Pursue Righteousness.

Respecting Rejection.

2012-01-03T22:26:00.000-08:00

"No good writer sails through their career without being rejected."

I have heard some version of this quote since my very first creative writing class in high school. Back then I thought it was easy. I always knew I had a talent for writing, whatever that means. In high school I became enamored with the idea of being a writer...not really factoring in the vigorous work and thick skin I had yet to acquire to be able to follow through on such a dream.

But here I am, folks. Over Thanksgiving break I sent out my story to eleven major literary journals in an attempt to get my story (the one about my mother, my cat, and that asshole) published. It was thanks to the urging of one of my favorite professors that made me even think to send this story out in the first place, and I have sent out my story in the hopes of getting my first pub. I have been warned, as I have already said, since high school that rejection is inevitable when it comes to sending out a story. In the month and a half since I sent out my story, I have received three rejection slips in the mail. Two were the generic "we're sorry to inform you" slips. One began in that standard way, but at the bottom there was a handwritten note scribbled: "Good story. Send more stuff in the future."

I'm saving all of these rejections. Not in some masochistic attempt to make myself feel bad and cry over them in weak moments when I realize my writing "career" is more of a practice, a hobby, a dabbling. It's more in a way to respect the journey, the writing process, the climb. It's good to be met with resistance sometimes, because maybe I will get published. You have to know what it's like to feel bad and insecure to know what it's like to feel good and confident, at least this is what I'm going to keep telling myself. Here's to starting off 2012 respecting the good and the bad parts of life, because you must know one to know the other.

Namaste, my readers.

A Quiet Holiday.

2011-12-26T11:18:00.000-08:00

This Christmas was so different from the past, but I've been noticing lately that the older I get the more these holidays and events seem to pass in the same fashion.

My life has been getting quieter the older I get. There is less and less hype around certain events, and these events are starting to become something different for me. Let me explain. Christmas this year came and went so fast. I asked for nothing, I had no money to give people anything, and there were no surprises. Of course, I wished so desperately that my boyfriend could have spent the holiday with me and my family, but other than that, there were no preoccupations. My parents gave me some really small, sweet, thoughtful gifts (my mother bought this really cool framed print of a cat looking through a mouse hole and my dad bought me some Writer's Market books) and promised me I could spend their money on some new interview clothes (in hopes that I get the opportunity to go to a job interview in this economy). We had a really intimate group of people over--my uncle and his partner and our neighbors from down the street. I grew up with the neighborhood boy down the street, and he has spent every Christmas with us since I was born. This year he ended up going to his girlfriends for Christmas, which wasn't a big deal, but his absence at the table was felt. His mom and I got to have some really great and clarifying conversations, though, and we talked for a long time about teaching. She's been a 7th grade English teacher for many years, and I've secretly always known I was going to end up teaching. It was truly delightful getting to talk with her.

Since I finished college 2 weeks ago, I've been having big-time student withdrawals. The fact that I won't be returning to school in Chico at the end of January is really starting to eat at me. Everyone says it's because I miss my boyfriend and the fact that he's going to be a student in Chico for a while longer, and maybe that's part of it, but I really, truly, whole-heartedly loved being a student and will miss it. I had such an incredible last semester at Chico--the best professors, the best classes, and straight A's. When I came to Chico, I knew no one--NO ONE--in an of my classes. I was the weird girl in the back of the classroom. During my last week or two of classes, I realized sitting in class one day that I learned nearly everyone's names, and they learned mine, and it was so nice seeing people in the hallway that would wave and stop for a quick conversation with me. I know this sounds so silly, that something so simple as people knowing your name would make you miss a place, but I really do. I'd like to go back to school as soon as possible.

Anyway, back to Christmas. It was different this year. I'm sure it won't always be this quiet, but I thoroughly enjoyed it. My life is becoming a low humming, a sweet little song. It's growing into something comfortable, something natural. I love where my life is going right now.

Namaste, Bleaders. May you find some quiet in your life if that is what you seek.

Back to the Mat, Back to Life.

2011-12-23T12:47:00.000-08:00

Maybe saying "back to life" implies that I've ever truly been alive, so "alive for the first time" may be more accurate.

I shall begin today's post by sharing with you what happened in yoga class this morning. I rolled out my yoga mat today for the first time in over a year. For those unaware, yoga used to be my life. I ujjayi breathed my way through my days, downdogging and surya namaskaraing at every opportunity. Then I moved away to college, gained 20 pounds, drank more beer than water, and got my heart broken by a real dick.

Today Jorge, the yoga instructor, opened up our class with a message. "In time things happen," he said. "Do not push your body beyond what it needs, just like you can't push your life into something it's not ready for." I've been thinking a lot lately about how crazy life happens to you. I spent so long waiting for something truly good to come along, almost losing faith that I'd ever find someone. And out of nowhere, I just did.

I met this incredible guy this semester. I remember the moment I looked across the class and saw him there. He had big blue eyes and an amazing beard. Another crazy story: I wrote a story for my graduate fiction class about that asshole that broke my heart (and about my mother and my missing cat). It was the best story I've written to date; somehow I managed to turn the ugliest parts of my life into something deep and beautiful. This guy, we'll call him Casper, wrote me this two-page, in-depth review of my story (the standard review is half a page), going through each detail and telling me how much he could relate to my situation. He left his email on his review, and I emailed him thanks for the heartwarming words. We began talking, getting to know each other. We started texting, then sharing deep thoughts and philosophies, then dating. Now that guy across the class is my boyfriend. I've never felt this way before, never known that there was a way to like someone so much and not have to play games or check myself every second. I am in love for the first time in my entire life.

And so I came back to my yoga mat today, and I set my intention on feeling. I wanted to feel my yoga practice, just like I feel in love for the first time. I want to live based on feelings, feeling good. Yoga felt so good, my muscles were so tight, yet they remembered how they used to feel. I can hardly lift my arms, but it's a good feeling, knowing I pushed my body to its fullest potential.

And so, in spite of it being cliche and overdone, I wish everyone peace on earth, the type of peace I have found in deep recesses of my heart. Maybe you're hurting right now, maybe you're happy right now. Maybe you're struggling, you're sad, you're wishing you were somewhere else. Maybe you're happy beyond belief, maybe you're indifferent. I've known all these emotions, and I am living and breathing proof that things turn around. There is, within you, a peace that lasts. But don't push it.

Recovery.

2011-10-07T17:46:00.000-07:00

"And it took so long just to feel all right,
Remember to put back the light in my eyes."

I'll break the ice yet again with a story.
I spent the past year getting over having my heart broken by a real-life asshole. I've been through all the emotions--the anger, the unbearable sadness, the constant despairs, the longing and actual begging for him to come back to me, the hate (oh! the hate), the unbearable loneliness. I've eaten my feelings, cut my hair, thrown and broken things, gained 15 pounds, found a rebound boy, had my heart further broken by him (but really, there wasn't much left of my heart to begin with, so it was an anti-climactic breakage), and avoided places I might run into him. I finally found the strength to sit down and write about it--all of it, him, us, we, everything else that went to shit this past year as well. I hate him even more after finishing it, but it's a different kind of hate. It's a "FUCK YOU" kind of hate, as opposed to the "WHY DON'T YOU LOVE ME" hate from last year. It's the only kind of hate I allow myself to carry around within me, the kind of hate that I know is justified because I am living and breathing pathetic proof that he hurt me almost beyond repair.

There have been only a few slight issues with avoiding him--actually, really only one major issue. About a year ago, when we were fresh and there was still hope milling around in my head and heart, I left a boiling pot, belonging to my roommate, in his apartment. This was when we lived across the hall from each other. Of course he moved, and of course he took the boiling pot with him. I have been asking for it for over a year now. It's the last connection that we have to each other, the only reason now that we would ever meet up and exchange anything. I've been bothering him about it for a month since I've been back and he's always just leaving class or not at home. I've seen it as his last strain of control over me, his way of grasping at straws as possessing the only thing he now has that I want.

So today, I was napping and I got a call from him. It's been so long since I've seen his name come up on my phone, but of course I didn't pick up. When I got up, I looked outside my doorstep, and there was the boiling pot on my doormat. But instead of feeling relieved or happy to have the pot back, I just put it on the counter and started to cry. I don't even know why, and I don't like it. I don't like the fact that I hate him so much, but he still finds a way to make me sad--sad for the him that I fell in love with and lost, the idea that I once went to sleep to the idea and prospect of "us," and the fact that it's all over now, and nothing is connecting us in anyway, and I'll go on with my life and he'll go on with his and nothing will ever bring us together ever again.

The Things I've Carried.

2011-06-09T11:09:00.000-07:00

It's been forever, Bleaders.
I thought I would break the ice with this interesting story.
The other day I was walking my dog at this little park by my house and ran into my fifth grade teacher. She has always remained, in my mind, one of the most influential teachers I ever had. Fifth grade, in my brain, is the easiest year for me to recall. I can remember details about that year (and the years following). The years prior to fifth grade all blur together, but for some reason fifth grade is where my vivid (and I mean VIVID) memory begins.

In fifth grade, I had two best friends. One friend was named S and the other was named H. H was my true best friend, S sort of joined our group that year. H and S liked to stay inside the classroom during recess and lunch, helping our teacher grade papers and clean her classroom. I always wanted to play outside with other people--like kickball and foursquare, but I had this extreme jealous streak running through me (that I still have) and didn't want them--H and S--becoming better friends while they stayed inside the classroom. So I sold my soul and hung out inside the classroom instead of having fun.

S was kind of teacher's pet. I remember getting jealous one day because she invited H over and not me. Naturally, I felt vulnerable. I decided I needed to take action against S to guarantee that H would be my best friend forever. So I wrote a really nasty note:

H-

You should have seen S's face when Miss G asked you to get her the calculator instead of her. She's obviously really jealous. What a loser.

-C

This note never made it to H. First, the note fell out of my desk. I saw this kid Justin run out of the classroom for recess with a folded up piece of paper and it never even crossed my mind. Of course, I stayed in the classroom during recess. What I didn't know was that Justin was running around the playground showing the note to everyone on the playground. He came in the room at one point during recess and read part of it out loud to us. S heard the beginning part and began to cry. Miss G grabbed the note out of his hand. This all happened in slow motion. The bell rang. Miss G read the note. She looked up at me, then H, then S, then back to me. I took my seat, knowing I was in trouble.

We had an art project that day. We were supposed to draw a desert scene with a cactus. I drew a stormy desert. Miss G called H and I outside the classroom. "THERE IS NO NOTE WRITING IN MY CLASS!" Miss G then dismissed H back into the classroom. She continued to yell at me, saying she was going to make a copy of the note and send it my parents. I apologized profusely. We moved on. I didn't get in any more trouble.

This has always stuck with me--this moment where I royally messed up, when I was a bitch and got in trouble for it. I never passed a note in class (at least not until college) since then. I always looked back at her class fondly, except for that scar of a dumb idea. The cactus had a dark cloud over it. It hung on the wall in her classroom, right by my desk, for what felt like forever, a reminder of the day I was a bad girl. I always have wondered if Miss G thought I was a failure of a student. Surely students have done worse things in her class since. But I thought for sure she would have remembered me and my incident.

When I ran into her the other day, after playing catch up and gossiping about a few older teachers who still teach at my elementary school, I apologized for writing that note. I told her I haven't written a note in class since.

"You wrote a note in my class?" she laughed. "I don't remember that."

All these years of carrying it with me, feeling bad and guilty about being a bad student 12 years ago in my 5th grade class...and Miss G never remembered my crime. It's so interesting the things we carry with us, the things we still feel guilty about. I doubt that even H or S remember the incident now. Something that seemed so big, such a big part of my childhood, is so small to everyone else.

My memory is so interesting.
Namaste.

Thrill me to my weary heart.

2011-06-08T11:08:00.001-07:00

Keep my love alive.

Clinging to my war wounds.

2011-04-09T17:58:00.000-07:00

After all, heartbreak and breakups are the hardest kind of work. So shouldn’t there be some sort of credit for enduring them? And if not, how do you retain a sense of value when you have nothing concrete to show for it? Because at the end of yet another failed relationship, when all you have are war wounds and self doubt, you have to wonder, what’s it all worth?
-Carrie Bradshaw

Maybe I've been watching too much Sex & the City (I own a majority of the seasons, but something about the seasonal randomness about them being on E! and the fact that they choose the episodes for me makes it so much more fun to watch--same goes for The Nanny), but rewatching these episodes strikes chords that I swore were buried deep within and tucked away.

See, I watched all these episodes back when they were first syndicated on HBO. I was obsessed from a young age--I think I started watching when I was like, 10 (1999, I think?). Whatever, this doesn't matter. The point is that only now, rewatching these as an adult, do I see what a saving grace this show is to single women like myself.

So I begin this posting with a quote like this--one about suffering the toil of a breakup, a "kayak" as I've come to call it. And how for a long, long time I went around wearing my pain, or hiding behind it. How, in a group of friends where I was the only single one, I would bring down the mood by showing my scars--not physical ones, but the worst kind of scars of all: the ones on a heart.
I've long thought if this pain, acquired from this one stupid relationship, and if it was all worth it. But in the past year, I have never learned so much about myself--the things I deserve, the things I want, and the people who aren't going to make these things possible for me.

And so my answer is this: if it means an awkward year of being that person in those crowds, if it means hitting your head against the walls and getting slumped down in the muckiness of love, if it means searching yourself for what you're doing wrong and realizing it's really not you but them--it's worth it. 100%. Even though I'm still hurting and still alone, it was worth it. And realizing this, that's what it's all worth.
Namaste, Lovers and Hurters.

