting area I did a double take and stopped my conversation mid-sentence. Glenn Close was sitting in one of the two chairs speaking to a man about her something I couldn't comprehend... Fatal Attraction 2? Didn't she die? I must have heard wrong.
I stumbled, said "Good Morning" and walked over to my desk. I asked myself twice if I could still possibly be sleeping, or maybe drunk and hallucinating. I was neither. Glenn Close, Academy Award nominated actress, was sitting 5 feet from me, and I wasn't dreaming it. I acted nonchalant for as long as I could, but finally a production/casting crew rescued me from my own anxiety to jump up and say something to her. She and the crew piled into the conference room connected to my office and I was then approached by one of the members. He was aware I had not known they would be holding a casting session and asked if I thought it would be a problem. "No way!" I smiled, while simultaneously picturing a line of my co-workers forming for autographs.
A few moments later, I was asked by the same guy, we'll call him Mr. T, if there would be any way to have breakfast delivered. "Delivery? No need, I'll get it." I took a bagel and coffee order for 5 (including Ms. Close, thank you very much), and recruited my coworker friend, Beth, to help me out. Beth, like me, constantly has her nose buried in Us Weekly and People magazines, I knew she'd be honored. We ran to the cafeteria and she made the coffees (I suck at that) while I gathered the bagels. I tried my best to wrap the bagels in a way that looked professional, but they ended up in a mess of wax paper. We hustled back upstairs and handed out the order (Glenn said thanks), and left the conference room.
"I just made Glenn Close's coffee," Beth whispered.
I put my hand on her shoulder. "That you did, comrade. And you did it well."
Over the course of the next few hours there were whispers in the hall and people who rarely come to visit me suddenly had so much to talk to me about. I was being used for a glimpse of the action, and I loved it.
I was asked by Mr. T to put up signs near the elevator directing the auditionees toward the conference room. I did so and soon thereafter was approached by an actress that looked familiar, but who I couldn't name. "Is this where the casting is being held?" I told her yes, asked her if she wanted water and invited her to sit in the waiting area. She was a beautiful young woman with dark brown hair and light brown eyes and her name was Carly. We'll leave it at that. She was sweet and spoke of the weird weather we're experiencing in NY. Soon, she was called in and I was once again alone.
Two more actresses followed. One, my personal favorite, had a face that I knew I had seen before, I kept picturing her crying, but couldn't place her. She was the most talkative, telling me about her lunch at the Guggenheim Museum. I wanted to ask her where I knew her from, but feared asking such could embarrass her since I clearly DIDN'T know where I should know her from. She was called into the casting and that's when it hit me. She had played a character on one of the most popular TV shows around, having been killed off at the end of the 2nd season (I think). She played her character SO well that when she exited the casting I had to let her know.
I pipped up and said, "By the way, I died when you cried on ____".
She smiled at me. "You died? No way!"
We laughed together. Why do I do that? 25 years of speaking and I still don't have it down pact. Jesus.
The third actress sounded British and was named Rose, so sweet and down to earth as well, but I didn't get to talk to her much. At that point I was too caught up running errands for the casting team which now included several of our LA coworkers who had flown in as part of the entourage.
By six p.m. I was exhausted having had to work for both my boss and the casting team. Not that I was complaining, this is the type of work I enjoy, but a stiff drink at the end of the day would have been welcomed.
"You made some new friends," my boss smiled at me.
"Ya think?"
This morning I jumped on the elevator, became quickly aware of 3 large men standing in a semi-circle around a much smaller person. I glanced over and recognized the small person as Bow Wow. He smiled, I smiled. Round two at helping celebrities for a day?
Nah! I left the elevator and dashed for my office.
Sometimes I believe people should just be happy I showed up, let alone think I'll be at all approachable, more like grumpy and disheveled. So, like any other Monday, yesterday was no different. I arrived on my floor a mess, and yapping on my cell phone. My boss and I share something like an executive suite, so there is a waiting room beyond my cube (but it's not a cube b/c I have a huge window behind me- yay!). As I passed the waiting area I did a double take and stopped my conversation mid-sentence. Glenn Close was sitting in one of the two chairs speaking to a man about her something I couldn't comprehend... Fatal Attraction 2? Didn't she die? I must have heard wrong.
I stumbled, said "Good Morning" and walked over to my desk. I asked myself twice if I could still possibly be sleeping, or maybe drunk and hallucinating. I was neither. Glenn Close, Academy Award nominated actress, was sitting 5 feet from me, and I wasn't dreaming it. I acted nonchalant for as long as I could, but finally a production/casting crew rescued me from my own anxiety to jump up and say something to her. She and the crew piled into the conference room connected to my office and I was then approached by one of the members. He was aware I had not known they would be holding a casting session and asked if I thought it would be a problem. "No way!" I smiled, while simultaneously picturing a line of my co-workers forming for autographs.
A few moments later, I was asked by the same guy, we'll call him Mr. T, if there would be any way to have breakfast delivered. "Delivery? No need, I'll get it." I took a bagel and coffee order for 5 (including Ms. Close, thank you very much), and recruited my coworker friend, Beth, to help me out. Beth, like me, constantly has her nose buried in Us Weekly and People magazines, I knew she'd be honored. We ran to the cafeteria and she made the coffees (I suck at that) while I gathered the bagels. I tried my best to wrap the bagels in a way that looked professional, but they ended up in a mess of wax paper. We hustled back upstairs and handed out the order (Glenn said thanks), and left the conference room.
"I just made Glenn Close's coffee," Beth whispered.
I put my hand on her shoulder. "That you did, comrade. And you did it well."
Over the course of the next few hours there were whispers in the hall and people who rarely come to visit me suddenly had so much to talk to me about. I was being used for a glimpse of the action, and I loved it.
I was asked by Mr. T to put up signs near the elevator directing the auditionees toward the conference room. I did so and soon thereafter was approached by an actress that looked familiar, but who I couldn't name. "Is this where the casting is being held?" I told her yes, asked her if she wanted water and invited her to sit in the waiting area. She was a beautiful young woman with dark brown hair and light brown eyes and her name was Carly. We'll leave it at that. She was sweet and spoke of the weird weather we're experiencing in NY. Soon, she was called in and I was once again alone.
Two more actresses followed. One, my personal favorite, had a face that I knew I had seen before, I kept picturing her crying, but couldn't place her. She was the most talkative, telling me about her lunch at the Guggenheim Museum. I wanted to ask her where I knew her from, but feared asking such could embarrass her since I clearly DIDN'T know where I should know her from. She was called into the casting and that's when it hit me. She had played a character on one of the most popular TV shows around, having been killed off at the end of the 2nd season (I think). She played her character SO well that when she exited the casting I had to let her know.
I pipped up and said, "By the way, I died when you cried on ____".
She smiled at me. "You died? No way!"
We laughed together. Why do I do that? 25 years of speaking and I still don't have it down pact. Jesus.
The third actress sounded British and was named Rose, so sweet and down to earth as well, but I didn't get to talk to her much. At that point I was too caught up running errands for the casting team which now included several of our LA coworkers who had flown in as part of the entourage.
By six p.m. I was exhausted having had to work for both my boss and the casting team. Not that I was complaining, this is the type of work I enjoy, but a stiff drink at the end of the day would have been welcomed.
"You made some new friends," my boss smiled at me.
"Ya think?"
This morning I jumped on the elevator, became quickly aware of 3 large men standing in a semi-circle around a much smaller person. I glanced over and recognized the small person as Bow Wow. He smiled, I smiled. Round two at helping celebrities for a day?
Nah! I left the elevator and dashed for my office.
Saturday, December 02, 2006
Wednesday, November 29, 2006
You want some Salsa with that?
I'm convinced that a treadmill will never help me shed pounds. I stare it down at the gym and it stares right back. We take a walk together and after five minutes I'm ready to jump ship and haul my ass over to Dunkin Donuts. Absolute boredom drives me to food. It's inevitable.
Because of my allergic reaction to anything stationary, I started a mission which I had contemplated months ago, to try new forms of exercise. You already know about the Yoga experience (read prior entry), so this time around I went for something a little more lively and a little less stretchy. Dancing. I love it, it seems to love me, how could it not work?
At my sweet 16 I was caught on tape trying to dance to salsa music with my uncle, instead I was actually a mess of flailing arms and legs. A few years later while in college, I dated a salsero... Thank the Lord Almighty for bringing him into my life, who knows what kind of fool I would be on the dance floor were it not for him. With many private dance lessons under the belt, I've sharpened the skills and can say I'm pretty good. However, I had no idea what to expect from a dance class so I decided enrolling in a beginner's course would be best.
By word of mouth, I came across this dance school www.eddietorres.com and on Tuesday made it a point to at least try. On 54th street I came to the building marked on the site and jumped into an elevator with a woman that happened to be the instructor, Maria. I followed her and a student to the studio where 3 or 4 other women awaited us.
Great! There's hardly anyone here, and on top of that no men! How will I learn to be lead?
I waited outside for some time to pass and with it (to my relief) arrived a ton of people, both male and female. I paid my $15 fee (quite a bargain for 2 hours), eyed a guy that I SWEAR I know from somewhere and took my place in the back of the class. Within the first 15 minutes the room filled to at least 50 people. Ages ranged from 20s to 40s and there were enough ethnicities to make up a mock UN.
Maria wiggled her way to the front of the room and belted out, "To all my newbies, welcome! To all my regulars, you better not let me down show them I know how to teach!" And so she began leading us into a 1-2-3-(pause) 5-6-7 , immediately I was thrown off because I never COUNT when I dance, I just ...dance (gasp!) After tripping over myself, I regained my composure and repeatedly reminded myself that I knew how to do this.
