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I made a deal with myself last week that if I could eat clean Monday through Friday, I would buy myself Urban Decay’s Deviant eyeliner. I could barely contain myself as I ran into Ulta and straight for the Urban Decay display. This stuff is electric blue with just the right hint of glitter, and I really want to just color my entire body with it or inject it directly into my veins. I am so in love with this eyeliner right now. My sweetie says I’m only a frayed jean skirt and can of hairspray away from 1987.
That’s okay with me; I kind of liked that year.
I just finished writing one of those off the top of my head emails to a friend about choices and consequences. My own words have me thinking now.
Just because you’re in the middle of a very different situation than what you based your decision on doesn’t change your original decision.
This haunts me. How many times have I made a choice only to have the situation change or morph into something I never expected? Or berated myself for not being omniscient enough to see the future? Or let someone else make me feel scatterbrained or fickle when I wanted to back out of something I clearly didn’t want in the first place?
The sad truth is far too many times.
We make choices based on the information before us. Sometimes it’s factual. Sometimes it’s not. Sometimes it changes when someone else changes their mind. But that still doesn’t change the truth alive in me. That doesn’t change the drive I feel in my spirit or the passions in my soul.
Learning to see myself…to accept myself…has been a freeing process. As I unearth the layers of my being, I’m finding the core on which I stand. And you know what? It’s not exactly made of the shifting sand I’ve felt on the surface.
Who would have thought?
My sister and I hosted a baby shower for our sister-in-law today. It was one of those deals that dominated our daily drive-home-from-work-calls for the last 6 weeks. Then we scratched all our plans last week and ended up sprint shopping this morning and were still putting the finishing touches on everything as the first guests arrived.
The shower was beautiful, and we all had a great time decorating the pages for the baby book, chillin’ with some Jack Johnson, and munching on the most amazing rolls my mouth has ever tasted. My brilliant idea for the day was something I call the “paciflower”. I put these together last night, and we used them as center pieces for the tables.
Aren’t they adorable?I’m totally exhausted now since I’ve been up since 5:30 and have driven a total of 6 hours today and had to drive over more bridges than I care to count. Last summer I developed a bridge phobia. My heart pounds as I go over any bridge. My mind races with thoughts like, “Will I have enough time to roll down the window if the car goes over the edge?” or “Which shore will be the easiest to swim to?”
That’s no joke, even though EVERYONE around me laughs when they hear about this.
I discovered this afternoon that my brother’s house is only 2 1/2 hours away from mine if I take I-275. This means driving over the Sunshine Skyway Bridge. And yes, my heart pounded at the mere thought of crossing Tampa Bay, but I did it. Sweaty palms and all.
The picture of the bridge is a bit fuzzy because I took while driving. Yep, this bridge-a-phobic basket case took pictures while DRIVING across a bridge that replaced one that collapsed 30 years ago.
Who knows what I’ll conquer next. Maybe finally getting a handle on the growing pile of junk-mail-to-shred?
A few years ago I discovered Burberry Brit on the counter at Dillards. I was instantly in love with the woody scent, but for some reason, I didn’t buy it. I’ve thought about it since then, but by the time I actually wanted to buy it for my sweetie, I couldn’t remember the name.
I finally bought it this weekend and couldn’t contain my enthusiasm when I asked my dear sweet manly husband to close his eyes and hold out his hands. He rolled them at me and smirked. That reaction shot flames out my ears and I waved him off with a, “I don’t even want to deal with you right now.”
Moments later I was apologizing for snapping and embarrassing him. I gave him the cologne. He immediately said something about how he much he wouldn’t get a chance to wear it, and it was all over.
He licked his wounds. I was deflated.
The next night, I crawled into bed and leaned over to kiss him goodnight. I couldn’t help but notice the scent of cologne along the base of his neck. Nor could I miss the smile that stretched across his face. Sure enough, it was the perfect scent for him.
And in that moment I felt like the queen of the world.
My dearest friend, Nadia, and I went to the beach yesterday. It’s a delightful little gem about 30 minutes away from my house with squeaky-white sand and countless shells. We’ve been beach partners throughout our friendship, so this was a fun way to spend the last day of our weekend together.
We chose our spot and set up. Nadia opened her beach chair with 2 clicks, tossed her towel on top, and slapped on another layer of SPF 30 sunscreen. She had this all done before I had even unwrapped my umbrella. She’s such a beach pro. We’re such beach opposites, but we’re both drawn to the lure of the ocean.
My favorite moment of the day was when I saw Nadia’s eyes open and a smile crease her face as she looked over at me. What a pair we were. She stretched out on her chair with her swimsuit positioned just right so the sun would paint all the right places. I was wrapped in a blanket sized beach towel under an umbrella still wearing my hat and sunglasses.
Yeah, I’m a real beach hottie.
My to-do list lately has looked a little something like this:
- Write 25 more articles for the real estate agent living in fantasy-land.
- Clean off desk in classroom.
- Wash enough underwear so you don’t have to wear the 2-year old and 3 sizes-too-small stuff at the bottom of the drawer.
- Catch up on detention list.
- Call people for addresses for sister-in-law’s baby shower.
- Crochet two rows on cousin’s baby’s blanket.
- Order take-out for dinner.
- Update resume and call principals at local schools.
- Buy gifts for cousins’ children.
- Write 25 more articles for real estate agent who thinks she has brilliant ideas.
- Design sister-in-law’s baby shower invitations.