Who will save [my] soul?

2011-04-07T13:10:00.000-07:00

After that last post, things are looking up, Bleaders.
A fellow mysterious Bleader, spage8, offered me some amazing advice:

Find the girl holding the sign that read "I will become certified in Yoga on an ashram in India by December 2011". I think that she may be able to help you. She was on the right path to soul awakening.....

And so for the past week and a half I have been digging deep within trying to find her, that girl inside myself that was once so focused and awakened.
I began this journey within by going to the gym. I hadn't been to the gym in a long, long time. Focusing on a problem and running as hard and as fast as I could until that problem disappeared was a great feeling. I went to the gym 3 times last week, and taught a yoga class for some friends. Already I feel stronger and lighter, even if I don't appear that way yet.
So, as it turns out, no one else can save my soul, I must do it myself.

I'm excited to see myself healthy again.
Namaste, Bleaders.
(And special thanks to spage8!)

Awake My Soul.

2011-03-28T18:53:00.000-07:00

It's been a wet spring.
I love the rain, listening to it beat down on my roof, thinking about it watering the plants and turning everything a young fertile green. It's tough, though, getting motivated to do anything in it. Everyday functions are almost too much, let alone new functions.
I went to Vegas for spring break last week and learned many things about the world and how it functions. If you recall, I went there last May for my 21st birthday and got extremely sick (laryngitis+sinus infection+fever). This time I was hoping for a second round for Vegas to redeem itself for me. It did, and it didn't.
I realize now that being a girl and taking advantage of it can get you things like free entry to clubs, free drinks, and lots of attention. This was fun when my friend and I first arrived. We found a few club promoters to get us into all the nightclubs we wanted for free. Most of these entries included wristbands with free drinks for the first few hours after entry. This seemed like such a great deal, and for a while it was. The first club with free drinks we drank and drank till our hearts were full of alcohol and our minds were full of lust and we danced and danced with strange men in the darkness of the club. The next morning I awakened feeling quite awful--the typical Vegas hangover. The thing about Vegas is that it leaves no room for hangovers. There is no fresh air because everyone is smoking all around you, the people around you are either drinking or still drinking from the night before, reminding you of your sin. It was over our breakfast of Chipotle burritos that we started to really think about why clubs would offer promoters such "great" deals to girls for free. And what we discovered made me feel dirty.
Clubs hire promoters to find girls to get them into the club and get them drunk before the men arrive. The men have to pay to get into the club, and pay for drinks for girls once our wristbands expire. They basically whore us out, get us drunk, and continue to use us via men for profit. The next night I hardly felt like drinking, but I went along with it anyway. It was the same scene--free entry, wristbands allowing us free drinks until midnight, men grinding on us to buy us drinks after midnight. It's like realizing that Disneyland is full of a bunch of people who hate their job, but still going and trying to have a fun time. Sure, I had fun. But realizing that Vegas only sees me one way (as a means of being whored out), made me feel dirty and futile. I was ready to leave when our 5 days were up, and I don't think I'll be back to Vegas for a while.
Getting back to Chico and trying to purify my body has been tough, though. Like I said, it's so hard to get motivated, to want to do anything healthy in the rain when all I feel like doing is snuggling deeper into my covers. I have 2 months before summer--where I walk at college Graduation and go to a friend's wedding, and I want to get into a body that I'm not ashamed of. I feel so sluggish these days, carrying around the 13 pounds I've gained since getting on the kayak and falling off of it. What I need is motivation, an awakening inside my soul to get me up and out there and into shape.
Any thoughts on a soul awakening?

Throw me a rope.

2011-02-15T20:36:00.000-08:00

"I want you between me and the feeling I get when I miss you."

-KT Tunstall

Life turns out to be like nothing I ever imagined it would. Nothing. It's not like I even had a plan, like some do. I just had visions and ideas for how I should be living at various periods throughout my life, things I collected in my heart, things I wished for. I was once very dumb.
So it's time now to come clean about this kayak--and also leave it behind and swim ashore.
I fell in love.
If you couldn't tell from my crappy metaphor of the shore and the kayak and me drowning, it was all about love. The truth is, I had never been in love before, never understood it. I thought it would be this amazing event, this great thing that would change my life and my soul and make everything all okay. Love did change me. It morphed me and taught me and made me hungry. It pointed out the famine that already existed inside me, it quenched me for a short period of time, and then it left me here. I write this in the literal dark, the rain is pouring outside, I am every bit a walking cliche.
There was a boy, and I revealed parts of my heart and my soul to him that I had never even revealed to myself. I fell in love with the easiness that our whatever-we-had brought forth. And he consumed my every thought.
About a year ago was when it began. I bought a journal around that time, one of those over-priced Paperblanks ones with a magnetic flap. In one year it has been filled with over 60 entries, and 57 of those 60 are about this guy. I wished for love many years ago, but I guess I left out that the feeling be mutual.

So anyway, I have bailed on this kayak. It's been a painful process, and my heart still aches as I type this. But it's something that has to be done, even if it means being alone a little longer, even if it means more pathetic posts like this one. There is something deep within me, something gnawing and burning all at once.
I am a destroyed vessel, attempting to clean up the wreckage of my broken heart and dreams.

Namaste.

Truth be told: No one knows you when you're down & out.

2011-02-07T20:15:00.000-08:00

You guys, I'm still on this kayak.
And I don't even know why anymore. Everything about being here is destructive--I'm still drowning, still searching for a life vest, still hoping the kayak proves itself worthy of this suffering.
So far it's not looking too good for me.
But, in the process of drowning, I've discovered something amazing: The people that stick by you, or come out of nowhere to throw you a rope, and the ones that bail on you are not who I ever could have expected.
I'm not here to say that I've been the most fun person to be around these last few waterlogged months. I'm not here to say that I would be the type of person to put up with someone like myself for the past...what? I've been here for almost a year now (give or take). But it's amazing how the people who I used to trust my deepest thoughts with, the ones I used to let in so deep, they just up and left me here.
And I am so blessed to have the ones who entered so quickly to fill their place. I mean, out of nowhere these people entered and helped pick me up and get me to shore. And they are in their own sinking vessels. And even though I know I said I'm still here, sinking in this shitty kayak, they are there in theirs, and I think I'll be okay from this fact alone.
What I wanted to say and achieve by this post is this: people are unpredictable. And even though this is titled, "No one knows you when you're down and out" I meant to say "not a lot of people know you when you're down and out". And that select few, the fellow sufferers of this disease we call love sick and heartache, are the ones that make all the difference.

Another goal.

2011-01-01T12:41:00.000-08:00

Decided this morning, after driving home on four freeways from Hollywood (a crazy NYE spent up on Hollywood Blvd) and blasting Sheryl Crow and screaming at the top of my lungs with one of my best friends of all time--that I shall make it another goal to listen to more Sheryl Crow in 2011.

All I wanna do is have a little fun before I die.

Happy 2011, y'alls.

The Recognition of Daily Renewal.*

2010-12-30T00:58:00.000-08:00

"It is a sea, every direction possible. And we rock, dinghies of splintery resistance." -Sandra Lampe

This happens every year at the end of the year. Christmas and birthdays and summers can lose all their sparkle and magic for me, but something about the promise of a new year, or New Year, gets my heart racing. I don't know how it does it, this changing over of years, which is just a progression of one day to another, really. I always secretly think that a New Year means a New Me, a New Chance at Life. And maybe I'll make a resolution or three: if you recall last year's resolution post you will remember that instead of a resolution, I resolved to delete my Facebook and communicate with people the old fashioned way. I had hoped this would allow me to catch up on some long-overdue reading or writing (which it did to an extent). But I also reactivated my FB account in April. I'm not as out of control as I was last year with FB, I've learned to control it. I guess this resolve was a success, at least until April.

Anyway. I've been thinking a lot lately about the kind of person I am, and who I am shaping up to be. I am going to be graduating from college in less than a year, entering the real world with my super weighty degree in English (ha), and I still am trying to figure out who I am and what I want for/in my life. I know I'm not the only one here in this quest for inner and outer awareness, and a fusion of the two. But it seems like I used to know myself and have a closer relationship with myself a few years ago than I do now--I was once so confident with myself and my decisions, now I feel terrified to enter an anonymous world as an anonymous person.

So I have decided to set some goals--realistic attainable ones that can be achieved on a challenging pathway. These are things on my mental bucket list that I realize if I don't start checking off now, I will never achieve before I kick that bucket.

My goals for 2011 are as follows:

Read the Bible, start to finish, in 365 days. In the back of my Bible I found a reading list to get you through it in 365 days. I hope to build an even deeper relationship with my homeboy JC.
Journal once a day. Kind of my own personal form of therapy, but also a project I want to try this year. 365 days, 365 pages. I want to catalog my year, record my memories and thoughts of the day--good and bad--so that maybe when I'm 80 I can look back on 2011 and recall with a sense of longing I cannot quite grasp now how much possibility lies before me. I am in such an interesting position and chapter of my life, and maybe in the future I'll actually be able to understand (and not just feel) the weight of it all.
Love my body, and use it every way possible. I once heard that your body is the most important tool you will ever own. And I've been ashamed of the weight I've gained in adulthood and the yoga muscles that went to mush for far too long. Solution? Do whatever it takes to get myself to a place where I am no longer ashamed. Yoga, gym, eating healthy. I won't name specifics, mostly because I do not have them or cannot see them right now. But I am tired of living this way, hiding behind Stevie Nicks-insprired ensembles. I want my yoga muscles back--so that means getting into a yoga routine.
Figure out this love business. You all know about my kayak. I am so goddam tired of being on this sinking kayak, I'm tired of bailing out the water, making excuses for not leaving it behind and getting myself a dependable one, one I know I deserve, one that truly protects me. So maybe it's time I really tried. And if I get hurt again, I try harder. In the words of Leona Lewis, "I don't care about all the pain in front of me, I just want to be happy." And if this love business is not something to be figured out, maybe if I accept the mystery of it that will be okay too. But this kayak sitch has got to change. I don't want to be this broken girl anymore, because this isn't who I thought I was.

And I think this is a pretty heavy list.

*I wan to thank my follower Spuds (Carrying a Cat by the Tail) for his inspiration in coming up with my goals: "The recognition of daily renewal. I have four boys and two girls and whenever they turn eleven we've made our pilgrimage from wherever we may be in the world and I teach each one the same lessons. Renewal, or beginning again, takes more courage than staying on a course that you know is not right. I've learned that there is a huge difference between being alone and being lonely. Keep searching. You'll find your answers the same way your writing has found its voice." So thank you Spuds, and all of you Bleaders, for following, and listening (reading) to my rambles through life, my struggles through and for righteousness, and my quest for inner and outer awareness. I promise to keep you updated in every way possible, hell maybe I'll turn my 365 pages into 365 posts--uncensored and all. We'll see.

I wish everyone a safe and blessed New Year.

Namaste,

Cassandra Lotus

Starting over, for reals.

2010-12-08T23:21:00.000-08:00

And I know, I have known all along, that milk is not a lighthouse, that a man is not an ocean, and love isn’t something that comes knocking at the door late one night making one thing into all the difference. Love is an ocean pounding and pounding on the rocks, like Christmas tree lights blinking in a window, beckoning.

-Sherrie Flick, "The Way You See It"

It's been far too long to even pretend we know each other anymore.

So let's start off fresh. Not in a I'm deserving of fresh starts kind of way, because I am not deserving of fresh starts after abandoning you the way I have. Let's start fresh because I've turned a new corner, I'm living in a new day, and I have no idea where I am and would like some guidance.

The truth is, I've lost everything. I lost myself. The cool points went out the window a long time ago, I got all twisted up in the game. I guess the only way I can describe what happened, without actually telling you what happened, is to describe it to you this way:

You're in a kayak on an ocean. You've always wanted to kayak, it's always been a desire at the back of your brain, but never were given the opportunity. The opportunity arises. You take your kayak out onto the ocean. Kayaking becomes your life, you forget about everything else. You slump through the non-kayaking days, counting down the hours until your next kayaking adventure. You see things, parts of your ocean, that you never knew existed--caves and tidepools, sunsets and seals and dolphins. Your kayak seems to set you free. It is your world, your saving grace.
You want to take your kayak further away, for longer trips at a time. You don't check the wear and tear on anything--not the kayak's condition, not your own condition, not the condition of the other parts of your life. But everything is starting to unravel, and you know this, but you also want to go further, see more things with your kayak. Your kayak is all you have. You go further, past dark, on choppy seas, surrounded by sharks, without a life vest. Suddenly you realize the one thing that was your saving grace has actually become your destruction. Maybe you saw it all along, knew that something so freeing and life changing couldn't keep changing your life forever. But you looked the other way, because the feeling of freedom seemed so much more worth it.

And that's how you find yourself, out on the open choppy seas, without warmth or comfort or food or fresh water, sharks circling you and your kayak, your kayak leaking, sinking slowly into the rich blue deep ocean.

Some people make falling in love look and sound so easy; falling in love for me, I guess, means being blinded by it's weight, it's richness that maybe was or wasn't there, and being stranded in the darkness, alone and freezing, drowning in the dark and lonely ocean.
What a bummer.

The Awakening.

2010-09-29T00:01:00.000-07:00

"Perhaps it is better to wake up after all, even to suffer, rather than to remain a dupe to illusions all one's life." -Kate Chopin, The Awakening

I'm not entirely sure how The Awakening has evaded me all these years, but I am a firm believer that the books that fall into my lap fall there at the right time and place. So here I am, after that last post about realizing I'm a people person, becoming aware and awakened about the kind of person I am in this universe. Little inalienable Truths about myself are leaking out more and more these days, harsh realities that sting and tinge my eyes and heart, giving me a slumped stature. While these things hurt, they also cleanse and brighten parts of my life that I've always wondered about, always wanted to know about.