When I learned to ignore the awkwardness of counting, I was able to get the hang of the steps and quickly caught on to everything that followed. My eyes fluttered sideways to a man who couldn't grasp the concept of not moving both of your feet at the same time. I wanted to help him but Maria shouted, "Turn p'alla! (i can't spell spanish). Which means... p'alla!" No, I didn't hear her wrong, Maria had no intention of translating everything for us. While, I'm lucky enough to know some basic Spanish (p'alla translates into "over there"), there were some people who didn't have a clue and, missing the command to turn bumped squarely into their neighbors, ouch.
After spending an hour on learning a short routine, my heart was racing and the sweat was reaching the surface. I smiled at my aching thighs and knew I'd made the right exercise decision. Until I realized there was still an hour to go. How would I be able to walk after this?
The second hour was dedicated to partner work. Everyone was pretty open to sharing any partners they had come with so we formed a "musical partners" assembly line of sorts where the women stayed put and the men rotated. The level of dancing talent these men possessed varied so greatly that I was either running the risk of falling over and cracking my head from their inability to keep a beat, or I was turning beet red from the embarrassment of not being able to keep up.
I was twirled and tossed until my hair was a mess, but I loved every minute of it. There was not one man who I danced perfectly with and I saw this as a blessing, it made me dance harder. The one dude I swear I knew finally rotated into my partnership and I asked him if he had gone to Rutgers, "cause I swear I know you from somewhere." "Nope, I didn't. Are you Dominican?" I'm not sure how that was going to narrow down where we knew each other from, but we had to rotate again before finding out.
At 10 p.m. (30 mins after we were scheduled to end), Maria finally began to close down shop. I collected my stuff, and sashayed outta there like Jennifer Beals with a sweatshirt cutoff. Ain't not stopping me now, I'm on the move! As I walked to my train I took each step with a 1,2,3(pause) 5,6,7 .. and never tripped once..
Maybe this counting thing isn't so bad after all...
Because of my allergic reaction to anything stationary, I started a mission which I had contemplated months ago, to try new forms of exercise. You already know about the Yoga experience (read prior entry), so this time around I went for something a little more lively and a little less stretchy. Dancing. I love it, it seems to love me, how could it not work?
At my sweet 16 I was caught on tape trying to dance to salsa music with my uncle, instead I was actually a mess of flailing arms and legs. A few years later while in college, I dated a salsero... Thank the Lord Almighty for bringing him into my life, who knows what kind of fool I would be on the dance floor were it not for him. With many private dance lessons under the belt, I've sharpened the skills and can say I'm pretty good. However, I had no idea what to expect from a dance class so I decided enrolling in a beginner's course would be best.
By word of mouth, I came across this dance school www.eddietorres.com and on Tuesday made it a point to at least try. On 54th street I came to the building marked on the site and jumped into an elevator with a woman that happened to be the instructor, Maria. I followed her and a student to the studio where 3 or 4 other women awaited us.
Great! There's hardly anyone here, and on top of that no men! How will I learn to be lead?
I waited outside for some time to pass and with it (to my relief) arrived a ton of people, both male and female. I paid my $15 fee (quite a bargain for 2 hours), eyed a guy that I SWEAR I know from somewhere and took my place in the back of the class. Within the first 15 minutes the room filled to at least 50 people. Ages ranged from 20s to 40s and there were enough ethnicities to make up a mock UN.
Maria wiggled her way to the front of the room and belted out, "To all my newbies, welcome! To all my regulars, you better not let me down show them I know how to teach!" And so she began leading us into a 1-2-3-(pause) 5-6-7 , immediately I was thrown off because I never COUNT when I dance, I just ...dance (gasp!) After tripping over myself, I regained my composure and repeatedly reminded myself that I knew how to do this.
When I learned to ignore the awkwardness of counting, I was able to get the hang of the steps and quickly caught on to everything that followed. My eyes fluttered sideways to a man who couldn't grasp the concept of not moving both of your feet at the same time. I wanted to help him but Maria shouted, "Turn p'alla! (i can't spell spanish). Which means... p'alla!" No, I didn't hear her wrong, Maria had no intention of translating everything for us. While, I'm lucky enough to know some basic Spanish (p'alla translates into "over there"), there were some people who didn't have a clue and, missing the command to turn bumped squarely into their neighbors, ouch.
After spending an hour on learning a short routine, my heart was racing and the sweat was reaching the surface. I smiled at my aching thighs and knew I'd made the right exercise decision. Until I realized there was still an hour to go. How would I be able to walk after this?
The second hour was dedicated to partner work. Everyone was pretty open to sharing any partners they had come with so we formed a "musical partners" assembly line of sorts where the women stayed put and the men rotated. The level of dancing talent these men possessed varied so greatly that I was either running the risk of falling over and cracking my head from their inability to keep a beat, or I was turning beet red from the embarrassment of not being able to keep up.
I was twirled and tossed until my hair was a mess, but I loved every minute of it. There was not one man who I danced perfectly with and I saw this as a blessing, it made me dance harder. The one dude I swear I knew finally rotated into my partnership and I asked him if he had gone to Rutgers, "cause I swear I know you from somewhere." "Nope, I didn't. Are you Dominican?" I'm not sure how that was going to narrow down where we knew each other from, but we had to rotate again before finding out.
At 10 p.m. (30 mins after we were scheduled to end), Maria finally began to close down shop. I collected my stuff, and sashayed outta there like Jennifer Beals with a sweatshirt cutoff. Ain't not stopping me now, I'm on the move! As I walked to my train I took each step with a 1,2,3(pause) 5,6,7 .. and never tripped once..
Maybe this counting thing isn't so bad after all...
Tuesday, November 21, 2006
Ay yo! Yogie!
For the past few weeks I've been awaiting a date with my boss. Trying to catch her for dinner is as easy as trying to have a sit down with the President. All weekend prior I went over my speech about the possibility of moving and when it came to it, Monday morning I was all systems go, awaiting my fate. That is until she emailed me to tell me her daughter would be joining us. Damn! On any other day I would have welcomed the addition, but I couldn't imagine speaking to my boss with her adorable 13 year old staring at me in disbelief.
Oh and there would be a Yoga class prior to our dinner. Yes, Yoga. The artistic form of working out which I had never before experienced. I became fearful. I am in no way flexible nor do I have good balance. I'm a walking klutz. This was going to be disasterous! When I met up with my boss's daughter, Jane, at the office she too expressed her nervousness.
"I'm not going to have a clue as to what I'm doing," she said.
"Well your no clue is about five steps up from how I'll probably kill myself trying."
Six pm approached, my boss herded us and together we sped walked to Exhale Spa. From the moment I walked in I knew I was done for. Soft mediation music played, aromatherapy scents swam through the air, and surrounding Yoga participants spoke in what I call Yoganese (some language I don't get -- what is a chamarunga?). The place smelled expensive and when I saw my boss hand over her credit card for mine and Jane's entry I almost wanted to grab it and tell her not to bother. I was about to make a fool of her. Before I could say anything Jane grabbed my hand and rushed me to the women's locker room.
Women were changing into their yoga apparel and I silently pouted at the idea of having to display my fat ass not only in front of them but in front of my own boss... a woman I admire, a woman I respect, and the last woman I would ever want to see my cellulite. Eck! I had no choice, I stripped down to the tightie whities and jumped into my sweats as fast as I could. Luckily, the whole ordeal only took a few minutes and we were quickly on our way into the studio.
The three of us walked into the studio with our mats and my boss quickly made her way to the front of the room. I shot a worried look at Jane. "What is she doing? Come back here!" I shout-whispered. But, she didn't hear me and so we followed. Placing our mats in a row, we took our spots in the absolute front of the class. My boss turned to me, "Oh by the way, this is a 2-3 level class, but don't worry I won't know what I'm doing either." Somehow that only made me feel worse.
At least I had Jane. I looked over at her and saw her bending like a pretzel and standing on the tips of her toes ballerina style. SHIT! I had totally forgotten she's a dancer. My boss has experience and Jane has the credentials to learn. Me, I ain't got shit except fear! God help me!
The instructor, a tall muscular Asian man, came to the front of the class and sat Indian-style on a mat next to Jane. "Ok, everyone together let's release..."
On cue everyone surrounding me, except for my boss and Jane, began to moan together. Yea, moan like "ohhhhhmmmmmm". Oh come on! I can't keep serious through this! I started to cough because it was the only way I could mask the onslaught of laughs that were on their way up my throat. My coughing caused my boss to start coughing, but I knew her sudden attack was about as genuine as mine and so... I release a huge puff laugh, the kind where your lips vibrate as a burst of laugh air comes flying out. My boss started to cough louder and I was sure that as the instructor made his way over to us that he was ready to give us the softspoken direction to get the fuck out of his studio. Instead, he rubbed my boss's back and told her if she needed water there was a fountain outside of the studio. We were safe, as long as I could keep the gigglefest down.
The laughter quickly subsided as the instructor lead us into twists, turns, lunges and jumps that left me without my breath time and time again. This isn't relaxing, this is fucking torture! My boss struggled, but was semi used to the treatment and Jane, forget it! She was the star student, twisting her head under her leg while pulling her toe straight in front of her.. WHAT? With ever new position ("Ok, now turn into Warrior Stance 1" huh?), the instructor would come over, pull my hips, push my ass down and then walk away shaking his head. I was hopeless, but I refused to give up.