- Make it to GRE test on time and score at least 1000.
- Count the change sitting in the computer fund can.
- Write analysis paper for grad school application.
- Make quilt for new neice.
Somewhere in here I am supposed to clean my house, which for the record, now has a 1/2 inch layer of dirt across the entire floor, this week’s entire work wardrobe spread across the dining room table, and all the forks in the house sitting dirty in the sink. I think I lost the cat somewhere in the stack of papers on my desk.
I guess you could say it’s a little chaotic, but this morning, at 11:46, I crossed one item off my list. As I drove away from the GRE testing center (with an acceptable score for grad school), my mind filled with far too many ideas. I’ve been so busy trying to keep up with mundane tasks, that I’ve pushed the creative endeavors to the side.
They immediately noticed the free space on my to-do list and moved right in. I was designing a summer dress, arranging for some photographs, and even putting together the “family history” wall in my hall way. My new business idea lobbied for a more prominent position. Book topics loomed.
It was an epic battle in my brain, and I couldn’t help but notice these ideas clinging to my leg as I desperately tried to shake them free. Creativity can be forceful when it wants to be. That’s why I am writing this instead of finishing my article about real estate marketing mistakes. Even with my to-do list, I’m still a slacker.
So what’s better than a new pair of impractical fushia shoes?
A library card! I finally made it to the library during operating hours and have officially checked out my first books in the county. I’ve had a library card since I was 8 years no matter where I have lived. Since I am officially banned from buying books (a decree from my dear husband who finds my reading pace obscene), I must have that lovely piece of plastic that gives me entrance to the world of books.
Today’s treasures are a book by Chris Kuzneski (He’s adorable and answers his emails!) and book about Bosnia. I recently found out that one of the sisters in the novel I am writing is married to a Bosnian refugee. (I just love when the characters spring things like this on me.) Now I need to do some catch up on the history of the region.
My to-do list is growing, and my receipts don’t really look anything like the shopping list I took with me this morning. I did pick up the bok choy and trouser socks. I also came home with an inflatable punching bag and two bracelets. My toes are now purple instead of red. I just finished watching Superbad on my will-have-to-do-until-I-get-to-Wal Mart DVD player connection.
I sure know how to rock a Saturday.
Every woman should have at least one pair of entirely impractical shoes. I don’t care if you only put them on to go to the bathroom. They should be there in your closet to remind you of your dress-up roots. (We all have them buried somewhere within us; it’s part of the female DNA.)
I bought another pair of impractical shoes today. They are fushia. Stiletto sandals. (Not too tall.) I’m in love with them. I found them in a small shoe store filled with all sorts of unpronounciable Brazilian brand names. I’ve only worn them to the bathroom so far.
My purchase today got me thinking about my wandering roots. I’m not much of a shopper because I equate shopping with hunting. There’s a purpose in mind, and purpose doesn’t usually bring me the refuge from the world that I crave.
Wandering, on the other hand, has no purpose. There’s no time frame. I’m not obligated to load plastic bags in my car.
I wander more than I realized. Sometimes I hop in the car and drive without regard for the cost of gas. Other times I just walk out the front door and pace in winding circles around my property or on the school campus or in a strange new place.
I’ve wandered alone on foot through the streets of Washington, D.C. and Cancun and a small town called Hubbard. I’ve wandered in silence with friends and acquaintances through Dallas and Vegas and Nashville. I’ve paced beaches in Melbourne and Sarasota and Nassau. My first cruise was nothing more than 3 days of me wandering all through the ship at all hours of the day.
Then there’s the wandering I do in my head. Through books. Through the internet. Through the endless array of puzzles and stories and rabbit holes that bounce through my mind in the course of a day.
I like it that way. It’s this wandering streak within me that leads me to the most fascinating places. It’s funny how you start to recognize the pieces that make up who you are. I’ve been a wanderer for as long as I can remember, but only lately have I come to see just how much a piece of me this is.
Sometimes I get a great pair of shoes out of it.
I’m sure my header picture tells my current story (check out the two month old date!). Since I don’t have internet access at home, I am limited to posting whenever I have some free time at some other place. I’ve posted some on my other blog, and keep thinking that I need to put something over here. So here’s some of what’s been going on.
I was standing outside in the rain the other day thinking about why I keep a journal. Since I was thirteen, I’ve written rather irregularly in spiral notebooks, hardcover books, the inside of envelopes, and on various scraps of paper. My journals range from essays to poetry, and even some one liners. I thought it might be convenient to scan them all and store them on a USB drive. Well, this isn’t entirely true. I actually was thinking of how much more I would write if I could do so without the fear of someone reading my innermost thoughts and using it as evidence to have me committed to a “facility” for the rest of my life.
All this led me to some of the more interesting moments in my life. In my 30 years, I’ve managed to collect a wealth of stories that range from the absurd to the tragic and the brilliant to the insane. I’ve shared several stories with dear friends and a few strangers., but many of these stories are doomed to collect dust in my head. Unless, of course, I go ahead and start writing some novels as my therapist once suggested. (He is one of the rare souls who knows these stories and thinks they are perfect fodder for some fiction.) In the end, I couldn’t help but think of how much of life gets taken to the grave.
Having rambled on through my disclaimer, I’m now too tired to continue. So here is a poem I started writing about my stories.
My Stories
They are sensual and seedy.
Some are tragic.
Some are greedy.
They are a part of me.
They are thriving and thrilling.
Some are magic.
Some are silly.
They are a part of me.