It's strange being in a world so big, trying to go to college and learn so much, and realizing that I know so little about my own self. I thought I had all this figured out a long, long time ago--I remember the moment when this awakening first began. I was 17, dragging myself through my crowded high school parking lot looking aimlessly for my car, dropping my keys on the ground and almost getting hit by a car. It was then that I lost it, getting behind the wheel of my old Mercedes, screaming into the driver's side mirror at myself, "WHO THE HELL ARE YOU AND WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?" I began this journey within--through heavy prayer, meditation, drinking lots of alcohol, smoking a lot of weed, reading everything I could get my hands on, moving away from home, moving back home, practicing yoga, reaching out to people that I trusted, and writing like a motherfucker. I was obviously unaware that it would take years to find myself in the same place--a different car and different latitude--demanding the same answers from myself. I love how these things happen, how I thought I had it all figured out, and now I'm back to square one, but now I'm older and heavier than I once was.

So here I am back on this road, trying to find myself. A friend of mine (a very eccentric friend), once told me: "Trying to find your identity is like trying to find your lost dog. You realize it's missing and you search every block in your neighborhood. You can't find him in the most obvious places--parks, neighbor's backyards--so you look places you're sure he won't be, just in case he could fit underneath a house or up in a squirrel's nest. You make flyers, posting them everywhere; everyone you come across knows you're searching for your lost dog. After exhausting every attempt, you come home defeated, sitting on your front porch. You realize you can't do anything else. You take a nap. And that's when you wake up to the feel of him licking your hand...it was he that came back to find you."

I don't know why her story has always stuck with me, but I treasure it in times like these, where I set out on a Tuesday night to find myself in a bar, or in a man, or amongst friends at a table, wondering if these are the right places, if I'll know the right place when I find it, and what the hell I'm doing wrong.
Namaste, dear friends.

Dealing with myself.

2010-09-26T23:05:00.000-07:00

I can handle being by myself these days only if I have sufficient distraction, like a great book (Miranda July's, as previously mentioned and pictured) and a glass of wine or tea with honey. I don't know when the shift happened, when I all of a sudden couldn't handle being by myself, but it must have happened in the past 6 months.
I never used to be this way--I used to be completely content by myself in solitude. I used to get nervous and clammy being around people too much--I wasn't a hermit, but I definitely had a lot more alone time than free time. I've changed...and I'm not entirely happy with this.
According to Steisand, "People who need people are the luckiest people in the world." I happen to feel the complete opposite. Because needing people, or a certain person, is difficult when they don't need you. I'm referring to people in general. And I'm not posting this as a complaint to the world, this isn't intended for anyone to read and be inspired to call me and be around me. I mean to post this for no other reason but to announce to the world that I have officially become a person who needs people. And I'm not content with loneliness anymore, in fact it might eat me alive, swallow me whole, drown me in silence.

Today I drove 2 hours south to Sacramento to go shopping. Sacramento may not seem to be the most likely place to spend the day shopping, but Chico doesn't even have a Macy's. (I never considered the luxury of having 5 Macy's within a 10 mile radius to my home in LA, and now I have to drive 86 miles to get to one.) I was in pursuit of a dress to wear to my friend's wedding in a couple weeks. I actually already had a dress that I wanted to wear, a really expensive and cute dress I bought for New Years a couple years ago. Now that I am 15 pounds heavier than I was when I bought it, it doesn't come anywhere close to zipping. So, a new dress was my mission today. I couldn't find anyone who wasn't busy to tag along with me. So it was a lonely day spent at a mall that was practically deserted, seeing as no one in Sacramento apparently wants to shop in 90 degrees on a Sunday. I was quite unimpressed with our state's capital, to say the least. But the dress I bought I am absolutely in love with, as pictured.

I feel exhausted being by myself for so long today, putting up with my various cravings for soda and snacks and trying on 150 dresses. When I got home I was so happy to see my roommate and share a glass of wine with her and tell everything on my mind.

(I sound like a crazy person. This is going to change. I'll learn to be content with loneliness once more. I'll learn to love myself again.)
Namaste.

For the love of sanity.

2010-09-25T19:06:00.000-07:00

I've decided to compile a list of all the things in my life that are currently keeping me sane. Just to, you know, make sure that there still are things that are making me and sustaining me as a human being. (I'm half alive but I feel mostly dead.)

Things that are keeping me sane:

True, lovely, old-timing friends. The ones that have been calling and texting me daily to see if I'm still alive. The ones that Skype with me for hours at a time. The ones that will sit there in my living room and hold me as I crumble and disintegrate into a thousand little pieces and hand me a paper towel to soak up the tears. (I've become an emotional basket case, haven't you heard?) I have come to realize in the past couple weeks who my tried and true friends are, simply because I've tried them and they are true, and I am absolutely overwhelmed with gratitude for having them.
Cheap wine. Ahh, yes, I turn to the age-old comfort of alcohol to calm my insanities. I like a rich cab and a lovely goblet-sized wine glass.
Rilo Kiley. Have you heard them? One of the most amazing lyrical-genius bands I've ever heard. They are one of those bands that just gets better and better with each song, and each repeat of each song. Portions for Foxes is probably the specific sanity booster right now. (Listen here.)
English 327: Creative Nonfiction & English 415: Editing for Literary Magazines. At the risk of revealing the extreme nerd that sulks beneath my skin, I absolutely adore and live for these two classes right now. Creative Nonfiction is the only class I am taking this semester that allows me to be creative, and it is absolutely fantastic. It's a workshop class, so we read famous personal essays and memoirs (my favorite so far: M.F.K. Fisher, for obvious reasons). We also get to read each others' personal essays. I made 20 copies of my personal essay last week, and for an entire 50-minute class period the class discussed what was working in my essay and what needed to be improved. As a writer, this feedback is invaluable and I live for any opportunity to improve my craft. Editing for Literary Magazines is amazing in a different way. We are the official editors of my school's literary magazine, Watershed. There are only 12 of us, lead by one of the most amazing professors I've ever had, and we basically are going to be reviewing submissions from all over the country of short stories, poems, and photographs. We have not yet begun the selection process, but have been reading a lot of interesting material and coming to class prepared to sit in a circle and discuss it in-depth. It's like an intimate little book club that I get college credits for.

Miranda July, my new favorite author. The Shared Patio and The Man on the Stairs, two of her short stories, were actually assigned for my English 415 class, and I fell in love with them. I went to the library and checked out her collection of short stories, No one belongs here more than you. Since I no longer possess the attention span to tackle full-length novels and get engulfed in them, I am a sucker for short stories. I think I love her stories so much, and have included them on this list, because the narrator is crazier than me, and it's like a lifeboat on these choppy seas of my existence. Seriously, check this book out. It will transport you somewhere you need to be right now.

So, yeah. That's 5 things that are keeping me sane right now. There are 5 things keeping me pieced together. Let's hope I don't lose any of them, I'm not sure what will happen.

Namaste, y'all.

Announcing...

2010-09-23T10:22:00.000-07:00

As promised, Zach and I finally sat down and created our food blog last night, Foodgasm (cute name, I know). It's in the rough baby stages of creation, so give us a few weeks/months to get comfortable in our blog skin (all you bloggers can relate to this infant stage of bloggerdom, where you change the font and layout and writing style at least five hundred times, not to mention refresh your page another seven hundred times daily to see if anyone viewed it.)
So give us time. But follow us! We're always cooking something great. :)

Namaste, y'all.

I am so much more than this.

2010-09-22T01:32:00.000-07:00

I've been staying up way past any normal hours lately--till nearly dawn. And waking up way too early. And then napping during the day. I'm stuck in a weird place in my life. It's like the nighttime is the only time I can live freely--it's full of so much more potential than the daytime. I can dream up the day ahead, I can think about the life I'm not quite living yet. I am alone in my bed, in my room with my thoughts and my journals and my books and no one else. There are no expectations to be met at 1:30 am. At 1:30 pm, however, I'm expected to be in class discussing literature and short stories and be awake and alert and full of fuel.

What's eating Cassandra Lotus, you may be wondering? A lot of things, things I won't go into specific details about. To sum it up in a few brief words, I'm tired of my happiness being conditional, and I'm tired of that conditional happiness being dependent upon external forces, other people, whom I can't control. Like I said, I won't go into specific details. Uh-oh! Sounds like I need a heavy dose of reality mixed with a few lessons in "Hey, that's life" and finish it all off with some heavy prayer and meditation. I'll spare you those details for the time being. Instead, I'll let Vanessa Carlton do the talking, she sums it up in a small, cheesy capsule.

Namaste, fellow lovers.

I have no title for this stupid post.

2010-09-15T00:16:00.000-07:00

“Have you ever been in love? Horrible isn't it? It makes you so vulnerable. It opens your chest and it opens up your heart and it means that someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses, you build up a whole suit of armor, so that nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different from any other stupid person, wanders into your stupid life...You give them a piece of you. They didn't ask for it. They did something dumb one day, like kiss you or smile at you, and then your life isn't your own anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so simple a phrase like 'maybe we should be just friends' turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It hurts. Not just in the imagination. Not just in the mind. It's a soul-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart pain. I hate love.” -Neil Gaman

Giving Gratitude.

2010-09-10T12:36:00.000-07:00

I have been trying something new lately: living in the light and love of gratitude. I have so much these days to be thankful for, so many blessings. My mom is finally back to normal, her head is finally screwed back on right. My head had no choice but to follow. I came back to Chico, and although classes aren't the most stimulating, I have found the most amazing company lately. My best friend, Zach, and I have been cooking up some great things--both food and ideas. We'll soon be releasing our food blog, which I hope y'all will love. I basically had an "A-ha!" moment last weekend, in the midst of one of mine and Zach's numerous wine tasting, food explorations and discovered that I want to be a food critic. I love food so much, why not devote my life to it? So, I'll post a link sooner or later to this food blog--it will be complete with recipes, reviews of our own food, detailed descriptions, and, of course, pictures of everything we create.

So, gratitude is a funny thing. I found myself on my knees the other night, as I oft do, praying for things out of my control. I climbed back into bed and thought about what I had just prayed for: for my mom to remain well and safe, for my dad to be stress-free, for me to be able to deal with my life. Then I did something I've always been afraid to do. I got back out of bed and onto the floor, lifted my arms up to the ceiling, feeling the weight of the universe, and thanked God for everything in my life. I counted my blessings without fear of them being taken away. I thanked Him for everything, and the feeling was sensational. Life all of a sudden felt manageable, doable, live-able. Life felt incredibly light and happy, I felt incredibly light and happy. What an amazing place full of grace this world can be, when we are thankful for what we have.

So here's my challenge, Bleaders, if you still exist and read these things that I have[n't] been posting. Give gratitude for all you have, not things you don't have. It will come back to you, and give you light you never knew you possessed.

Namaste, Lovelies.

A classroom lamentation.

2010-09-01T00:01:00.000-07:00

The shoreline of my heart is a tide pool.
To love me you must love the seaweed of my hair,
the rise and fall of my tides,
the pull that the moon has over me.
You must love the starfish of my eyes,
the dorsal fin on my back,
my silky smooth, rubber-like skin,
the rush of my energy.
And if you accept me, and take me for who I
am, all I am and what I will always be--
a roaring ocean, a mermaid with feet, a dolphin on land--
then maybe, just maybe, I'll rush up and pull you under
and then we'll drown
together.

(I've been missing the ocean and it's salt a lot lately in this dry heat that fills my days and lungs. I'll be back to posting about normal concrete emotions and feelings soon people, just give me time to grieve the loss of the coast.)

Namaste.

Tabula Rasa.

2010-08-25T22:59:00.000-07:00

(I thought I'd start out this clean slate of a school year with one of my favorite poems. )

I Shall Paint My Nails Red
Because I am proud of my hands.
Because it will remind me I'm a woman.
Because I will look like a survivor.
Because I can admire them in traffic jams.
Because my lover will be surprised.
Because it is quicker than dyeing my hair.
Because it is a ten-minute moratorium.
Because it is reversible.

-Carole Satyamurti

Cooking for Love: An Update.

2010-07-08T09:17:00.000-07:00

Turns out cooking for the people I love might end up killing them.

Yep that's right, as in, my meal last night--spice rubbed chicken tenders with cilantro dipping sauce-- could have been our last meal together.

Everything appeared to be cooking normal. Since it's spice rubbed chicken, you make a spice rub which consists of cumin, salt, and chili powder. The only chili powder I could find in my cupboard was a glass container called "Chili 3000". Chili 3000? Well, we all love spicy foods, so I figured this chili powder would be a perfect addition to the spice rub. I rubbed that mixture all over those chicken tenders, put them in the broiler, and marveled at how perfectly tender they came out. As I shoved a sizzling bite in my mouth, at first I was impressed with my chicken tender spicy creation. Then the salt hit my taste buds.

"It's a little bit salty," I warned my family as I brought the platter of chicken to the table. "And by 'a little bit salty', I mean you're not going to be able to taste the chicken." My family dug in anyway, despite the forewarning. Their faces ranged from that look you have after you eat something really really sour, to utter disgust.

"What kind of chili powder did you use?" my dad asked. I told him I used the Chili 3000. "Oh, there's the problem. That is chili mix, as in you add it to an entire batch of chili and it seasons it." Oops, my bad.