An hour later we were instructed to lie down on our mats and freestyle stretch. I raised my lower body into the air and laid my arms out to the side.
"What's that?" Jane asked.
"I call this the palm tree."
She frowned at me and went back to backward arch flippy things. Then the lights dimmed and we were instructed to lay down and rest. Finally, something I can do! Just when I was about to start snoring, the lights came back on and the class was over. We rolled up our mats and limped back to the locker room, or maybe it was just me limping.
All the way to dinner and most of the way through it we laughed about our experience and, not surprisingly, I was the butt of most jokes. No hard feelings, it was pretty damn funny. As I laughed with Jane and my boss, I kept shut about my original motives for the dinner. There was just never a time. I'm not sure when there will be...
A few days later we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and my boss emailed me "When I say what I'm thankful for tomorrow one of the things will be you." I told her "ditto" and I meant it. How do I leave a boss like this? How do I stay?
Oh and there would be a Yoga class prior to our dinner. Yes, Yoga. The artistic form of working out which I had never before experienced. I became fearful. I am in no way flexible nor do I have good balance. I'm a walking klutz. This was going to be disasterous! When I met up with my boss's daughter, Jane, at the office she too expressed her nervousness.
"I'm not going to have a clue as to what I'm doing," she said.
"Well your no clue is about five steps up from how I'll probably kill myself trying."
Six pm approached, my boss herded us and together we sped walked to Exhale Spa. From the moment I walked in I knew I was done for. Soft mediation music played, aromatherapy scents swam through the air, and surrounding Yoga participants spoke in what I call Yoganese (some language I don't get -- what is a chamarunga?). The place smelled expensive and when I saw my boss hand over her credit card for mine and Jane's entry I almost wanted to grab it and tell her not to bother. I was about to make a fool of her. Before I could say anything Jane grabbed my hand and rushed me to the women's locker room.
Women were changing into their yoga apparel and I silently pouted at the idea of having to display my fat ass not only in front of them but in front of my own boss... a woman I admire, a woman I respect, and the last woman I would ever want to see my cellulite. Eck! I had no choice, I stripped down to the tightie whities and jumped into my sweats as fast as I could. Luckily, the whole ordeal only took a few minutes and we were quickly on our way into the studio.
The three of us walked into the studio with our mats and my boss quickly made her way to the front of the room. I shot a worried look at Jane. "What is she doing? Come back here!" I shout-whispered. But, she didn't hear me and so we followed. Placing our mats in a row, we took our spots in the absolute front of the class. My boss turned to me, "Oh by the way, this is a 2-3 level class, but don't worry I won't know what I'm doing either." Somehow that only made me feel worse.
At least I had Jane. I looked over at her and saw her bending like a pretzel and standing on the tips of her toes ballerina style. SHIT! I had totally forgotten she's a dancer. My boss has experience and Jane has the credentials to learn. Me, I ain't got shit except fear! God help me!
The instructor, a tall muscular Asian man, came to the front of the class and sat Indian-style on a mat next to Jane. "Ok, everyone together let's release..."
On cue everyone surrounding me, except for my boss and Jane, began to moan together. Yea, moan like "ohhhhhmmmmmm". Oh come on! I can't keep serious through this! I started to cough because it was the only way I could mask the onslaught of laughs that were on their way up my throat. My coughing caused my boss to start coughing, but I knew her sudden attack was about as genuine as mine and so... I release a huge puff laugh, the kind where your lips vibrate as a burst of laugh air comes flying out. My boss started to cough louder and I was sure that as the instructor made his way over to us that he was ready to give us the softspoken direction to get the fuck out of his studio. Instead, he rubbed my boss's back and told her if she needed water there was a fountain outside of the studio. We were safe, as long as I could keep the gigglefest down.
The laughter quickly subsided as the instructor lead us into twists, turns, lunges and jumps that left me without my breath time and time again. This isn't relaxing, this is fucking torture! My boss struggled, but was semi used to the treatment and Jane, forget it! She was the star student, twisting her head under her leg while pulling her toe straight in front of her.. WHAT? With ever new position ("Ok, now turn into Warrior Stance 1" huh?), the instructor would come over, pull my hips, push my ass down and then walk away shaking his head. I was hopeless, but I refused to give up.
An hour later we were instructed to lie down on our mats and freestyle stretch. I raised my lower body into the air and laid my arms out to the side.
"What's that?" Jane asked.
"I call this the palm tree."
She frowned at me and went back to backward arch flippy things. Then the lights dimmed and we were instructed to lay down and rest. Finally, something I can do! Just when I was about to start snoring, the lights came back on and the class was over. We rolled up our mats and limped back to the locker room, or maybe it was just me limping.
All the way to dinner and most of the way through it we laughed about our experience and, not surprisingly, I was the butt of most jokes. No hard feelings, it was pretty damn funny. As I laughed with Jane and my boss, I kept shut about my original motives for the dinner. There was just never a time. I'm not sure when there will be...
A few days later we were leaving for Thanksgiving break and my boss emailed me "When I say what I'm thankful for tomorrow one of the things will be you." I told her "ditto" and I meant it. How do I leave a boss like this? How do I stay?
Thursday, November 02, 2006
Quarter-century my ass!
Thursday, October 19, 2006
Earn your sneakers!
I’m having one of those weeks. It’s the kind of week where the sole purpose of my apartment is to allow me a place to sleep for 5 or 6 hours. It’s the kind of week where I can’t put my clothes away fast enough before I have to grab the next outfit for the day to follow. It’s the kind of week where I can’t make my own lunch because a) I’m too tired in the morning and b) my dishes are piled so high in the sink that I’ve run out of Tupperware. It’s the kind of week where I look forward to next week’s empty calendar.
On Tuesday I had a client party to attend at Sky Studios (www.skystudios.com). The space was amazing and I’m convinced it was used for a scene from the movie Hitch. Although the rain dampened my ability to fully enjoy the penthouse deck, I still explored the indoor area wanting nothing more than to curl up by the cozy fire and nap. Client parties aren’t my thing. I’ve been with this division of my company for more than a year and I have yet to feel like I fit in. I’m not a sales person, I’m a people person. But don’t you need to be a people person to be a sales person? Yes, this is true, but you also need something to sell, which I don’t. I’m just there to…fill space. Very gratifying.
It amazes me that although I work for a very influential company, all the connections I’ve made have been completely created on my own. There is nothing about my paying job that helps me meet the people I’ve met outside of it. Outside of ____ Ent, I’m just Elle J and people seem to like that, embrace it. That is, people who aren’t at these client functions. At these things, no one makes eye contact with me, and because I am not there to sell I have no material with which to start a conversation. How do I, the chatter box, encounter moments where I have nothing to say? Amazing.
I lasted at the party for an hour before calling my car service and dipping out right as Carmen Elecktra walked in. Into the pouring rain I traveled, dying to just get home and not have to deal with anyone but my cozy pillow and the sleep fairies. But, it was only the beginning of a crammed week, early sleep was only going to come for this one night.
On Wednesday, I hightailed my ass out of my office by 6pm to meet Waffle outside of my building. He had been asked by a student organization to speak at my alma mater. Waffle at Rutgers? You know I’m there. I offered to give him a ride knowing that he lives on Metro Cards and cabs. The engagement was to begin at 9:15pm, we had 3 hours.
We hugged and he asked me, “We got some time, right?”
I thought of the transformation I HAD to undergo before heading out to my old stomping ground. I currently looked like shit. I hesitated, “Why are you hungry?”
“Nah, it’s your birthday next week right?”
I was curious. “Yeah.”
“Well I wanted to thank you for giving me a ride and wish you a happy birthday by taking you to Nike town.”
I froze, I’m not good with gifts. “You don’t have to do that, really.”
“Come on, woman. I just signed a deal with Nike so part of it is that I get gear and I want to extend my perks to you.”
Oh goodness, my first perk like…ever. “Ok, I guess.”
Off we went to Niketown which I had never visited before. At least five floors of sneakers and apparel stood before me and I had not a clue where to start. I’m not a huge sneaker buff, but I knew well enough to go with something fresh and stylish as opposed to something like *gasp* a running shoe (me, run? HA!). I’m a sucker for Air Force 1s (or Uptowns as us NYers call them) so I asked an attendant where I could find them and then headed to the 5th floor. There were so many cool sneakers. Waffle got lost on the sidelines while I decided between a cool pair of Dunks and AF1s. Knowing we didn’t have that much time I went with the soft metallic pearl AF1s, adorned with a rhinestone and pretty prink detail. I’m such a girl some times.
“What you think of these?” I asked Waffle.
“Hot, they match your outfit.”
I was wearing slacks and a turtleneck. Waffle doesn’t wear anything but sneakers, so he wears them with everything. I’m not Waffle. “Riiiiight. Well, I’m changing as soon as we get to my house, so these will sit pretty until I get an outfit to match.”
After getting my kicks packed up and paid for we headed to the express bus that would take us to Staten Island. I always laugh at how MTA express buses amaze people who don’t take them regularly, Waffle was one of these people.
“But, they are so comfortable. Why can’t the regular buses be like this?”
“Then they wouldn’t be regular would they?”
“Always thinking, L. Always thinking.”
We chatted our way through the ride to my house, and once there I hurriedly changed. I found out Imani was at mom’s and couldn’t help but expose my little princess. Before heading to RU we stopped around the corner at mom’s and I introduced Imani to Waffle.
“Hi Waffoolll!” She then proceeded to tell me how she loves tostones and apple picking. I swear the kid is such a parrot. Mom hurried me to try on some shoes and then I pleaded with her to let us leave.
“Bye, nina! Bye, Wafffoolll!”
“She’s too cute,” he told me.
“If you only knew.”
The trip to RU, with my speed racer tactics, only took about twenty-five minutes. I pulled into the Livingston Campus and felt overwhelmingly nostalgic. I believe this happens when you reach 25; suddenly everything from your past seemed to happen a very long time ago. I told Waffle about the classes I used to take on that campus and how their dining hall was better than the one on my campus. We reached Lucy Stone Hall and found the room on the invite. There was no one there yet so we hung around outside and waited for the president of the organization to show up.
The president, a super senior named Steve, showed up and Waffle introduced me. Ten minutes later Steve introduced us to a girl from their executive board and said, “So and so, this is Waffle and Angela.” He then walked away.
“Did he just call me Angela?” I asked.
“Nah, I think that girl’s name was Angela.”
“Oh.” I brushed it off and followed Waffle into the lecture hall.
The lecture hall turned out to be the same one I took Precalc in back nearly 5 years earlier. It made me smile to think how different and simple life was back then, even if it didn’t seem like it was at the time. I hoped that maybe I could look back at today some time in the future and think “if only I had known it was going to get a lot better”.
Kids started to pile into the hall and I was amazed at how much younger than me they all looked. Could I have looked that young when I was 18 or 19? I wonder what I looked like to them. Granted I don’t think I’ve aged much in the last 7 years, so I may blend right in. Or maybe they were thinking “How old is that chic? And what is she doing typing up a storm on that blackberry?”
Steve and the girl who I’m guessing was named Angela, fumbled with the projector and DVD player.
“I can’t figure out how to get it to start.” I heard Steve say.
I walked over to them, pressed DVD on the receiver and play on the DVD player. VOILA! Waffle’s bio came up on the screen.
“And that, students, is what a Rutgers degree will do for you!” I called out.
The crowd laughed. I’m a natural… in my own little world.
The bio played and the kids were fully interested, watching intently and laughing along. It ended and Waffle sat on a table and told his life story. Although I’d watched the bio and had already heard various anecdotes, he told a few that I hadn’t and there were some points that I focused so intently on moments passed and I wasn’t even aware. He said something along the lines of “Sometimes you need to take risks, huge ones, but they should in some shape or form be calculated. You should have a decent idea of what you’re trying to do and how you’re going to get there. But don’t be afraid to take those risks.” Great timing to mention such things around me when I may take one of the biggest risks of my life by moving thousands of miles away.
As Waffle told stories he would bring me into the presentation for side comments. Someone asked him how he got his DJ name and he began to say, “I’m somewhat of a…L, what did you call me?”
“A cornball.”
Everyone laughed.
“Yea, that’s it.”
We sounded like a comedian and his trusty sidekick. The session lasted an hour with some random questions, autographed biographies and group pictures. We said by to the kids and as we were leaving, Steve shouted, “Bye, Waffle. Bye, Angela!”
“I told you he thought my name was Angela! Shit, that is SO far off from my name!”
“It’s L,” Waffle called back.
Steve turned bright red, I waved and we left.
We made a pit stop at a local deli/grill/pizzeria combo place I used to frequent in college, downed some grilled cheese and hams and then bounced onto the turnpike. I assured Waffle it was fine that he napped while I drive, considering he had a 7am flight to catch. Of course there was traffic on the Holland tunnel, and after dropping Waffle off in downtown NYC, I didn’t get home until 1am.
Exhausted, I collapsed into bed and was asleep before I could change into pajamas.
My dreams were filled with sneakers and grilled cheese sandwiches…
On Tuesday I had a client party to attend at Sky Studios (www.skystudios.com). The space was amazing and I’m convinced it was used for a scene from the movie Hitch. Although the rain dampened my ability to fully enjoy the penthouse deck, I still explored the indoor area wanting nothing more than to curl up by the cozy fire and nap. Client parties aren’t my thing. I’ve been with this division of my company for more than a year and I have yet to feel like I fit in. I’m not a sales person, I’m a people person. But don’t you need to be a people person to be a sales person? Yes, this is true, but you also need something to sell, which I don’t. I’m just there to…fill space. Very gratifying.
It amazes me that although I work for a very influential company, all the connections I’ve made have been completely created on my own. There is nothing about my paying job that helps me meet the people I’ve met outside of it. Outside of ____ Ent, I’m just Elle J and people seem to like that, embrace it. That is, people who aren’t at these client functions. At these things, no one makes eye contact with me, and because I am not there to sell I have no material with which to start a conversation. How do I, the chatter box, encounter moments where I have nothing to say? Amazing.
I lasted at the party for an hour before calling my car service and dipping out right as Carmen Elecktra walked in. Into the pouring rain I traveled, dying to just get home and not have to deal with anyone but my cozy pillow and the sleep fairies. But, it was only the beginning of a crammed week, early sleep was only going to come for this one night.
On Wednesday, I hightailed my ass out of my office by 6pm to meet Waffle outside of my building. He had been asked by a student organization to speak at my alma mater. Waffle at Rutgers? You know I’m there. I offered to give him a ride knowing that he lives on Metro Cards and cabs. The engagement was to begin at 9:15pm, we had 3 hours.
We hugged and he asked me, “We got some time, right?”
I thought of the transformation I HAD to undergo before heading out to my old stomping ground. I currently looked like shit. I hesitated, “Why are you hungry?”
“Nah, it’s your birthday next week right?”
I was curious. “Yeah.”
“Well I wanted to thank you for giving me a ride and wish you a happy birthday by taking you to Nike town.”
I froze, I’m not good with gifts. “You don’t have to do that, really.”
“Come on, woman. I just signed a deal with Nike so part of it is that I get gear and I want to extend my perks to you.”
Oh goodness, my first perk like…ever. “Ok, I guess.”
Off we went to Niketown which I had never visited before. At least five floors of sneakers and apparel stood before me and I had not a clue where to start. I’m not a huge sneaker buff, but I knew well enough to go with something fresh and stylish as opposed to something like *gasp* a running shoe (me, run? HA!). I’m a sucker for Air Force 1s (or Uptowns as us NYers call them) so I asked an attendant where I could find them and then headed to the 5th floor. There were so many cool sneakers. Waffle got lost on the sidelines while I decided between a cool pair of Dunks and AF1s. Knowing we didn’t have that much time I went with the soft metallic pearl AF1s, adorned with a rhinestone and pretty prink detail. I’m such a girl some times.
“What you think of these?” I asked Waffle.
“Hot, they match your outfit.”
I was wearing slacks and a turtleneck. Waffle doesn’t wear anything but sneakers, so he wears them with everything. I’m not Waffle. “Riiiiight. Well, I’m changing as soon as we get to my house, so these will sit pretty until I get an outfit to match.”
After getting my kicks packed up and paid for we headed to the express bus that would take us to Staten Island. I always laugh at how MTA express buses amaze people who don’t take them regularly, Waffle was one of these people.
“But, they are so comfortable. Why can’t the regular buses be like this?”
“Then they wouldn’t be regular would they?”
“Always thinking, L. Always thinking.”
We chatted our way through the ride to my house, and once there I hurriedly changed. I found out Imani was at mom’s and couldn’t help but expose my little princess. Before heading to RU we stopped around the corner at mom’s and I introduced Imani to Waffle.
“Hi Waffoolll!” She then proceeded to tell me how she loves tostones and apple picking. I swear the kid is such a parrot. Mom hurried me to try on some shoes and then I pleaded with her to let us leave.
“Bye, nina! Bye, Wafffoolll!”
“She’s too cute,” he told me.
“If you only knew.”
The trip to RU, with my speed racer tactics, only took about twenty-five minutes. I pulled into the Livingston Campus and felt overwhelmingly nostalgic. I believe this happens when you reach 25; suddenly everything from your past seemed to happen a very long time ago. I told Waffle about the classes I used to take on that campus and how their dining hall was better than the one on my campus. We reached Lucy Stone Hall and found the room on the invite. There was no one there yet so we hung around outside and waited for the president of the organization to show up.
The president, a super senior named Steve, showed up and Waffle introduced me. Ten minutes later Steve introduced us to a girl from their executive board and said, “So and so, this is Waffle and Angela.” He then walked away.
“Did he just call me Angela?” I asked.
“Nah, I think that girl’s name was Angela.”
“Oh.” I brushed it off and followed Waffle into the lecture hall.
The lecture hall turned out to be the same one I took Precalc in back nearly 5 years earlier. It made me smile to think how different and simple life was back then, even if it didn’t seem like it was at the time. I hoped that maybe I could look back at today some time in the future and think “if only I had known it was going to get a lot better”.
Kids started to pile into the hall and I was amazed at how much younger than me they all looked. Could I have looked that young when I was 18 or 19? I wonder what I looked like to them. Granted I don’t think I’ve aged much in the last 7 years, so I may blend right in. Or maybe they were thinking “How old is that chic? And what is she doing typing up a storm on that blackberry?”
Steve and the girl who I’m guessing was named Angela, fumbled with the projector and DVD player.
“I can’t figure out how to get it to start.” I heard Steve say.
I walked over to them, pressed DVD on the receiver and play on the DVD player. VOILA! Waffle’s bio came up on the screen.
“And that, students, is what a Rutgers degree will do for you!” I called out.
The crowd laughed. I’m a natural… in my own little world.