We attempted to scrape some of the seasoning off, or dilute it with the cilantro dipping sauce, but by the end of the meal we ended up with high blood pressure and bloated stomachs (which have continued on into today).

I'm officially back in the culinary doghouse.

One thing I have learned, however, is that no matter how bad the food turns out to be, make sure you have a big glass of wine nearby.

Namaste.

Cooking for Love.

2010-07-07T16:01:00.000-07:00

My lovely friend Tori shared with me a message that her mother wrote in her very first cookbook. "Darling, cooking is an expression of Love... May you 'excel' in your cooking for Love." This is such a beautiful message, and has really touched me. As you know, I cooked for my dad on Father's Day, and I wasn't half bad at it. Tori's quote really inspired me to cook more, to show my love via delicious treats. Last week my friend Jackie taught me how to make homemade herb roasted french fries (pictured below), which I made for my family, along with garlic sauteed mushrooms and steak. They were perfect, if I (the cook) don't say so myself.

I've been really obsessed lately with starting from scratch and learning, like really immersing myself, in how to cook. I love laying out all my beautiful ingredients before me, seeing their natural beauty, and then chopping them up and turning them into something tasty. I know for some of you reading this might sound like I've rediscovered the wheel or something, but I've never lent myself the opportunity to cook before (and yes, I do realize that if this cooking gourmet food discovery persists, I'm going to need to find a better adjective than "delicious" to describe it).

Tonight I am cooking spicy chicken breast tenders with a spicy cilantro lime dipping sauce for my family. My friend Jackie (who taught me how to cook the homemade french fries--and, sidenote: she's one of the most amazing cooks ever), made this chicken for me years ago, and it was so ~~delicious~~ delectable that I haven't been able to shake the taste from my taste buds since. I shall update y'all on this culinary excursion.

For now, namaste.

(And thank you Tori for your loving inspiration!)

For the love of Mom.

2010-07-06T10:01:00.000-07:00

"The Lord is my rock, my fortress and my deliverer;

my God is my rock, in whom I take refuge,

my shield and the horn of my salvation.

He reached down from on high and took hold of me;

He drew me out of deep waters.

He brought me out into a spacious place;

He rescued me because He delighted in me.

The Lord has dealt with me according to my righteousness;

according to the cleanness of my hands he has rewarded me."

-2 Samuel 2-21

There are times in your life when you are allowed to rise. You rise up out of your body, beyond the present, beyond the to-do list, beyond the anxiety, beyond everything, beyond the disaster of your life. Your heart is dislocated from your brain, your brain goes into fight or flight, and God guides your actions.

On Tuesday morning I came home to find my mom unconscious on the kitchen floor. She was barely breathing, and no matter how hard I shook her or how loud I screamed she wouldn't open her eyes. I do not remember calling 911, telling them my address, or waiting the precious minutes till the paramedics got there. I do not know how I was able to contain myself as the paramedics attempted to stir her back to life, sticking her with needles and shoving tubes down her throat. I made it to the hospital and waited for my dad to get there and I do not know how I was able to stay collected. Most of my mom's vital signs were in check--her temperature, blood pressure, etc. But none of the doctors could figure out why she wasn't waking up.
When I had found her on the kitchen floor, I could tell she had fallen. There was a huge bump on the back of her head. At the hospital they told us there was a possibility she could be bleeding from her brain. They said even though she was breathing when I found her, her oxygen levels were very low. They said oxygen might have been cut off to her brain, and that the reason she wasn't waking up could be due to brain damage.

My dad and I had no idea what to do. They took her to a hospital we never go to, county hospital, because of their excellent Trauma Center, and there was hardly any room for us to sit down. They told us there was a 50/50 chance she would ever wake up, and that it could take hours--if not days--for that to happen. We left the hospital with nowhere to go, afraid to say anything, afraid to really talk to anyone but God. We went home and took the dog for a walk, and when we got to the beach we just sat on a bench and stared in silence out into the horizon.

I've lost many people that I've loved in my life, and it sucks. I know how deep the shock waves go, how it takes years sometimes to locate the damage in your heart, and how it continues aching for years. I sat on that bench with my dad for an hour, crying with him off and on, and talking it out with God. I wasn't angry with God. I knew He was there, that He was holding me tightly, I felt Him more than I've ever felt Him before. I was upset, and angry that she was in a state that no one could identify, but I didn't feel alone. I was rising, I was at peace with whatever was about to be tossed my way, and I knew no matter what I was going to be okay.

Later that evening my dad and I went back to the hospital. They had moved my mom out of the Trauma Center into the ICU. When we got to her bedside, her eyes were open. She could focus and look at us. She had these huge tubes shoved down her throat, so she couldn't talk, but she could nod her head. My dad and I instantly burst out crying. She was alive, awake, able to squeeze my hand when I asked her to. The next morning they took her tubes out, and she could speak. She was able to go home later that afternoon. Here I had said goodbye to my mom 24 hours prior, and now she was alive and able to come home to me.

A doctor, a neurosurgeon, was filling out her discharge paperwork that evening she was able to come home. "Wait a minute," he said, putting down his pen and looking at my mom. "Were you in the ER at the Trauma Center yesterday?" My mom nodded. "I remember you," he said, shaking his head in disbelief. "It didn't look so good for you yesterday." That really put into perspective the weight of how great God truly is.

My mom continues to be better than she was even before I found her unconscious. She is one tough cookie, and she seems to have a new outlook on life. I can't imagine waking up with tubes shoved down my throat in a hospital bed I don't recognize. Doctors are still unsure exactly what caused her to be out for nearly an entire day, but I am so grateful for each and every moment I get to spend with my lovely mother.
There is a God, a kind and sweet One, that grants you miracles and gifts of life.
Namaste.

Making Time...for Time.

2010-06-28T15:07:00.000-07:00

I finally have time for TIME! Yes, I have time to read what ever the hell I want. What a revelation this is! I decided to narrow down the ever elevating stack of books to be read to 2 books at time. Last week I (finally) started Kathy Griffin's Official Book Club Selection. I am probably one of her biggest fans--I know everyone says that about a celebrity. But truly, I have loved her for a long time, and respect her for making a living off of making fun of celebrities. Despite her Hollywood's most hated bad girl reputation, her book is actually really heartfelt and inspiring. She's jumped through many hoops to get on the D-List (and personally I think she's graduated to at least the B-List), and I really really truly am loving this book!

The second book I am (attempting) to get through is The 7 Habits of Highly Effective People by Stephen R. Covey. I am so freshly into this book I don't have much to say about it. It's a far cry from the books I'm used to, but many people have told me it is one of those books that will change your life. So, I'm giving it a try.

This 2-books-at-a-time business is an interesting enterprise. I love it, but it's very difficult at the same time because it requires much discipline. Every time I walk past my bookshelf I am tempted to pull something down and start reading. Every time I'm on my lunch break I'm tempted to hop across the parking lot into Borders and check out the latest. But I'm being good. I truly am devoted to finishing these two books (well, at least Kathy's book) before moving on to the next 2.

Namaste.

My BHAG

2010-06-24T18:44:00.000-07:00

What is a BHAG? Well, working for lululemon, or really being immersed in the lulu community in general has taught me to set Big Hairy Audacious Goals for myself, to scream out loud the most outrageous but attainable goals (not dreams) in my head and work hard to make the loose ends meet to make them happen.

Tonight a particular goal began with a freewrite in my journal. I will share this freewrite with you:

Spreading Yoga: A manifestation.

I am manifesting that I find either an organization or a group of people to join me in spreading the joy and hope and love of yoga to areas of the world and people of those areas that have never felt the sweet release of child's pose or the pulsing adrenaline of a headstand.

So, if you've been following me for a while, or even if this is your first reading of my post, you would know that I am, among many things, a dreamer. The thing about my dreams, however, is that I've learned to wade through the truly unattainable ones, to cast them aside, and turn the realistic ones into goals. They really are doable things. They range from going to film school and getting my MFA in Screen writing to moving to Mexico and opening up a yoga studio. Of course, I still have a little less than a year left of school, but really, if you look at that in the context of the rest of my life it's not that much time.

I decided a long time ago that I want to get my certification in yoga. I've been playing with this dream/goal for quite a while now, but I took it one step further tonight. I decided that this yoga teacher training will take place on/in an ashram in India. I figure might as well immerse myself in the place of yoga's origin to truly feel and understand my practice. The duration will be one month, and will cost an arm and a leg (especially for my freshly college grad, unemployed self), but I will spend the next year saving up for the tuition.

I know somewhere, deep down in my soul that this will take place. I just have this peaceful feeling in my heart and mind about it, a white light surrounding the very idea of it. I have meditated and prayed for this white light, this seriousness for so long, and now I hold it in the palm of my hand.

Namaste.

*For more information about BHAGs or to set your own, please visit http://goals.lululemon.com/

New Kids on the Block.

2010-06-23T22:26:00.000-07:00

I grew up in the house my parents and I (when I'm home from college) live in now, on a quiet little street in a safe neighborhood in Redondo Beach, CA. I was really lucky when I moved in, because next door there were 2 kids around my age, across the street there were 4 kids my age, and 2 doors down there was also a kid my age. I instantly became friends with them, and we used to literally do everything together. The boys on my street taught me how to rollerblade and skateboard, the girl across the street from me taught me how to paint my nails and put on makeup, and all of us combined got in so much trouble and had so much fun. We've all since moved away, either to college or to another street, and it breaks my heart sometimes. I miss coming home from school at 3:30, grabbing a popsicle and my skateboard, and going outside to hang with the crew. I miss getting stuck in my neighbor's tree attempting to make the ultimate treehouse, or going "raccoon hunting" at night trying to sneak into the creepy neighbors' yard that had a billion and a half wild animals. Now when I see my old best friends, it's just like, "Oh hey, you're in town." Or "Happy Christmas/Mother's/Father's/Easter/Thanksgiving!"

There are these sweet little girls that have grown up next door to me, ages 7 and 11. I've only ever babysat twice in my life, and these girls were them. They are so cute, and have always kept to themselves in their front yard, with the coolest toys and sprinklers and trampolines. Recently my neighbor's grandsons moved in on the other side of me, about the same age as the girls on the other next door to me (are you following this story?). They've been playing outside a lot lately, since it's summertime. They skateboard and ride their little bikes and play their music. I see them, laughing and flirting and having the time of their lives, and then I see myself. I see reflections of this old street, this old life. It's been making me miss my childhood so much more lately. I pulled up into my driveway today, that big college girl home for the summer, and they were all outside. They all turned and said hi to me, then kept playing their game of hopscotch or tag or hide and seek. For a split second I thought about asking if I could join them. Then I realized I'm the old lady now, now I have to go to the bars for fun, I have to read a book for fun. I have to hang out with kids my age for fun. I want to tell them to hold onto this summer, and all the days and years to come as long as they can, to hold them tight and milk them for all their worth and go outside every second they possibly can and never stop.

So, that is my jealous bittersweet moment for the evening. In the words of my Nana (God rest her sweet soul), "Getting old is hell."
Namaste.

Dad's Day.

2010-06-22T00:06:00.000-07:00

I know there's a lot of opinions out in the world about dads. Some may hate their dads, some may feel indifferent about them, and some may feel that their dad is the best dad in the entire universe. I am a firm believer in that last statement, and I will happily argue to the death anyone who thinks their dad is better than mine.

In honor of Father's Day, someone (probably my mother) thought it would be a great! idea for me to cook dinner for the entire family. Now, on Mother's Day I wasn't home to celebrate it with my own mother because I was in Chico, but my friend Zach let me share his mom with him for the day and we cooked her this delicious baked fish. I decided that it would only be fair if I cooked the same scrumptuous treat for my own family on Dad's Day. I woke up yesterday a nervous wreck, realizing that this was my first (and only) chance to show off the (numerous) culinary skills I had gained since being away from home. For some reason I decided it would be a good idea to invite my two uncles over for the occasion too, so it was four people, not just two, I had to prove myself to.

After 3 trips to the grocery store I had all the ingredients laid out before me. I chopped and juiced and mixed and opened and blended and folded and washed and poured in prep. I preheated and oiled and tossed and sprayed and flipped. Finally, my dad was back from his 2 hour massage and my uncles were there pouring the wine and my mom was setting the table and we were all anticipating (or fearing) my culinary debut. I prayed for the sake of Father's Day that God would guide me and make it taste okay. I didn't want to scar my dad's taste buds, and have him forever remember me as the one who put the scar there.

Each individual fish filet was wrapped in foil, cooking in its own marinade of white wine, olive oil, black olives, garlic, basil, serano peppers, and cherry tomatoes. As we each slowly unwrapped our fish filets, like little christmas presents, the delicious smell wafted to my nostrils. I sat back before even gorging and just took in that smell. I had created this smell. I couldn't watch as my dad took his first bite, so I took a large gulp of wine and listened for auditory satisfaction. "Mmmmm...," I heard from across the table. Then the same sound was heard from my Uncle Brad sitting next to me, then my mom across from me, then Uncle Ronnie at the head of the table. "Damn," my mom said. I took my own first bite. It was ... delicious; melt in your mouth fantastic. Oh my God. I paired the fish with grilled zucchini, onion, and bell pepper kabobs. I cooked something, for everyone, and I cooked it...right? I have hit another right of passage in this life of mine.

So, while it was strenuous and nerve wracking, I am sooo happy to have cooked for my dad, to honor him and make him proud. After the stress of cooking melted away (and I had a few glasses of wine), it was an amazing Father's Day. My dad deserved every second of that righteous meal.

I hope all you Bleaders had an amazing Father's Day!
Namaste.

Bonding Time.

2010-06-16T22:44:00.000-07:00

My mom has been laid up from back surgery last week, which means I am in charge of all her endless responsibilities. These tasks range anywhere from scooping the cat box to giving the cat with the collapsed lung his daily dose of kitty cold medicine, to (unfortunately for my family, including myself) making dinner plans. The biggest responsibility, however, is taking care of my mother's poodle Layla. Layla and I have always got along, she's a sweet dog and she sort of listens to me when she feels like it, but my mom is quite obviously the center of Layla's universe. Layla drops everything when my mom is around and follows her at the heel.

So, it's been accepted between Layla and I in the 4 years we've known each other that my mom is number one in her life, and that she will always listen to my mom first and foremost. Since my mom has been laid up and in a ton of pain, I've assumed the responsibility of entertaining the dog. Walks got kind of boring, so we've been hitting up the dog beach at Trump golf course (the only beach where dogs are allowed in LA). It is, quite obviously, Layla's favorite new hang out spot, and mine as well. A friend of mine has two dogs about Layla's age, and we sometimes take our dogs on a beach playdate, but today I decided to have some quality poodle time with just the two of us. I brought a tennis ball and Layla and I played tag up and down the beach for about an hour, exhausting ourselves and crashing in the sand to rest before heading home. I've been taking care of my mom's Layla Duties for about a week and a half now, but today was the first day I actually felt the shift in her attitude towards me. I noticed today she's been following me around more than my mom and actually noticing when I leave the room. Tonight I went and picked up Chinese food, and decided to take Layla with me. She was so excited to tag along and go for a ride. I don't know why it's taken me 4 years to bond with my mother's poodle, but I'm happy it finally happened, finally getting to experience the bond between a dog and a human.

On the topic of dogs, I started reading the book The Art of Racing in the Rain by Garth Stein last night. What a truly touching book. Anyone out there who has a dog or is a dog lover should pick up a copy. It will move you from the first page.

One last thing before I retire to my book for the night: the Chinese fortune cookie tonight read, "Dwelling on the negative simply contributes to its power." This spoke to me personally because my head has been clogged with a bunch of negative thoughts lately. Isn't it funny how even giving a negative image a second thought creates a snowball of other downer thoughts? So here's to pushing past those thoughts, getting them out of my brain and out of my life.

Namaste.

Finding my way home.

2010-06-13T14:59:00.000-07:00

I've been shifting through parallel universes for the past couple months, hovering and daydreaming through the notions of my life, trying to find a place to settle, and not finding it till just now. Where the hell have I been, you may ask? Well, it's been since April since my last post, and you're long overdue for an update.

The end of April through May proved to be way too much for my brain to handle. Finals were a shit show, just like they always are. A blood bath would actually be the proper terminology. May in Chico is supposed to be 80+ degrees, but God decided to send rain/hail storms our way, which made it nearly impossible to make it to my finals. It felt like winter, when I should have been anticipating summer. My emotions were totally turned around. It was like someone was hanging onto the sun, like South America or some other place that gets sun 24/7 and they were keeping it greedily for themselves. Amidst the rain, thunder, hail, and dirty sweats I showed up to class everyday in, somehow I managed to pass all my classes and keep my GPA above a 3.2.

I didn't have a moment to relax after finals, though. They ended May 20, and May 22nd I left for Vegas to celebrate my birthday with one of my best friends. I think the stress of everything I had been going through finally caught up to me once I was out of Chico (aka HELL at this point in my life). The second I made it to Vegas, my throat swelled up, my sinuses clogged, I lost my voice. I woke up on my birthday, May 23rd, freezing cold but boiling hot, achy all over. I had a fever of 101 (okay, I didn't have a thermometer, but it felt that hot). Basically, my life turned out the way it always seems to: the WRONG way. Water sizzled my throat, let alone any form of alcohol. In a desperate attempt to figure out what was wrong, I had my friend shine a flashlight into the back of my throat. "Craters, bloody craters, and white patches." That's how she described it. That was when we decided it was time to find a clinic and get me some help. They gave me 3 prescription drugs. Too bad this happened on the last day of our trip.

Of course, before we shone this flashlight in my throat, on my actual birthday, I drugged myself up with a triple dose of Dayquil, 5 cups of coffee, and 2 sets of fake eyelashes so that I was able to see CHER. Nothing could have possibly gotten in the way of Cher and I. And what a life changing experience her show was. The woman changed her outfit after EVERY single performance. She sang everything (except Jesse James) that I wanted her to sing. I get hot just thinking about it, it was so effing brilliant.

After Cher, it's no wonder I was diagnosed with the laryngitis, tonsilitis (and I don't even HAVE tonsils anymore), and a sinus infection. I carried that show through the Strip, and made sure that everyone present that night, May 23rd, 2010, knew that I had just come from Cher. Of course, I was sick before Cher, and was sicker the morning I woke up. This is how it was expected to be though, really, with my luck. The moment I turn 21, alcohol sizzles my throat and I can't think of anything I want less. Yep, that would only happen to me.

So, after Vegas passed me by, and my throat was instantly better the second I landed in San Francisco, I packed up my stuff in Chico, grabbed my friend Zach, and we drove home to Redondo for a week. Since him and I were both freshly 21, we got to explore the bars in my hometown together. This exploration included finding out that shots cost an upwards of $7.50, and that bouncers are total dicks. We had fun, although now I have $50 to my name. I forget sometimes how amazing my home is, and it takes a fresh pair of eyes sitting next to you saying, "I'm pretty sure you live in Paradise," to get the memo.

Once Zach left, I had a day to pack my stuff back up again, and fly to NY with my best friend Jackie, who just spent the past year going to school at Ithaca. She decided she missed California too much, but her car was still over in Ithaca. So us poor, mislead California girls just spent the last 4 days driving her sexy 4Runner across middle America. What an eye-opener that drive was. One night it was raining so hard we couldn't see the road lines, so we got off the Ohio turnpike asap and asked a tollbooth worker where the nearest motel was. She gave us directions, which were, seriously, so far from civilization I don't think I could ever find them even in the daylight. The janky old motel started out as a beacon of hope; all we wished for was a hot shower and a place to rest our heads away from the rain. It turned into the scene of every horror movie, right before the main characters get chopped into little tiny pieces. First, there were dead bugs lining the bathroom floor. Then, the room for some reason had 3 beds, 5 chairs, and a closet that you had to walk up 3 steps to get to. The shower, cranked up all the way, dripped about enough water to fill a thimble if you waited 5 minutes. And it wasn't even warm water. We started to feel like we were the stars of Texas Chainsaw Massacre, and didn't want to stick around to see if we were going to make it through the night. We threw the keys on the front desk and booked it so effing fast out of there. That's just one of the many adventures we encountered across the USA, and when I got out of the car after 4 days on the road in my own driveway I kissed it all the way to my front door.

So, I quite literally have been searching for home for the past couple weeks, and now I have a chance to finally just deflate. I can't tell you what it's like to sleep in a billion different beds but you're own (wow, that sounds wrong), and to return home and lay your head down on your own scent and sleep peacefully. I'm back in one universe, and don't plan on galaxy hopping for at least 2 months.

As many may notice, this page looks a little different. I hope you enjoy the update.
To all those Bleaders out there, I hope you all are living peacefully and happily in your own universe.
Namaste, y'all.

Slow Down Sweet, Succulent Summer.

2010-04-28T22:55:00.000-07:00

I've been thinking lately that maybe I'm not ready for summer to be upon me. There are two possible issues that always plague my summer: they are either long anticipated and not that fun, or too fun and go by too fast. This summer is the first summer that I will be 21, so that opens up a new realm of possibilities for me. It will also, I fear, make my summer go by vacuum-fast.

This is the first summer that I will truly be coming back home. Over winter break I worked and hung out with my friends, and was overwhelmed by it all. There were so many places and people to see, and it went by fast trying to squeeze these venues into every second. I don't want the summer to turn out that way. I want to just come home, work, and relax with a nice bottle of wine (that I purchase with my own ID) in the sand. I think that I will try to just take it easy this summer. Oh--even better idea, for every person I see this summer I will spend one hour practicing yoga or meditating at the beach. This will be my balance.

Does anyone else have this problem with summer? I'm afraid that it will come and go so fast, and I want it to last. I want to have the best summer known to mankind. This is to be my goal.

On to another note, my Yogi Green Tea fortune of the day was "May your inner self always be secure and happy." What a great message to contemplate the entire day. I have the most magical travel coffee mug ever from lululemon, and I was able to enjoy my hot tea all through my 3 1/2 hour class and all the way home. I seriously made a cup of tea at 3:30, and when I got home at 7:30, my tea was still steaming. I am not bullshitting you, I do not know how this tea mug does it. Anyway, back to the message my tea offered me. I love how relevant that fortune was with yesterday's of being selfless and finding God. I think of my inner self as my soul, and the image of my soul always being secure and happy...well, it just made me feel warm inside. Maybe it was just the tea, but it made me feel safe. What a truly charming blessing to bestow upon someone.

So, fellow Bleaders, may your inner selves always be secure and happy.
Namaste, y'all.

Seeking.

2010-04-27T11:34:00.000-07:00

This was the fortune on my Yogi Green Tea last night (I love Yogi Tea because each cup comes with a special message that makes you think). This really made me take a step back to think about my relationship with not only God, but myself and being selfless.

Last year I worked for lululemon athletica and I was constantly in a yoga environment. I practiced yoga 1-2 times per week before getting my job there, and 4-5 times per week once I started there. It wasn't just because I had some amazing yoga clothes to keep me comfortable on my mat, it was because I was in an environment where everyone had a favorite yoga class--coworkers and guests in my store--and we would always invite each other to practice. I think I've been on more yoga dates with women than I've been on romantic dates with men. It's kinda weird thinking about it that way.

Anyway, what I love about yoga is that it helps me to tap into my Higher Power. Sometimes I feel like the only way to truly understand God is to practice yoga. There was this yin yoga class that I took once, and I don't think I've ever been closer to God. I was laying on my back in Supta Baddha Konasana, or Goddess Pose, for a really long time. I fell into such a heavy state of meditation that I started feeling like my body was electrically charged. Then, I saw these blue lightening bolts pulsing through my brain, down my arms and out my elbows. Then I left my body and looked down on it, kissed it on the forehead between the eyes (or the Third Eye), then climbed back inside. I am not bullshitting you here, I saw God, then I saw myself. I've gone looking for that moment everywhere, and it hasn't happened since, but I still try. I still feel God through my practice.

I want you to know what the best part of yoga is, though. It has no religion, no ego, no judgement. It's just simply there, to teach you to reach deep within yourself, and find your inner peace, whatever it may be. It doesn't have to be God, it could just be the best and purest version of your soul.

I have to say, after surveying everything that I left behind in LA--family, friends, work, the ocean, the comfort of my bed--I have to say that my yoga practice from last year was and is and continues to be the hardest thing to live without. The yoga up here is, well, not the same. In theory all yoga is good yoga. But I think that there is a scale of goodness. And if yoga here is good, then yoga back home is extravagantly stupendous.

So, those who are selfless find God. I think those who practice yoga, over time, once they cast aside their egos and get comfortable with their practice and aren't in it for anything else but to cleanse their souls, will be selfless. So, those who practice yoga find God.

Namaste.

Cruelty.

2010-04-26T02:24:00.000-07:00

Everyone says love hurts, but that is not true. Loneliness

hurts. Rejection hurts. Losing someone hurts. Envy hurts.

Everyone gets these things confused with love. But in reality

love is the only thing in this world that covers up all pain and makes

someone feel wonderful again.

[I wish love would take all these impostors away already.]

I'm Sorry...

2010-04-18T11:23:00.000-07:00

Cassandra Lotus Jones | Create Your Badge

From a state of mediocrity to a state of Greatness.*

2010-04-14T00:05:00.000-07:00

I've been so afraid to simply just feel good for far too long now. Somewhere and sometime in my life something bruised my understanding of feeling good, and that scar on my brain has kept me from living to my greatest potential for so long. I've found myself holding onto, clinging really, to ridiculous ideas and facts that I have believed to be true, and am discovering are far from the Truth. Like this being-afraid-to-feel-Happiness thing, I've simply been afraid to feel good because I'm afraid that it will be taken away if I derive too much out of it. Instead of living to my greatest potential I've slummed myself down into the gutter of mediocrity, an ugly place to be.

Another fact that I recently proved to be quite untrue was studying for a test. Sometime a long time ago I told myself that studying really hard for an exam is a big fat waste of time. I have no idea where I acquired this "fact", but recent tests that I have taken prove this fact to be quite wrong. The first exam for my Ecology of Central America class was open-book and open-note, so I figured I'd have it all covered, which was quite the opposite of what I was. I got a very low B on this exam, slumming myself down in mediocrity. I spent a large portion of last night and this morning studying for the second exam this morning, making sure my notes were spotless and highlighting all the readings I was supposed to have read (hitting on the important parts). My overall anxiety going into the test, during the test, and after the test were so much under control because I was actually prepared. I took my time and am pretty sure I got a decent grade (an A would be the ultimate pay-off).

So I guess what I'm getting at here is that these Truths that we hold on to, that we have always believed to be true, sometimes need to be closely examined. We get so caught up in other things that we don't always realize what we're actually thinking or saying or doing because our minds are programmed to think a certain way. So, here's to feeling good, and living it up in a state of Greatness, instead of selling yourself short in mediocrity.

Namaste, friends.

*From lululemon athletica's mission statement: "Elevating the world from a state of mediocrity to a state of greatness."

April Fools Ya.