The bio played and the kids were fully interested, watching intently and laughing along. It ended and Waffle sat on a table and told his life story. Although I’d watched the bio and had already heard various anecdotes, he told a few that I hadn’t and there were some points that I focused so intently on moments passed and I wasn’t even aware. He said something along the lines of “Sometimes you need to take risks, huge ones, but they should in some shape or form be calculated. You should have a decent idea of what you’re trying to do and how you’re going to get there. But don’t be afraid to take those risks.” Great timing to mention such things around me when I may take one of the biggest risks of my life by moving thousands of miles away.
As Waffle told stories he would bring me into the presentation for side comments. Someone asked him how he got his DJ name and he began to say, “I’m somewhat of a…L, what did you call me?”
“A cornball.”
Everyone laughed.
“Yea, that’s it.”
We sounded like a comedian and his trusty sidekick. The session lasted an hour with some random questions, autographed biographies and group pictures. We said by to the kids and as we were leaving, Steve shouted, “Bye, Waffle. Bye, Angela!”
“I told you he thought my name was Angela! Shit, that is SO far off from my name!”
“It’s L,” Waffle called back.
Steve turned bright red, I waved and we left.
We made a pit stop at a local deli/grill/pizzeria combo place I used to frequent in college, downed some grilled cheese and hams and then bounced onto the turnpike. I assured Waffle it was fine that he napped while I drive, considering he had a 7am flight to catch. Of course there was traffic on the Holland tunnel, and after dropping Waffle off in downtown NYC, I didn’t get home until 1am.
Exhausted, I collapsed into bed and was asleep before I could change into pajamas.
My dreams were filled with sneakers and grilled cheese sandwiches…
Wednesday, October 18, 2006
Man your apples!
(First off, gotta say I’m super TIGHT right now because I started a LONG blog on my experiences this past weekend, saved it as a draft and somehow it’s disappeared… I’m just not confident I can conjure the funniness again *sigh*)
In early October of 1982, my parents packed my chubby, non-walking ass into a car seat, pumped some salsa, slapped on some smiles and jumped on the interstate in hopes of finding apple picking bliss… At least that’s how I like to imagine it. In reality my parents were probably bickering at each other, or shouting at my two cousins sitting on either side of me, or yelling out the window at my aunt who followed in a car behind us. Who knows, but some pictures from back in the day show a happy group beneath red and orange leaves with apples all about. And so the tradition began and with each year that followed in my current batch of 25, I’ve missed no more than five trips.
This year I was in high doubt anyone would be going anywhere near Salt Point, NY due to dad’s stroke. It wasn’t until I received a call from my mom in which she told me she had spoke to dad and a trip had been planned making October 14th was the big day. Whether dad had anything planned originally is what will remain a mystery, mom has a way of forcing her own plans on other people. Regardless, I did talk to my father, who had extended the invite to his warehouse neighbors and we would in fact be making the trip up north.
I called Mr. Man. “You’re in for a surprise.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re going apple picking. You’re coming and you can’t escape. I need you for emotional support.”
He laughed, thinking I was joking. “Come on, L. I’m sure it will be fun.”
“Oh, it will…After I take some valium it’ll be hilarious.”
Saturday morning the alarm went off at 8am.
“Do we have to get up now?” Mr. Man asked me.
“Not at all. Feel free to be the reason we show up late and have everyone complaining and cursing you for the rest of the day.”
He looked at me once and then threw his feet over the edge of the bed, leaving for the bathroom. Poor thing had no idea what he was in for. Sure our parents are friends so he has a idea (limited idea) as to what mine are like, but the whole crew? God help us!
By 9:30am we were sitting in front of my mom’s house waiting for her to return from the deli.
“Why does she wait until I say I’m coming to leave?”
“Because bagels taste better when you procrastinate.”
“Apparently.”
I then saw the Bayron truck pull up with Candice and her immediate family of four tucked in tight. She had the look. The why aren’t we ready to leave look. “Where’s your mom?”
“Getting bagels…They taste better when you leave them for the last minute.”
She wasn’t amused.
Five minutes later mom finally did show up and off we went to meet up with dad and his friends. After several street detours, we arrived at his warehouse but he was nowhere to be found. I’ll save you the boredom of explaining how we went from a leave time of 10am to a leave time of 11am. Let’s just say no one woke up thinking “Wow, I should try to be on time today.” (Regardless of the fact that there are more than 15 people going on this excursion!)
Two hours later (after being stuck in pointless traffic), we arrived at Terhune Farms four cars deep. Like clowns we toppled out of the cars and into the brisk, fresh air. From that moment on it was time for me to turn into the child of the Exorcist; my name was called from so many directions that my head nearly turned all the way around and fell off my shoulders.
“L, come help me set up this blanket so we can eat.”
“L, how do I get this camera to work?”
“L, where is your father?”
“L, can you grab Imani?”
“L, where are the best apples?”
“L, come take a pic!”
“L, where are we going after this?”
“L, come help me get this apple.”
At one point I threw myself on the ground in protest. Mr. Man glanced around, picked me up from the ground, hugged me and said, “You’re amazing. I don’t know how you’ve stayed sane after 25 years of that.”
“You and me, both.”
While tiring, I have to say the trip was fun. Imani had a ball throwing apples and jumping on haystacks. I laughed at my family being clowns and having a good time. I smiled at Mr. Man for joining me for the ride.
By the time we returned home the mere thought of joining some of my friends at a reunion in NYC made me want to pass out. Instead, it was an evening of TV watching and reminiscing about two strangers who talked for hours on a beach one night six months ago…
Life is funny.
In early October of 1982, my parents packed my chubby, non-walking ass into a car seat, pumped some salsa, slapped on some smiles and jumped on the interstate in hopes of finding apple picking bliss… At least that’s how I like to imagine it. In reality my parents were probably bickering at each other, or shouting at my two cousins sitting on either side of me, or yelling out the window at my aunt who followed in a car behind us. Who knows, but some pictures from back in the day show a happy group beneath red and orange leaves with apples all about. And so the tradition began and with each year that followed in my current batch of 25, I’ve missed no more than five trips.
This year I was in high doubt anyone would be going anywhere near Salt Point, NY due to dad’s stroke. It wasn’t until I received a call from my mom in which she told me she had spoke to dad and a trip had been planned making October 14th was the big day. Whether dad had anything planned originally is what will remain a mystery, mom has a way of forcing her own plans on other people. Regardless, I did talk to my father, who had extended the invite to his warehouse neighbors and we would in fact be making the trip up north.
I called Mr. Man. “You’re in for a surprise.”
“What’s that?”
“We’re going apple picking. You’re coming and you can’t escape. I need you for emotional support.”
He laughed, thinking I was joking. “Come on, L. I’m sure it will be fun.”
“Oh, it will…After I take some valium it’ll be hilarious.”
Saturday morning the alarm went off at 8am.
“Do we have to get up now?” Mr. Man asked me.
“Not at all. Feel free to be the reason we show up late and have everyone complaining and cursing you for the rest of the day.”
He looked at me once and then threw his feet over the edge of the bed, leaving for the bathroom. Poor thing had no idea what he was in for. Sure our parents are friends so he has a idea (limited idea) as to what mine are like, but the whole crew? God help us!
By 9:30am we were sitting in front of my mom’s house waiting for her to return from the deli.
“Why does she wait until I say I’m coming to leave?”
“Because bagels taste better when you procrastinate.”
“Apparently.”
I then saw the Bayron truck pull up with Candice and her immediate family of four tucked in tight. She had the look. The why aren’t we ready to leave look. “Where’s your mom?”
“Getting bagels…They taste better when you leave them for the last minute.”
She wasn’t amused.
Five minutes later mom finally did show up and off we went to meet up with dad and his friends. After several street detours, we arrived at his warehouse but he was nowhere to be found. I’ll save you the boredom of explaining how we went from a leave time of 10am to a leave time of 11am. Let’s just say no one woke up thinking “Wow, I should try to be on time today.” (Regardless of the fact that there are more than 15 people going on this excursion!)
Two hours later (after being stuck in pointless traffic), we arrived at Terhune Farms four cars deep. Like clowns we toppled out of the cars and into the brisk, fresh air. From that moment on it was time for me to turn into the child of the Exorcist; my name was called from so many directions that my head nearly turned all the way around and fell off my shoulders.
“L, come help me set up this blanket so we can eat.”
“L, how do I get this camera to work?”
“L, where is your father?”
“L, can you grab Imani?”
“L, where are the best apples?”
“L, come take a pic!”
“L, where are we going after this?”
“L, come help me get this apple.”
At one point I threw myself on the ground in protest. Mr. Man glanced around, picked me up from the ground, hugged me and said, “You’re amazing. I don’t know how you’ve stayed sane after 25 years of that.”
“You and me, both.”
While tiring, I have to say the trip was fun. Imani had a ball throwing apples and jumping on haystacks. I laughed at my family being clowns and having a good time. I smiled at Mr. Man for joining me for the ride.
By the time we returned home the mere thought of joining some of my friends at a reunion in NYC made me want to pass out. Instead, it was an evening of TV watching and reminiscing about two strangers who talked for hours on a beach one night six months ago…
Life is funny.
Imani holds on for dear life as Mr. Man tries to help her reach for an apple.
Monday, October 09, 2006
Five Elles... Or are there?
More than a year ago, my multi-talented friend Pablo sent me a script to look over. It involved five very different characters played by the same person.
"I think you can pull it off," he told me.
At the time I was very much considering the possibility of acting as a career move. I was about to enroll at a local acting academy when my life got in the way. Acting had been left on the back burner and a guaranteed money making career ensued. That was so long ago that I had almost forgot my once very prevalent ambitions. That is until Pablo caught the bug to film again.
"I wish I could find that script I sent you way back when."
I searched through my email and was able to retrieve it and send it to him.
"I say we do it. What about Sunday?"
Sunday would be the day after the long day at the VH1 Honors. I'd be tired...
So when has that ever stopped me? "Sure, I'm in."
Sunday afternoon, Pablo arrived with his assistant (*cough* girlfriend), Amanda, and filming gear. I had laid out my wardrobe for the several changes I would have to undergo, and when they were approved, dressed into my first character.
I don't want to reveal too much of the short film. I'd rather wait until it's edited and post it online for all of you to see. So what I will say is there were a lot of laughs, a LOT of takes, a lot of angles, a lot of dumb questions (not just from you, Amanda lol), a lot of "Oh, we're filming?", a lot of overcooked lemons (that will make sense later), a lot of spilled "vodka", and always a good time.
During the last scene my mother popped in with Imani. It didn't help that a) my mom doesn't necessarily "get" what I do, and that b) I was dressed like a trashy whore.
"WHAT kind of movie are you filming?" she asked.
"This is just one of the characters, ma. I was dressed like Susie Homemaker earlier, you should have dropped in during that scene."
"Well let me see what you can do. Go ahead and continue."
But, I couldn't. It's the same thing with photo shoots. In front of professionals I'm fine, totally uninhibited and in touch with what I'm doing. In front of family or friends I shy away, lose my purpose. After ten minutes of having Imani almost rip my mini shirt off, mom collected her and left so we could wrap up.
When it was all said and done we had more than an hour of footage that had been created in six hours of time, that would equal maybe three minutes of finalized film. Amazing how that all works.
I'll post when it's completed.
"I think you can pull it off," he told me.
At the time I was very much considering the possibility of acting as a career move. I was about to enroll at a local acting academy when my life got in the way. Acting had been left on the back burner and a guaranteed money making career ensued. That was so long ago that I had almost forgot my once very prevalent ambitions. That is until Pablo caught the bug to film again.
"I wish I could find that script I sent you way back when."
I searched through my email and was able to retrieve it and send it to him.
"I say we do it. What about Sunday?"
Sunday would be the day after the long day at the VH1 Honors. I'd be tired...
So when has that ever stopped me? "Sure, I'm in."
Sunday afternoon, Pablo arrived with his assistant (*cough* girlfriend), Amanda, and filming gear. I had laid out my wardrobe for the several changes I would have to undergo, and when they were approved, dressed into my first character.
I don't want to reveal too much of the short film. I'd rather wait until it's edited and post it online for all of you to see. So what I will say is there were a lot of laughs, a LOT of takes, a lot of angles, a lot of dumb questions (not just from you, Amanda lol), a lot of "Oh, we're filming?", a lot of overcooked lemons (that will make sense later), a lot of spilled "vodka", and always a good time.
During the last scene my mother popped in with Imani. It didn't help that a) my mom doesn't necessarily "get" what I do, and that b) I was dressed like a trashy whore.
"WHAT kind of movie are you filming?" she asked.
"This is just one of the characters, ma. I was dressed like Susie Homemaker earlier, you should have dropped in during that scene."
"Well let me see what you can do. Go ahead and continue."
But, I couldn't. It's the same thing with photo shoots. In front of professionals I'm fine, totally uninhibited and in touch with what I'm doing. In front of family or friends I shy away, lose my purpose. After ten minutes of having Imani almost rip my mini shirt off, mom collected her and left so we could wrap up.
When it was all said and done we had more than an hour of footage that had been created in six hours of time, that would equal maybe three minutes of finalized film. Amazing how that all works.
I'll post when it's completed.
Sunday, October 08, 2006
Hot sounds and burning hamstrings...
No more craziness... no more late nights... I want to be a hermit!
Or so I thought...
"Hey Elle J, I've got your name on a list for the VH1 Hip Hop Honors this Saturday, let me know who you're coming with and I'll get you in the VIP floor or mez area." ...Was an email I received last Sunday. For the next ten minutes I bit my nails, circled my living room and grunted. Only Sunday and I already had most of the week packed without this event. Jeopardy taping with mom Thursday, dinner with a friend Friday, filming on Sunday... What happened to hours of luxurious sleep on the weekends? And when in the hell was I going to get to that pile of laundry that I swear whispers to me in my sleep, "L, WHEN are you going to wash us, you stank ass?!"
Mr. Man continued to flip through the Sunday newspaper while I grunted and whined.
"Why can't you just be here to go with me to things like this?"
"Why can't I just be here period."
*Sigh*
I had at least 3 ticket spots to fill. I went back to my computer and made a few calls. First to Chris who I swore would want to attend an all out hip hop function, but who turned me down. And, then to JL, my entertainment industry partner in crime; he accepted. With one last entrepenuer in mind, I dialed Clarissa's number, only to find out she had already been invited to the show. So, it was settled. I was booked for Saturday.
Mr. Man turned to me, "You know, you could just not go."
I gave him half of a frown and realized that could didn't translate into not for me. Once invited I have a hard time passing things like that up. "How about we get some Chinese food?" Changing the subject has always been my favorite defense mechanism.
The following week ran by so quickly, I could hardly grab hold of its memory. Mom enjoyed Jeopardy although I found myself yawning through a daytime diva's smiles and a late night musical directors jokes. Dinner with my friend on Friday was enlightening, as it usually is. Then Saturday hit me like a hard slap by reality when I awoke and realized I had nothing hip hopish to wear. After running around the maze that is the Staten Island Mall, I settled on purchasing a cropped military jacket and huge fake gold hoop earrings. Ran home to do something with the hair and here was the final product:
Or so I thought...
"Hey Elle J, I've got your name on a list for the VH1 Hip Hop Honors this Saturday, let me know who you're coming with and I'll get you in the VIP floor or mez area." ...Was an email I received last Sunday. For the next ten minutes I bit my nails, circled my living room and grunted. Only Sunday and I already had most of the week packed without this event. Jeopardy taping with mom Thursday, dinner with a friend Friday, filming on Sunday... What happened to hours of luxurious sleep on the weekends? And when in the hell was I going to get to that pile of laundry that I swear whispers to me in my sleep, "L, WHEN are you going to wash us, you stank ass?!"
Mr. Man continued to flip through the Sunday newspaper while I grunted and whined.
"Why can't you just be here to go with me to things like this?"
"Why can't I just be here period."
*Sigh*
I had at least 3 ticket spots to fill. I went back to my computer and made a few calls. First to Chris who I swore would want to attend an all out hip hop function, but who turned me down. And, then to JL, my entertainment industry partner in crime; he accepted. With one last entrepenuer in mind, I dialed Clarissa's number, only to find out she had already been invited to the show. So, it was settled. I was booked for Saturday.
Mr. Man turned to me, "You know, you could just not go."
I gave him half of a frown and realized that could didn't translate into not for me. Once invited I have a hard time passing things like that up. "How about we get some Chinese food?" Changing the subject has always been my favorite defense mechanism.
The following week ran by so quickly, I could hardly grab hold of its memory. Mom enjoyed Jeopardy although I found myself yawning through a daytime diva's smiles and a late night musical directors jokes. Dinner with my friend on Friday was enlightening, as it usually is. Then Saturday hit me like a hard slap by reality when I awoke and realized I had nothing hip hopish to wear. After running around the maze that is the Staten Island Mall, I settled on purchasing a cropped military jacket and huge fake gold hoop earrings. Ran home to do something with the hair and here was the final product:
I had on green and orange Pumas to match. *wink*
Being the worried freak I am, I was the first to arrive at the Hammerstein Ballroom. I was promptly asked which list I was on, and after stating my name, was told I was on the VIP line, near the wall. I joined that line and waited...and waited. While waiting I had the pleasure of standing next to a rather large woman who apparently failed to look in the mirror before stepping out of her house. For those of you who know me, you're well aware I'm no skinny toothpick. You would rarely find me in any kind of pants or shirts that don't keep my cheechos (sp?) in check. This girl however, wow... Way too tight top that fought to keep her boobs from spilling ou, I think it barely reached over her nipples. Pants so low and tight that, when she bent over the railing in front of me I saw at least three inches of her ass crack. After nearly gagging, I turned away and prayed Clarissa or JL would show up to distract me soon.
Clarissa showed up first. I swear this chic is too cute for her own good. Standing at no more than 5'2" (if she's taller I'm sorry!) in heels, lovely fitted jeans, a team jacket, large hoop earrings and freshly done hair, lil miss C made herself known as she hugged me tight and squealed my name, asking where I'd been for the past few months. Shit if I know! Haven't even been able to answer that to myself. We took a few minutes to catch up, then her cell phone rang and she steered away from me momentarily.
In that time lapse I saw JL approaching and ushered him to join us. He, standing at 6'3", towered over both of us. Dressed in a backwards baseball cap loosely hanging on his head, with sneakers to match and a tan military jacket with jeans, he greeted Clarissa who he knows separately from me, and then hugged me hello. We had a lot to catch up on but it wasn't the kind of talk that was well placed on a noisy line decorated with half dressed people. "We're going to have to get together soon, I've got a lot to tell you."
"You and me both, kiddo," I told him.
The line started to move and we found our way through metal detectors and into the venue. I wondered if it had been the Country Honors would I have been searched the way I was. I highly doubt it, but hey, I'm not trying to get stabbed or shot either (i.e. Source Awards). To my complete amazement there were trays of sandwiches and a juice bar set up. I found Travis, my connect, and walked over to say hi. He was busy munching on mozzerella and pesto on foccacia bread.