2010-04-12T22:08:00.000-07:00

Hello Bleaders! I have not died or dropped off the face of the planet, just took a little soul vacation into a parallel universe for a few weeks. April is totally messing with my head because I just literally looked on the calendar and somehow it's mid-April? I thought it was still the single digit days of April.

Spring has been so nice, minus the ever-persistent rain that's plaguing my sanity (as usual). One of my best friends came up to Chico this weekend and I was praying she would have a good time. It turned out to be arguably one of the best weekends I've ever spent in Chico since I've moved here. It was the greatest combination of "Remember when we..." and "This is where I go when..." and a lot of "OMG, how beautiful is that tree?". We went out Friday night and I forgot how fun going out is. We hopped around town till 2 then came back with the neighbors and played some beerpong till 4. Then we hiked out our hangovers at Feather Falls. It was a crowd of the most random friends from up here, but somehow we all meshed well together. Everything was so beautiful.
When we got back we were so exhausted we just ordered burritos and drank beer and watched some great movies and talked about the past. It was seriously such a great weekend and it was so nice getting to just catch up. There was a point when we were just like, "When do we ever get to do this?" and it was sad saying goodbye because our lives are so far apart--both geographically and literally. She is in a serious long-term relationship and working full-time, while I am (obviously) far from anything serious and my only job is school. Just getting a weekend, whether it's the first of many or the last long weekend we'll get to have just to the two of us, was such an amazing gift I am so thankful for. It makes me sad thinking about that last sentence there, that we are all like shells lined up on a shore, and life comes like a wave and scatters all of us different places, that wave of life just comes without warning or control and we just find a place to call our own, seas apart. (And here I go, nothing's changed with these awfully cheesy metaphors.) What I'm trying to say is that I miss that girl who I used to spend my life with, and it's bittersweet that we're both in places we belong, but those places are seas apart from each other.

Regardless, Bleaders, I am BACK.
In the words of Madonna, "If it makes you feel good then I say do it."
Namaste.

Clearing Away.

2010-03-27T21:33:00.000-07:00

So I know I said that I was done with writing for the weekend, but I wanted to report on my biggest accomplishment in my adult life. I spent all day yesterday and a few hours today cleaning, throwing shit away, and ORGANIZING my room and entire condo. I threw away papers that I wrote back in high school (that I was keeping for some reason unbeknownst to me). I threw away clothes (believe me, they were clothes that weren't worth donating). I collected a huge pile of clothes I never wear up here to bring back home with me (to sit collecting dust in my drawers back home, rather than sitting in my closet collecting dust up here). I windexed all the glassy surfaces around the place, vacuumed down to the crumbly dark places beneath the pillows on the couch, dusted all the trinkets. I even cleaned the dirt off each key on my keyboard. My place is spotless, both dirt and material-wise.

This is such a huge feat for me because I will always start out on Big Projects such as this one, get sidetracked 2 hours in, when I find some bit of history (usually pictures or old stories I've written), then shove the shit I pulled out of my closet/desk/under my bed back to their original place without accomplishing any form of organization. But not this time. I spent 8 hours working on this project, start to finish. And I finished this project, because of which I have a clean closet, room, bathroom, and house to show for it.

So, to yet again fulfill another cheesy stereotype, my "spring cleaning" was a success.
Namaste.

Springing Forward.

2010-03-26T10:34:00.000-07:00

You guys, I had 5, count that, 1-2-3-4-F-I-V-E, papers due this week. This is the last and final thing that I will write for the weekend. I came back Monday from LA, and I have to say this was a difficult goodbye. Getting on a plane to go back to school, and my home where I live when I'm at school, was an interesting concept. I had never flown back to Chico (well, Sacramento) while I've been living up here. This time I felt like a true visitor to my own home. Sitting at the Southwest Terminal in LAX on Monday night, watching my flight slowly being delayed more and more, I got to thinking (as usual) about my future.

I've been doing a lot of debating back and forth lately about my academic future. As you know, I met with my academic advisor a couple weeks ago to discuss said future, and she told me it's going to take a year plus one semester to graduate, unless I want to cram everything into 2 semesters. This really upset me because I have been thinking that I've been ready to just move on with my life already, join the real world, get a real job, see what else the world has to offer besides college life. I want to move on to my next academic adventure (that being grad school or film school), I want to just be done with it all.

Then, and I think it was Tuesday of this week, I woke up to see the sun blindingly shining through my window. I went outside, and it was shorts weather. I rode my bike in a tank top and shorts to class. I came home, sat out on my balcony, and got bit by a mosquito. It was an amazing feeling--because I actually FELT spring. When I left for spring break all the trees were just twigs, ugly without leaves. When I came back, every branch was covered in bright green baby leaves. It was so beautiful and it made me happy deep down to my soul. Even though I had 5 papers due this week, I got to meet with some pretty spectacular alumni of the program I'm in, for a sort question-and-answer seminar. This really got me inspired, and truly proud to be in the highly coveted editing and publishing program that I'm in.

So I've come to another conclusion: let's just slow down and take it easy. If 3 more semesters is what it's going to take to be sane and actually enjoy college the way I'm supposed to, so be it. The real world can wait, it's not going anywhere. So yes, the debate will continue until May 15th (that's the final day to register for graduation for May 2011), and on or before that day I will have debated the issue to death.

Hope y'all are enjoying your own version of greenery that spring has to offer.
Namaste.

"I be back from dead."

2010-03-15T18:26:00.000-07:00

Redondo has brought me back to life.

Being home proves to be, just as I suspected, amazing. I've been home 3 days and already feel myself at home (which is interesting--considering I'm at home). I went to the beach yesterday and today and played some volleyball and collected shells, hung out with a new boy (story for later), walked the dog, played guitar, went to lunch, drank some margaritas, ate my mom's home cookin'. Oh man, I am in love with home. For once in a lifetime maybe I'd be foolish not to stay, but of course I must get back to the tests and cold weather and rain and parties back in Chico. I shall not think about that time, instead I shall watch the sunset from my backyard and play guitar to the sea.

Namaste, y'all.
And Happy Spring!

You're just like a dream: An Update

2010-03-10T14:26:00.000-08:00

After meeting with my academic advisor this afternoon I've decided to just breathe deeply and appreciate the moment. I don't do this often enough, and I realize that I've been looking at the bigger picture of my life far too often lately. It's taken over all my thoughts, so that I can't even do a simple task (like homework) without getting sidetracked into some Google search of things to do with my life. I haven't been thinking straight for quite some time--or maybe I've been thinking too straight. Maybe I've been so geared towards the future that I've lost sight of the present.

So, I thought I'd take a moment to breathe deeply and appreciate this moment. In the photo, I am jumping, reaching towards the sky. My friend captured this moment--one moment in the infinite motions of my life. It's reminding me right now that it was one second, a split second I was off the ground, in the air, flying, floating. My feet appreciated this moment.
What I'm trying to say here is that I need to stop being so obsessed with looking forward and planning out my life, that it will fall into place not by following a guideline, but by simply living in the moment.

Sigh. It's a lot easier said than done.
Namaste.

You're just like a dream.

2010-03-10T11:11:00.000-08:00

I think the hardest part about being where I am in life right now--20 almost 21, one year left of college, single--is having the entire world ahead of me, and a million dreams. I want to do so many things in my life, and I'm scared I won't get around to all of them, or give up one in the pursuit of another and miss out on that dream. I don't for one second wish I was without these dreams, but I wish I could just sort out the ones that won't come to fruition, to get the heartache over with early.
It's these dreams that I think about as I sit in my kitchen, supposed to be doing homework, instead drinking coffee, wondering where my life is going, or how this moment right now is going to play into the bigger context of my life or if I'll ever remember sitting here at the kitchen table, thinking about my future, drinking coffee and not doing homework.
Where is my life going? I'm meeting with my academic advisor today to have that exact question answered (at least from an academic standpoint). I want to be done with this part of my life, I guess, so I can decide the rest of my life. Like, do I want to go to grad school? And where? And for what? Or do I want to move to Mexico, open up a yoga retreat center in Jalisco, live in the jungle, drive a Volkswagen? You see, just like the countless stories I have unfinished sitting in my hard drive and journals, I have all these visions for where my life could possibly go, and they are all great, but to have one means not having the other.
What's a girl to do in a world so big, when her dreams are even bigger?

Namaste.

The Relapse.

2010-03-09T11:42:00.000-08:00

Folks, it is with great shame that I admit that I had a Facebook relapse last night. I was just sitting there watching The Office, feeling extremely lonely, and I was dying for some form of human connection. I logged in with my old email and password, and it was like I never left. All my photos were the same, my wall posts and comments were there. I now understand what that first cigarette feels like to someone who's quit for 20 years, and lights up again in their weakest moment. I searched all my friends, saw what pictures they'd posted recently (and which ones included me--don't want any bad publicity floating around in the Facebook Community, because that community is now the entire world).

It was when I began to type my first status that the smoker's headache and sudden memory of why they quit came rushing back to me (are you still following my bad simile?). I typed: "I be back from dead" in the status box and hit SUBMIT. When I saw it flashing up into the newsfeed, so that 800 of my closest friends could now read what 3 months away from FB has done to my grammar, that's when I snapped back to reality. I quickly deleted it, and don't plan on EVER doing that again.

So it's not Facebook that's going to bring me back from the dead. Something else needs to be done. This cold weather is getting to me up here. Did I mention I'm going home for 10 days on Friday? Maybe Redondo, with its 70+ degree weather, its beach 2 minutes away from my house, my best friend back from New York, and my mom's fine home cookin' will bring me back to life. I can only hope.

Namaste, Bleaders.

25 Distgusting Things you might or might not already know about me but now you know and you won't have to be surprised any longer:

2010-03-08T23:02:00.000-08:00

(Here are my 25 Disgusting Things you might or might not already know about me but now you know and you wont have to be surprised any longer: )
1. I am obsessed with canned food. Give me a good can of potatoes or a condensed soup any day. Corned beef hash, yes PLEASE. It's gross, I know. I blame my mother.
2. I am still convinced that I am going to have a professional singing career someday, despite the extremely obvious fact that I have no singing abilities whatsoever (I blame it on all the IDOL I watch). I'm not even kidding, I've even designed my own album cover and written my Grammy acceptance speech.
3. Along with the Grammy acceptance speech, I've also written an Oscar acceptance, Golden Globe, and Pullitzer Prize acceptance speech. You know, just in case. I've also written a brief manuscript of my convo in the green room with Oprah before we go live to discuss my latest bestseller.
4. I would like to take #4 to give a shout out to the RAIN. And I capitalize RAIN because that's how wet it is outside.
5. Speaking of wetness, I am TERRIFIED, as in scared SHITLESS, of pool drains, and any form of plumbing. Rusty pipes exposed out of walls? I might as well take a bullet to the head.
6. My goal this semester is to get straight A's. This was also my goal last semester and it would have been completed if a certain professor would have changed her B+ to an A-...but she just retired and got the hell out of town.
7. I have many different levels of laughter, and very distinct ones at that. People tend to know me for my laughter.
8. I am hazardly addicted to The Real Housewives of OC, and will drop everything Thursdays at 10 to watch what that bitch Alexis will do next.
9. Jason Mraz and I are in a serious relationship...he just doesnt know it quite yet.
10. Majority of my iTunes playlist includes music made prior to 1982.
11. Despite the fact that I LOATHE camping and bugs, I happen to love hiking and enjoying the scenery.
12. I currently live over 600 miles away from home and have not yet self-destructed like I was sure I would.
13. I have the best job in the entire world working summer and winter break at lululemon athletica and am so thankful for it.
14. My mother raised me right by saying if you don't have a cat carrier, a pillow case works fine when transporting cats to the vet.
15. When I'm back home, I live in a freaking zoo where the pets outnumber the humans, and each animal has some freakishly awkward quirk (similar to the humans that own them).
16. Belly dancers freak me out, and I refuse to go to any restaurant where they are. But I happen to LOVE belly dancing classes. I'm kind of a hypocrite then, I guess.
17. I am very overprotective of the people that I love. It kind of messes a lot of things up for me actually.
18. One night a couple years ago I was in my dorm room and got a craving to play an instrument. I lived right by Guitar Center, so I drove there and got an amazing deal on a guitar. I taught myself how to play, and I'm not great, but I'm amazed that I actually set my mind to something out of pure impulse and kind of followed through with it...that doesnt happen very often.
19. I used to hate Cher. But for some reason in high school my best friend and I took a blood oath that we would see her on our 21st birthdays, which both happen to be in May of this year. So, I can't believe it, but I have two tickets (for me and my best friend from high school) to see Cher front and center in Vegas on my 21st birthday: May 23rd, 2010. WOW.
20. My story is better than your's. Just deal with it. Accept it. I will one-up you no matter what you say.
21. I used to HATE kids. Like, the sound of their laughter would make me cringe, I would try to scare them. But then I did a lot of soul searching and came to realize it's not kids I hate. It's myself I hate for not being a kid anymore. Kids have it so great: they walk around naked and it's cute, they spit food around and eat with their hands and fit in those little swings and get to go to the ball pit at Chuck E. Cheese. I digress.
22. I am currently in the process of writing 2 books, a musical, and a screenplay. And I'm stuck in that place in all 4 works where I can take it one way or the other...and both seem great.
23. I'm that asshole you see in your rear view mirror tailgating you. I have extreme roadrage.
24. I might just be saying this because I am currently consuming it, but I fucking LOVE popcorn. ALL kinds, and will shove it into my mouth with both hands when no one is around. Come to think of it, I kind of will do that with ALL carbs, crunchy carbs. Like sunchips, or pretzels (See also: RIP: Pretzels). I've got some serious carbohydrate obesity issues.
25. In the summer of 2005, Carly Simon saved my life via song.