"Do you ever do anything but eat?"
He laughed and kissed me hello. "Sometimes I even manage naps."
"Great, when you retire please give me a call so I can take over."
"Can you believe there is food here?" he asked, astounded.
"Hello no." Any MTV or Viacom production I'd ever been to never catered to the audience. "Guess that means we should eat while it's still here," I said to JL. We grabbed a bite and some sodas, and without realizing it, lost Clarissa in the process. We watched a Wu-Tang member flash his All Access pass at the juice bar bartender trying to score some liqour.
"It's a juice bar," the bartender said softly.
"Even if I got this?" the rapper flashed his pass arrogantly.
"You can get liqour downstairs."
"Well, that is where I'm going," he said very matter of factly.
As he wobbled away in his four times too big jeans, I sighed and said to JL, "If you ever get that way, I'm going to slap you upside the head." It is no doubt to me that JL will soon become famous for his musical talents.
"I give you full authority to do so." He doesn't doubt it either.
We people watched for some time, marveling at the clothes people wore and the ridiculously high shoes and boots some girls apparently considered comfortable. "If you ever catch me in an outfit like that-" I began.
"Slap you upside the head."
I nodded.
The music was loud and compelling. My body swayed to Grandmaster Flash's best without me even being aware. JL started in with his dance moves that I envy.
"Teach me something," I pleaded. "But, don't get crazy."
He proceeded to do a four count that included a throw of jacket flaps. I had no jacket flaps to throw behind me. He insisted I do so without the actual flaps and we fell into a fit of laughs as I went ahead with his bullshit flap toss and looked like a complete moron.
"Ok, ok just do this." He made some movement with his feet that I wasn't quick enough to follow, but somehow managed to move at least two feet away from me.
"What in the hell? Do that again!"
It was no use. Five tries later I was still stuck in the same spot and catching a cramp in my Achille's Heel. "I suck."
"You'll learn."
"Audience members, please find your way to the front of the stage," boomed the voice of the DJ, Marley Marle. We finished off our sandwiches and headed into the pit. A group of breakdancers were battling so hard that I wondered if it was part of the show. We joined the ouskirts of the circle that formed around them and watched intently. A short b-boy from across the circle smiled at me.
"Do you know that guy?" JL asked.
"Don't think so."
"Should I be bothered then. I mean how does he know whether or not you're with me?"
"Relax, macho."
Minutes later the b-boy was beside me. He looked at me, smiled and said something like, "You're down with the EOW crew, right?"
I had no clue what he was talking about, so I just smiled and shook my head. "No, sorry."
"Oh, you look like someone I've seen before." A dancer apparently. I figure this because I was again mistaken later in the evening. I guess I just have that "I want to dance" kind of face.
The show, scheduled to start at 8pm, didn't really get on the road until almost 9. Ice-T hosted, adlibing and reading from teleprompters. The honorees were Afrika Bambaatta, Russel Simmons, Rakim, MC Lyte, Beastie Boys, Wu-Tang Clan, Eazy-E and Ice Cube... did I forget anyone? Let me check my ubercool poster series parting gift. Nope, got them all. There were performances by Diddy, Fabolous, Q-Tip, Lil Kim (she got "healthy" while in the pen), Remy Ma, Fat Joe, Erika Badhu, Common and The Roots. Lil Jon screamed his Oh Yeah's and when Wu Tang performed, Method Man jumped into the audience right next to where I was standing. My life flashed before my eyes when suddenly a stranger pulled me out of the mosh-pit-dangerous way. I thanked him, then enjoyed the rest of the show on my own. Clarissa was long lost in the crowd and JL had to part a half hour before the show ended to return to family.
All in all, a very cool experience. But, my legs which supported my weight for nearly six hours, screamed bloddy murder at me throughout the train and ferry ride home.
No way am I ever going to go through a day like that again...
Right?
Tuesday, September 26, 2006
Scratching waffles...
As readers of my former blog (I’m With Stupid) already know, I was, for a span of about five months, networking within the NYC entertainment industry with such vigor that I hardly occupied my own apartment beyond the realm of sleep. Every night was a dinner, a showcase, a movie premiere, something, anything and everything that helped me ignore what was going on in my personal life. I believed if I kept going at full force the pain would disperse without me ever realizing it was there in the first place. But, pain, like my two year old goddaughter, refuses to be ignored for too long before it yanks at your sleeve and reminds you that it exists and wants attention. When I could no longer outrun the inevitable, it hit me with such momentum that as I recover, the memory of what brought it on in the first place is completely jumbled.
As it soaked through, my presence on the scene of what’s hot and new began to fade and I had all but given up on New York in general. The congestion, the rudeness, the fakeness, the despair of feeling like you’ll never get to where you want to go because a million people are aiming for your same goal. I had reached a boiling point and my only solace was lying on the couch of my cozy apartment which I had neglected for so long. Maybe the fast life wasn’t the one I wanted after all. Maybe it was a phase and I was done with it. My 25th year is around the corner, but as I’ve been told by many, my “old soul” brings me to a ripened age of 29ish. Time moves so fast that I’m convinced I’ll be 30 if I blink ten times and what will I have to show for it? Where will I be in my life? Will I be happy?
Yesterday, a Monday of all days, I was forced by the power of camaraderie to get my fat ass off the couch and out the door to the birthday event of a fast friend we’ll call DJ Waffle. His big 40th birthday on a Monday night in the Meat Packing District of NYC, and I was called to attend. I couldn’t go in it alone so I invited my ever sophisticated and trendy friends Chris and Fred, better known as FnkSqd, to follow suit. Coming from different areas of the tri-state, me from Staten Island and them from Baruch on 23rd, we decided to just meet up at the spot.
At 9:45pm I was still sitting at the edge of my couch watching the last few minutes of Heroes, the new sci-fi Xmen-ish type show on NBC that I swear I could have written had I just given more time to my imagination as a teenager.
“You realize you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now, right?” Mr. Man said to me through my cheesy headset. I wear it because holding my ridiculously small phone to my ear for long periods of time gives me cramps.
“Yea, but I need to know if Peter can fly.”
Mr. Man laughed at me.
It turned out Peter may or may not be able to fly, but his brother sure can. Very cool.
“Ok, I’m out. Off to industry night.”
“Good luck.”
With quickness I wasn’t sure I still possessed, I grabbed all the necessary items (lip gloss, ID, dinero) and headed out to the city. Arriving in the MPD only twenty minutes later, I wrestled with the thought of parking my car in a secluded area of the West Side Highway. Furthermore, I contemplated giving a homeless dude $10 to watch my car for the night then thought better against it, figuring he might get too excited with the money and leave to use it. I said a small prayer for my car then ran across the non-lit street towards the lounge. I passed an open fish market and nearly gagged. I hate NYC!
A few moments later I was inside the lounge meeting up with Chris and Fred. A thin brunette with a British accent who out-dressed me by a 1000 asked for our last names. I started to sweat. I didn’t realize this was an invite only party and was suddenly scared Waffle would have forgotten to include me. I blurted out my last name and to my delight my ass was saved! I was on the list, and C&F were allowed to follow. We clambered down the steps to the lower level and on his was up was Waffle.
“Yo! There’s the birthday boy!” I shouted above the music with a smile.
“Elle J!” he returned with a big hug. That’s one of the things about Waffle that I love, he looks genuinely happy to see anyone and everyone, he could care less who the media says you are or aren’t. He thanked me and the boys for showing up and invited us to chow down on some home made waffles being served at the bar. It doesn’t get better than that.
The three of us found our niche at the bar, ordered some beers and scanned the crowd. Chris spotted Dr Dre, radio DJ and TV show host. I spotted Judy Marte, female lead in Raising Victor Vargas, one of my fav independent films ever. And Fred spotted Rosie Perez.
“I want to ask Rosie to dance,” Fred said, then proceeded to pump his pelvis the way only Fred can.
“Um, you do that and I’m going to pretend I don’t know you,” I said. Chris nodded his head in agreement.
Waffle luckily interrupted Fred’s ambitions with a speech thanking everyone for attending. I reached into my purse to whip out my camera, the one I take everywhere, the one that has captured every moment of fun I’ve experienced over the last few years. It’s also, apparently, the one I left at home! I was so tight at myself that I believe I turned four shades of red.
Fred sighed at the news of my absentee camera, “Now we’ll never have proof we experienced this.”
Carajo! I took a deep breath and then forgot about it. The three of us dove into a conversation about sex and orgasms, typical, while we downed a couple of more beers and watched the crowd. When the boys took a cigarette break, I sat at the bar alone and people watched.
The atmosphere, the vibe, the sounds, they were all very distinct. Distinct to New York City. They are irreplaceable. Even in a place like Miami where I’m contemplating to relocate. This is what I’ll miss about New York, these small communities of people that are genuine, who embrace you with love even if they don’t know your last name (or real one if you constantly go by an alias like myself). I’m not sure I’ll find that outside of these dirty streets.
A few hours later the old lady bug was biting me and I started to yawn. The guys agreed it was time to head out and prepare for the long work day to follow. We were probably the only 9-5ers there. I waved goodbye to Waffle and lead the way to the cool autumn evening. I parted from the boys and walked to my car smelling the crisp air. A thin line was being drawn between my love and disgust of NYC, but on what side of that line do I finally fall?
As it soaked through, my presence on the scene of what’s hot and new began to fade and I had all but given up on New York in general. The congestion, the rudeness, the fakeness, the despair of feeling like you’ll never get to where you want to go because a million people are aiming for your same goal. I had reached a boiling point and my only solace was lying on the couch of my cozy apartment which I had neglected for so long. Maybe the fast life wasn’t the one I wanted after all. Maybe it was a phase and I was done with it. My 25th year is around the corner, but as I’ve been told by many, my “old soul” brings me to a ripened age of 29ish. Time moves so fast that I’m convinced I’ll be 30 if I blink ten times and what will I have to show for it? Where will I be in my life? Will I be happy?
Yesterday, a Monday of all days, I was forced by the power of camaraderie to get my fat ass off the couch and out the door to the birthday event of a fast friend we’ll call DJ Waffle. His big 40th birthday on a Monday night in the Meat Packing District of NYC, and I was called to attend. I couldn’t go in it alone so I invited my ever sophisticated and trendy friends Chris and Fred, better known as FnkSqd, to follow suit. Coming from different areas of the tri-state, me from Staten Island and them from Baruch on 23rd, we decided to just meet up at the spot.
At 9:45pm I was still sitting at the edge of my couch watching the last few minutes of Heroes, the new sci-fi Xmen-ish type show on NBC that I swear I could have written had I just given more time to my imagination as a teenager.
“You realize you’re going to be late if you don’t leave now, right?” Mr. Man said to me through my cheesy headset. I wear it because holding my ridiculously small phone to my ear for long periods of time gives me cramps.
“Yea, but I need to know if Peter can fly.”
Mr. Man laughed at me.
It turned out Peter may or may not be able to fly, but his brother sure can. Very cool.
“Ok, I’m out. Off to industry night.”
“Good luck.”
With quickness I wasn’t sure I still possessed, I grabbed all the necessary items (lip gloss, ID, dinero) and headed out to the city. Arriving in the MPD only twenty minutes later, I wrestled with the thought of parking my car in a secluded area of the West Side Highway. Furthermore, I contemplated giving a homeless dude $10 to watch my car for the night then thought better against it, figuring he might get too excited with the money and leave to use it. I said a small prayer for my car then ran across the non-lit street towards the lounge. I passed an open fish market and nearly gagged. I hate NYC!
A few moments later I was inside the lounge meeting up with Chris and Fred. A thin brunette with a British accent who out-dressed me by a 1000 asked for our last names. I started to sweat. I didn’t realize this was an invite only party and was suddenly scared Waffle would have forgotten to include me. I blurted out my last name and to my delight my ass was saved! I was on the list, and C&F were allowed to follow. We clambered down the steps to the lower level and on his was up was Waffle.
“Yo! There’s the birthday boy!” I shouted above the music with a smile.
“Elle J!” he returned with a big hug. That’s one of the things about Waffle that I love, he looks genuinely happy to see anyone and everyone, he could care less who the media says you are or aren’t. He thanked me and the boys for showing up and invited us to chow down on some home made waffles being served at the bar. It doesn’t get better than that.
The three of us found our niche at the bar, ordered some beers and scanned the crowd. Chris spotted Dr Dre, radio DJ and TV show host. I spotted Judy Marte, female lead in Raising Victor Vargas, one of my fav independent films ever. And Fred spotted Rosie Perez.
“I want to ask Rosie to dance,” Fred said, then proceeded to pump his pelvis the way only Fred can.
“Um, you do that and I’m going to pretend I don’t know you,” I said. Chris nodded his head in agreement.
Waffle luckily interrupted Fred’s ambitions with a speech thanking everyone for attending. I reached into my purse to whip out my camera, the one I take everywhere, the one that has captured every moment of fun I’ve experienced over the last few years. It’s also, apparently, the one I left at home! I was so tight at myself that I believe I turned four shades of red.
Fred sighed at the news of my absentee camera, “Now we’ll never have proof we experienced this.”
Carajo! I took a deep breath and then forgot about it. The three of us dove into a conversation about sex and orgasms, typical, while we downed a couple of more beers and watched the crowd. When the boys took a cigarette break, I sat at the bar alone and people watched.
The atmosphere, the vibe, the sounds, they were all very distinct. Distinct to New York City. They are irreplaceable. Even in a place like Miami where I’m contemplating to relocate. This is what I’ll miss about New York, these small communities of people that are genuine, who embrace you with love even if they don’t know your last name (or real one if you constantly go by an alias like myself). I’m not sure I’ll find that outside of these dirty streets.
A few hours later the old lady bug was biting me and I started to yawn. The guys agreed it was time to head out and prepare for the long work day to follow. We were probably the only 9-5ers there. I waved goodbye to Waffle and lead the way to the cool autumn evening. I parted from the boys and walked to my car smelling the crisp air. A thin line was being drawn between my love and disgust of NYC, but on what side of that line do I finally fall?
Saturday, September 23, 2006
What I've learned...
I've learned that the words "portion control" are my worst enemy...
That if my boss weren't my boss she might be one of my closest friends...
That Imani often mistakes my earrings for cookies and wants to bite them...
And that it hurts...
That sometimes you need a week with nothing to do in order to realize what it is you should be doing...
That you can never replace the sound of your best friend's laugh after every one of your jokes...
That a discount airline is discount for a reason... (soon I'll tell the story of USA3000)
That each of my friends has something different to teach or show me if I just shut my mouth and observe...
That where you're born and raised is not necessarily where you have to stay for the rest of your life...
That given the choice between Denino's and Joe & Pat's, Denino's wins every time... with a side of calamari and a Sam Adams *wink* ...
That I'm not my parents's parent and now they need to realize that too...
That if I gain five pounds, I'm the only person who notices...
That it's time for me to be happy and bungee jump off the cliff of shittiness I've been standing on for months...
That just because you love and lost does not mean you can never love again...
That if my boss weren't my boss she might be one of my closest friends...
That Imani often mistakes my earrings for cookies and wants to bite them...
And that it hurts...
That sometimes you need a week with nothing to do in order to realize what it is you should be doing...
That you can never replace the sound of your best friend's laugh after every one of your jokes...
That a discount airline is discount for a reason... (soon I'll tell the story of USA3000)
That each of my friends has something different to teach or show me if I just shut my mouth and observe...
That where you're born and raised is not necessarily where you have to stay for the rest of your life...
That given the choice between Denino's and Joe & Pat's, Denino's wins every time... with a side of calamari and a Sam Adams *wink* ...
That I'm not my parents's parent and now they need to realize that too...
That if I gain five pounds, I'm the only person who notices...
That it's time for me to be happy and bungee jump off the cliff of shittiness I've been standing on for months...
That just because you love and lost does not mean you can never love again...
Thursday, September 21, 2006
Why I left...
Time has to be one of the most underestimated phenomenons in existence. The ability of time and its way of passing so quickly and yet so fervently never ceases to amaze me. For almost seven months I've battled with time, I've cursed it for moving too quickly, too slowly, too abruptly and for not allowing me the breath to prepare for it. When I look back to May I think of how much my life has changed, how much I've changed and I wonder if it's even possible or if this is some simultaneously fucked up yet loveable dream.
I've been through my first "divorce" and it left my heart aching so badly I believe there's a permanent physical wound, although an MRI or Catscan may never make it visible. My father fell ill and I endured firsthand the responsibilities of an only child to an unwed parent. Soars and surges of anxiety and stress nearly sent me into a hospital as well. But...amidst the darkness, and the fogginess of dreary grey clouds, there were, as there always should be, patches, and later rays, of undeniable sunshine.
Imani is growing to be such a trip. New videos of her will come soon. She's quite the talker and I enjoy her phone messages with "Titi Nina come home!" She's a natural flirt, does the shimmy when she eats something she likes and can win you over with just a smile... sounds like someone I know. You sure this isn't MINE and your kid, Candice?
In the last several months, I've traveled to new places (California), and returned to ones that are starting to feel like a second home (Florida). As I reach my 25th birthday, I'm starting to think maybe New York, in all its fabulousness, isn't where I'm meant to be my entire life. Maybe it's time for something different. Maybe it's time for Elle J to figure out what Elle J wants instead of being 100% focused on what would please everyone else.
Guess we'll have to wait and see...
I leave you with an excerpt from my upcoming ...something
"One warm spring night on a dimly lit beach, my tremulous world collided head on with someone else’s. Together we felt the crash and let its remnants burn off our tongues."
I've been through my first "divorce" and it left my heart aching so badly I believe there's a permanent physical wound, although an MRI or Catscan may never make it visible. My father fell ill and I endured firsthand the responsibilities of an only child to an unwed parent. Soars and surges of anxiety and stress nearly sent me into a hospital as well. But...amidst the darkness, and the fogginess of dreary grey clouds, there were, as there always should be, patches, and later rays, of undeniable sunshine.
Imani is growing to be such a trip. New videos of her will come soon. She's quite the talker and I enjoy her phone messages with "Titi Nina come home!" She's a natural flirt, does the shimmy when she eats something she likes and can win you over with just a smile... sounds like someone I know. You sure this isn't MINE and your kid, Candice?
In the last several months, I've traveled to new places (California), and returned to ones that are starting to feel like a second home (Florida). As I reach my 25th birthday, I'm starting to think maybe New York, in all its fabulousness, isn't where I'm meant to be my entire life. Maybe it's time for something different. Maybe it's time for Elle J to figure out what Elle J wants instead of being 100% focused on what would please everyone else.
Guess we'll have to wait and see...
I leave you with an excerpt from my upcoming ...something
"One warm spring night on a dimly lit beach, my tremulous world collided head on with someone else’s. Together we felt the crash and let its remnants burn off our tongues."
Wednesday, September 20, 2006
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