(Hope y'all feel a little more informed about dear ol' me.)
Namaste.

Los Oscars: The Aftermath/Afterparty.

2010-03-08T00:16:00.000-08:00

I'm disappointed Meryl didn't win, but Sandra Bullock's acceptance speech made me cry, so she is forgiven. I was surprised The Hurt Locker won all that it did, but I haven't seen it, so I'm no judge. The more I think about it, the more I'm happy Avatar didn't steal the show (only in the visual effects/ art direction/cinematography). James Cameron had his moment with Titanic in 1997, and I'm not saying that it shouldn't happen again (him being "king of the world") but one single movie stealing the show is something that shouldn't happen again. I loved the variety tonight (although my favorite varietal Oscars was 2008 when Diablo Cody won for Juno--her tattoos and badass aura were a great contrast to Helen Mirren's pure complexion). I loved that Up walked away with, just as I predicted, an Oscar for Best Musical Score. I loved the way the orchestra announced Streisand's upcoming appearance by playing an orchestral The Way We Were. I loved Mo'Nique's acceptance speech (much, MUCH better than her Golden Globes acceptance speech).

My favorite acceptance speech of the night, though, was Michael Giacchino's for winning the Best Musical Score for Up (and I didn't just love the speech because I loved the score and the movie and predicted this would win--I posted my favorite part of the score, below). Unfortunately they didn't have a video for his acceptance speech online, but they did have a transcript, so I will share what part truly moved in me and through me and struck a resonant chord: "Never once in my life did my parents ever say, 'What you're doing is a waste of time.' Never. And I grew up, I had teachers, I had colleagues, I had people that I worked with all through my life who always told me what you're doing is not a waste of time. So that was normal to me that it was OK to do that. I know there are kids out there that don't have that support system so if you're out there and you're listening, listen to me: If you want to be creative, get out there and do it. It's not a waste of time. Do it. OK? Thank you." Support, and talent, are all it takes, right? But seriously dude, what an awesome speech.

So you may be wondering why I'm so obsessed with this, why I have Oscar favorites, why I share, why I recognize. I know everyone has that dream of being there, amongst the Hollywood glitz and glam and royalty, and I share it too. But it goes deeper than that. I have 2 semesters left of undergrad, then I have a choice: a choice to attend a film academy and get my masters in Screenplay writing, to join the difficult and cut-throat world of SAG, a slim chance that maybe--maybe--I'll be one of them. Or, I can get a masters in creative writing, be guaranteed a job (well, maybe not yet in this economy). Or, I can move to a tropical place, a post for later. What I'm trying to say is I have a thirst for being one of the writing riff-raffers (that's a technical term), and trying my hand at all this. I understand them, I relate to them. I want it so bad I can taste it. I am "being creative", I'm "getting out there and doing it", like Giacchino said to do.

And I'm off to bed before I let this post, yet again, get too cheesy.

Namaste, y'all

Los Oscars.

2010-03-07T15:46:00.000-08:00

I am truly livin' the life on this fine Oscar Awards Sunday. I just finished off a box of oreos, now I'm sipping some vine burgundy wine from my box. I have some homework to type as I watch the Red Carpet arrivals. And with a sense of nostalgia I type this in my condo in Northern California, because this is my first Oscar's that I have not spent in LA. Now, I've never actually been at the Oscar's--you can't even get within a 4 mile radius of the Kodak Theater unless you hold an invite or press pass--but just knowing that America's royalty is 30 minutes away from my home in LA is something I miss.

So, I'm sure y'all have your own predictions, and I wish I had the time to post this last week, or at least an hour before we find out the results, but here are my Oscar Predictions (and I will only make predictions on things that I can properly predict//things that I care about):

First off, I think Alec Baldwin and Steve Martin hosting TOGETHER will be an amazing comical explosion. I don't think they will ever be able to top my favorite Oscar hosts (Whoopi in '99 and Ellen in '07) but I think they will provide us with some great laughs.
OH--And I LOVE the fact that Kesha's Tik-Tok has become a theme for anything Hollywood-related, and especially the Oscars.
BEST PICTURE: I think Avatar will steal it, although my dad and a few others think the Hurt Locker is much better. I loved The Blindside, Up in the Air, and Up. But really, for all the work Avatar took, and for all great it truly was, I think it deserves Best Picture.
BEST ACTOR: I want George Clooney to win, for the obvious reasons. Morgan Freeman a close second. In reality, I think Jeremy Renner might take it though.
BEST ACTRESS: Meryl is my girl. I saw every movie she was in this year. If you saw Julie & Julia you would hope she wins just because her performance brought Julia Child back to life. Sandra Bullock was awesome in The Blindside, though I can't seem to get over her performance in All About Steve (the worst move of the year.)
SUPPORTING ACTOR: Eh...not qualified to make this choice.
SUPPORTING ACTRESS: I think Mo'Nique really deserves it. :) I'm pulling for her.
ANIMATED FILM: Up, hands down.
BEST DIRECTOR: James Cameron, 12 years later. Deserves it for all the time he spent.
FILM EDITING: Avatar
MUSICAL SCORE: Up, that music just makes me so happy, then sad, then happy again.
VISUAL EFFECTS: Avatar
WRITING (ADAPTED SCREENPLAY): An Education, Precious, or Up in the Air. I think they all deserve it.

Yep, there you have the only nominees I am qualified to predict. I look so forward to my chance on the Red Carpet (for my original screenplays).

Namaste, y'all.

Fran Fanatic

2010-03-05T12:41:00.000-08:00

I realize I've never mentioned my (major) obsession with Fran Drescher. It all started in 2003, watching re-runs of The Nanny on Lifetime (back when it was on Lifetime). I slowly accumulated both her books (Enter Whining and Cancer Schmancer, both in the VIP Book Section of my bookcase). I somehow got away with writing two research papers on her in high school...I still don't understand how I managed to pull that one off.
ANYWAY. She has this awesome cancer organization called Cancer Schmancer that she started to help women and men alike "Take control of" their bodies and raise government funding for certain tests that can save lives (she was diagnosed with uterine cancer, after a long list of misdiagnoses).
I know that "looking up" to a celebrity is not anything unique or special, but not many people get the opportunity/ies that I have been blessed with. In April 2008 Fran made an appearance at Bloomingdale's at the Beverly Center. Bloomingdale's was donating 10% of the profits that day in the dress department to Cancer Schmancer. You better believe I was the first person there, wearing a Cancer Schmancer shirt, waiting for her to show up.
So you always fantasize about meeting your favorite celebrity, and most of the time it's just a fantasy because you know in real life they would never give you the time of day. Fran Drescher was SO different, which I always knew in the back of my mind. I came prepared for the worst (and the best), imagining she would just sign my shit and move me along. BUT SHE ACTUALLY SPOKE TO ME. And when I spoke to her--something about waiting all my life to meet her and how proud I am to support Cancer Schmancer--she LISTENED. It was one of the greatest moments of my life.
Then, last May, Cancer Schmancer registered for the Revlon Run/Walk in LA. I was living in LA at the time, but even if I had been going to school in Chico where I am now I would have flown in for the event. The announcement for this was that Fran was going to be WALKING WITH THE TEAM. I ordered my shirt, reserved my spot, raised my money, and waited impatiently for the day of days. I came prepared for the worst again, because I just couldn't imagine her walking the entire 3.2 miles with the riff-raff of LA (she walks on water, after all). But, as usual Fran humbled herself and walked the 3.2 miles with us. This was another one of the greatest moments of my life.
So, what I'm trying to say here is that sometimes you just have to know when and how to pick a celebrity that is humble and kind, like Fran. I hope y'all sometime get a chance to meet her, so you can understand that not only her voice is real, but so is her giving heart. :)

And now that I don't know how to possibly make this post sound any more cheesy, I shall leave y'all with a Happy Friday.
Namaste, Bleaders.

A special "Thank Yuh" from Mama Cass Lotus:

2010-03-02T22:57:00.000-08:00

"Whoever you are holding me now in hand,

Without one thing all will be useless,

I give you fair warning before you attempt me further,

I am not what you supposed, but far different."

-Walt Whitman

On March 5th my blog will celebrate its FIRST birthday! It's hard to believe I've been on here for almost a year, posting random shit about my life. It's mostly hard to believe, however, that I actually have followers out there, 36 to be exact. I've watched you all slowly accumulate on here. It started with 2, then all of a sudden I was at 8, then 16, then 25, then 34 for about 2 months, and NOW--36. I think that's a solid number to rack in a year with (although I'm always up for more followers). For the past year I've shared random stories with you about the weird and ridiculous things that happen in my life. It all began one weekend when I was house and pet sitting while my parents were out of town, then morphed into my excitement over moving away to college (moving from LA to Chico), then a few posts about being awesome, then the anti-coffee dilemma, a post about being happy with my then-boyfriend, then a post about Thanksgiving, breaking up with my boyfriend, getting in a car accident, posts about the rain, my hair, a friend, schoolwork, and spring. Whew, makes me sigh just thinking about.

Anyway, I want to say thank y'all for making it a memorable and worthwhile year. I have tried to keep up with a blog for years, and it never really worked out. For some reason this blog just stuck. Perhaps it was the message that it sent out, or maybe it was the followers (see also: you, the Bleader), or maybe it was a combination of the two.
In honor of Live Righteously's first birthday, I had a internet-based metaphysical crisis. I thought for a while about what inspired this blog in the first place, and what kept me coming back. I wasn't sure what this would be in the beginning, and I'm still not sure where this blog is going, hence the Whitman quote at the beginning of this posting. I was originally inspired by a song. "Live righteously" is a line that comes from one of my favorite songs by Jason Mraz called Live High. I've been listening to that song for almost 2 years now, and something about the image of living righteously created a peaceful image in my head. Then I went through a spiritual crisis sometime circa a year ago, and stumbled upon that verse from 1 Timothy (that can also be read in my header): "But you, man of God, flee from all this, and pursue righteousness, godliness, faith, love, endurance and gentleness. Fight the good fight." I know it might be hard to imagine one single line redefining a person's life, but this verse has. It doesn't have everything to do with religion either, but a lot to do with what should guide your life. This is what I come back to, this is what makes me want to keep on keepin' on, as cheesy and crazy and awkward as that sounds. I hope more than anything to share a message of strength and hope with my fellow Bleaders.
A little more about my blog: I try to keep it simple with an easy-on-the-eyes layout and color scheme. Yes, that is me in the header, and it seems to explain a lot about the kind of person I am. I love the ocean, I was born and raised 2 minutes away from it, and I miss it quite terribly. Nearly all the pictures I feature in my postings are ones I've taken, and I hope the ones I haven't taken are recognizable. I refuse to add any sort of advertisement to my page because I feel that it doesn't speak to me as a blogger. I didn't set out to pimp my blog out, I wanted to create an online sanctuary for my thoughts. If you haven't gathered this already, I am a die-hard yogi, a lover of the Earth, a hippie at heart. I think in Spanglish, I write in English, I dream in Spanish with English subtitles. I have a special spot in my heart for a tiny village in Jalisco, Mexico called Mismaloya and when I get done with this whole college thing I plan on moving there just like my mother did in the 60s. I am a fiction writer, and avid reader, and lover of fine (and not so fine) foods. I'm outspoken, ridiculous at times, and soothed by things like sunshine and a big glass of red wine.

What I am really trying to get at here is that I appreciate your support, and look forward to another wonderfully interesting year with my Bleaders and my Blogger.
Namaste, y'all,
Mama Cass Lotus

2010-02-24T22:52:00.000-08:00

To the person I've always carried close, even when she's halfway around the world.

How do we, or I, sum up a part of me?

I start with the statistics:

8 years, English class, projects,

the hibiscus drawings on your notebook,

the platter of strawberries your mother brought us.

Then, later:

the hours, days, months, years

spent at the coffee shop.

The sushi, the drives, the guitars,

the Talks:

the hours pouring out over styrofoam,

the grany coffee and tea.

The warm sunshine--inside and outside.

The times we sat as drivers, passengers,

navigators.

The future seemed so far away, so distant, so fake.

The music comes on and takes me back

and for a split second

I feel whole again.

Because it wasn't what it looked like

It was this whole-ness that

even in the darkest parts of my life

I clung to.

I prided myself, falling back to

this wholeness, the fulfillment.

It was those times we spend doing nothing

that made me feel so alive.

How do we, or I, sum up a part of me?

jflksjfiadfien@##$%^^$#SFSFGSgskfgskfjsklfjakljfa

2010-02-24T13:39:00.000-08:00

I have been writing this (effing) paper, sitting at that very desk, for one of my classes all morning. When I say all morning, I mean 9am to 1:30pm and I'm still not entirely sure where this paper is going. It's supposed to be a letter to my managing editor in which I recommend two poems in a collection that I believe should be published in an anthology we as a class are producing this semester (have I mentioned that I am an editorial assistant for Flume Press up here in Chico?). Anyway, I personally don't care for any of the poems in the collection that I have to choose from, but I somehow narrowed it down to two. I guess I'm just not that big of a fan of poetry (being a FICTION writer) so I have some serious issues with reading shit that poets find so important that I feel lacks plot and structure (okay, I just really prefer fiction).
ANYWAY, this paper is driving me absolutely insane right now. Typically I can spit out an awesome 2-3 page paper in an hour or two, get an A on it, and repeat the cycle. Yesterday, however, I got a paper back that was very similar to the one I'm writing now, with a big B scribbled on the top. A B may not seem like a terrible tragedy, but for someone who lives and breathes to write, a B is highly unacceptable in my book. That is why this paper is taking me so long to produce, because I've lost some of my A-paper-writing steam, and want to do a perfect job to prevent such a horrible thing from happening again.

ACKK. I apologize for this rant, I just need some freedom to write (or type) words I actually want to write.
Namaste.

Truth: I hate exercise.

2010-02-22T01:19:00.000-08:00

Okay, hate is a strong word. And it's not entirely exercise I hate. I LOVE getting outdoors, I love to feel my heart pounding and breathe a little harder. I love the feeling I get after a nice hard workout. The only problem is that I am a lazy sack of shit, and sticking to a routine is extremely difficult for me. I will work out hard 1 or 2 days then take a "break" that can last anywhere from a week to a month. Now, I ride my bike everywhere up here, and if it's raining I walk, but when it comes to a strict exercise routine (one in which I am in dire need of to fight this beer and cheese weight) I kind of drop off the deep end.

Recently, however, I have become addicted to this aerobic dance class called Zumba. It's a cardio dance class set to latin music (see also: Shakira). I went last week for the first time and left dripping from head to toe in sweat--with a smile on my face. It was the greatest experience ever, to leave a workout fully satisfied AND happy. I am such an uncoordinated ass hole I spend most of the class in the back trying to keep a rhythm, but I have found that I have become addicted to the rhythm of that class. I went twice last week and tonight and plan on waking up and going tomorrow at 10am. For someone like me to be excited to wake up early(ish) to go exercise is something remarkable in and of itself.

So, this posting is for all you lazy pieces of shit like me out there who are looking for something fun and beneficial to try. May you all find a place to sweat once a day where you belong.
Namaste.

Sweet Dumpster Dive.

2010-02-20T19:54:00.000-08:00

Dear Trash Collector's of my neighborhood,

I will start by saying that I appreciate you stepping up to the plate at some point in your life and offering to do a job that I myself would never want to do. On the spectrum of jobs, trash collector is probably one of the least glamorous, weighing in at about a 9.899 on a scale of cleanliness with 1 being Oprah's job and 10 being any of the boys of Jackass. I thank you, really, for the concept of your job.

Your recent...activities, however, are rather upsetting. It's not that I don't love being woken up at 7am, it's that I don't like being woken up by the sound of glass bottles being dropped one by one into the bottom of a dumpster. I must say I was a bit surprised when I looked out the window on a day that wasn't even trash day, expecting to see some still-drunk college kid in sweats, but instead I saw one of the two of you in your bright green vests, clamoring the empty bottles into the dumpster.

I also must comment on the way in which the trash finds a way into your trash truck. I understand that some people throw dirt and other things in there, and that it may get stuck to the sides, but beating the metal dumpster with a metal pole is probably not the proper way to go about cleaning it. I'm also not sure how many trips it usually takes to get all the trash out of the dumpster, but 7 seems a bit excessive, don't you think? You may not realize this, but the roar of your trash truck is loud and seems pretty powerful seeing as it causes my windows to rattle, so maybe if you checked the dumpster after the first or second dump you might see how empty it really is.

Lastly, I understand that it's difficult working with people, but the next time you want to argue with your co-worker, please save it for some other venue besides my parking lot. You've probably never been anywhere besides the trash area of my building, but it's quite small and I can hear everything. Your argument, while extremely entertaining, was another thing on the list I did not expect at 7:20am.

So, in conclusion, please refrain from dropping glass bottles slowly into the dumpster, beating the dumpster with a metal pole to remove God-knows-what, dumping the trash 6-7 times while roaring the engine, or getting into a verbal argument in my parking lot (or in the alley behind my building).

Thanks!

Sincerely,

Cassandra Lotus.

[There is something seriously wrong with the trash collectors in my neighborhood].

Skinny Jason?

2010-02-20T09:32:00.000-08:00

Have y'all seen the new Jenny Craig commercials with Jason Alexander? I have to say that, while I do support anyone in their quest to get healthy and slim, I don't think I'm ready to see Jason slim. I really cannot even picture it (although while I was looking up this photo on google images a slim photo of him came up...it just doesn't look right. Who will Jason Alexander be and appeal to slimmed down? Ah, not sure.

Right now I'm satisfying my need to be creeped out, watching my Ghost Adventures addiction. Don't let the gay sounding title turn you off. It's the only ghost hunting show I can bear to watch because the guys who are on it are so legit. They are skeptical that ghosts even exist, and they don't really use that high-tech of equipment. It's just 3 guys, holding their own cameras, and they use night vision (NOT black and white) so they literally are in the pitch black darkness. I really shouldn't watch this show at night, when my roommate is out, and it's raining because I'm kind of terrified of the dark and everything that it covers. Alright, back to my box of wine, dark living room, and scary show.
Happy Friday, y'all. :]
Namaste.

Happy Hair Day. :)

2010-02-17T21:07:00.000-08:00

Got my hair cut today. I have been avoiding this day for a long time, and almost thought to call and cancel in the hours adding up to the chop. See, I've been trying to grow my hair out for a long, long time, and every time that it appears that I'm making progress, some person with scissors who calls herself a professional cuts too much off the bottom. It's been a traumatic experience over the years, so you can see why I was avoiding today like the plague. Luckily for me, I managed to find an AMAZING hair lady who finds herself in the same hairy predicament, trying to grow her hair out, so she used her own personal expertise to give me the perfect cut. I don't feel so bad anymore for my lost inch of hair like I imagined I would. Here's to long, happy, healthy hair! (Off to celebrate with a fresh box of red wine.)

<3
Namaste.

Vuck Falentine's.

2010-02-16T13:21:00.000-08:00

I had such an awesome Valentine's Day it's almost too good to type. It started out peaceful--a nice church service about Righteousness and afterwards some coffee with my friend Karina and her husband. I went home to a large pile of dirty dishes and laundry. I took care of those chores happily. Then came the homework. What a delight to be analyzing Central American climagraphs and poetry about the war in Sudan. I took a 2 hour nap sometime after washing my towels in my bathroom and vacuuming the living room.

When I woke up it was dark. I sauntered to the refrigerator in search of something I could not find. I wanted those peanut butter cookies with the little Hershey's kisses in the middle. I didn't have chocolate and didn't want to go to the grocery store for Hershey's kisses on Valentine's Day (people might get the wrong impression--that I was sharing those kisses with someone else!) so I spooned 3 spoonfuls of peanut butter into a bowl with some brown sugar and oatmeal and flour and (surprisingly) this hit the spot for peanut butter cookies with Hershey's kisses in the middle. Then I got a craving for chips, and even though I cut pretzels and unnecessary carbs out of my diet, I saw this as a special occasion to splurge. I bought cheddar and sour cream Ruffles and some ranch dip. What a glorious snack to go with the 5th of Bacardi I'd been saving for nights like this!
So you must understand that I'm not one of those hopeless romantics (like Bridget Jones) thinking that Valentine's Day will come and wash away all my dire loneliness. The only thing is, that all relationships I've ever attempted to be in since like, 8th grade, seem to end up like this--they either fall apart right before V-Day, or they start the day/week after. Usually I at least have my parents to come home to, to watch something hopelessly romantic with (at least it is some form of human interaction). My roommate, of course, has a very serious boyfriend--and so do all my friends up here. The boy I've been seeing had to work today and tonight, but we aren't even officially dating (I don't think) so who knows if we had even hung out even if he was in town.

So, as the picture shows, my night included Bacardi straight from the bottle, a few cigarettes (which I only smoke when heavily intoxicated and heavily depressed--both of which I happened to be), and my favorite romantic comedies of all time: Forget Paris, Father of the Bride part II, and a small portion of Something's Gotta Give, until I passed out.

What I'm trying to say is that Valentine's Day FUCKING sucks, especially when you're not sure if you're dating someone or just seeing someone and that certain someone happens to be working and all you happen to be doing is drinking and doing homework and posting about your pathetic experience on Blogger.

(So much for living Righteously.)
Namaste.

A thought for a Righteous Sunday...

2010-02-14T14:44:00.000-08:00

"True Righteousness is from the heart, and no one has it apart from God."

(Or, in other words, we can only be Righteous and pursue Righteousness through the One who has created us.)

Namaste.

Spring, Valentine's, and the Olympics.

2010-02-14T01:54:00.000-08:00

I want to start by saying: "IT NEEDS TO BE SPRING ALREADY." Oh, and a Happy Valentine's Day to all the ridiculous people out there.
So, I've been figuring out lately that I'm getting older because html codes are a lot more complicated than they used to be. I finally figured out how to give this page a new look without stealing one of the (really) complicated templates from another site. So now my blog is pretty damn close to everything I could hope for in a blog. I hope y'all enjoy the look. :)
I was bummed to miss the opening ceremonies of the Olympics last night, but I managed to watch (and currently am watching) the speedskating (I am in LOVE with JR Celski). I just love seeing everyone from around the world not only gathering peacefully, but gathering as equals. The Olympics, I think, is the reminder that comes every 2 years (alternating between Winter and Summer games) that shows us that a peaceful world can exist, that we are all the same, and that we will all eventually be judged equally in the end.
I've also been overly emotional lately (a post for later), so watching the Olympics requires a lot of tissues.

Namaste.

The Heart-Shaped Alternative.

2010-02-12T01:31:00.000-08:00

Yesterday I made a vow that I would cut pretzels and other crackers out of my diet, seeing as I consume them in such a ridiculously high volume. But tonight I was feeling lonely (the boy was busy) and tired and in dire need of something--anything--as some sort of comfort. I needed an umbrella because mine seems to be M.I.A., which I discovered on my way out the door today in the middle of a downpour.

So at Walgreens tonight I might have accidently wandered down the illuminated red and pink lined aisles on my way to the register and spent 10 minutes choosing between pink and red M&M's or heart-shaped Reese's. Then I might have had such a difficult time deciding between the two that I might have purchased both. Then, I might have come home, realized that there were a few episodes of Real Housewives of Orange County to catch up on, plus a marathon of The Nanny that lasts till 6am. So, I've been sitting here on the sofa, with my two bags of chocolate and guilty TV pleasures, and I am finding it really easy to not eat pretzels or crackers.

Except, of course, now I realize it probably would be a better idea to be eating an entire bag of pretzels, instead of consuming two whole bags of Reese's and M&M's. (But I have to say that there are few things that make me happier than heart-shaped Reese's--and unlimited episodes of The Nanny.)

Ahh, so I thought I would report that maybe cutting pretzels and crackers out of my diet wasn't such a good idea, because with an overactive appetite like mine, I can and will find an alternative.

Back to my Nanny episodes...(remind me to tell y'all about my dire obsession with that amazing TV show in a later post).
Namaste, Bleaders!

RIP: Pretzels

2010-02-10T09:33:00.000-08:00

A couple weeks ago my friend Katie decided she was going to cut all unnecessary sugars out of her diet. I work with her at lululemon when I'm back in LA, and surprisingly enough, our back room is full of all kinds of temptation-filled treats (especially around the holidays). Things like muffins, homebaked cookies, chocolate covered espresso beans, and (my personal favorite) Popchips. While it doesn't seem right that an athletic apparel company would supply its team with all kinds of sugary treats, you have to understand that most of the team is able to exert a painful amount of self-control (I am NOT one of them, obviously) and not eat the sugary, gooey, delicious treats.

So anyway, my friend Katie and I were talking about her plans to cut sugar out of her diet, except for things like fruit and other natural sugars. Processed sugar was the bad word, and she managed to cut it out of her diet for a few weeks. When she introduced it back into her diet, slowly, she realized the true meaning of the word "treat" and how it's only a treat if it's used sparingly.

So what does this have to do with a fattie like me, you may be wondering? My story is a little different. Being away from the backroom full of cookies, I am not exposed to a lot of sweets (mainly because I don't let myself buy them), but I am around a lot of other unnecessary carbs. This ranges to anything from bread to my personal weakness crackers, to more specifically pretzels. It's not the Nutrition Facts of pretzels that make them so bad for me, though, it's the quantity in which I shovel them in my mouth. I can sit on any hunover or, sadly, non-hungover morning and finish off half a bag of pretzels (and most mornings I've already consumed half the bag the night before in some sort of drunken tirade so I am left with the other half of the bag PLUS the salty crystals that hang out near the bottom).

So, in honor of Katie's quest to cut processed sugars out of her diet, I am going to make a pledge here on live Blog to cut pretzels and other crackers out of my diet. This will not be an easy task, you must understand that, but I feel that maybe my life without pretzels will be just as rewarding as my life without Facebook.

I'll keep y'all in the loop of this anti-carb quest.

Namaste.

Hike Righteously.

2010-02-07T18:02:00.000-08:00

In an effort to burn off some of the beer and cheese that I've been consuming lately (AND get to know a certain boy that I've been seeing a little bit better) I have spent the last two days hiking. The first hike was near this certain boy's hometown, and the second one was my choice: feather falls. I had such a blast both days, but today I woke up feeling like an old lady--sore and in dire need of soaking in a hot bath to relax my poor muscles.

The first hike, as previously mentioned, was in this certain boy's hometown, a small--and I do mean small--town outside of Sacramento called Newcastle. It's such a treat to go to school so far away from home, because you meet people who are from such diverse places. The town was so small, in fact, that to get there he told me just to Mapquest Newcastle, CA and I would be directed almost directly to his home. This got me thinking about where I'm from. (If I told you to Mapquest Redondo Beach, CA it would tell you to take the Inglewood Avenue exit of the 405. Inglewood Avenue is Redondo Beach, but it is no where near my house in South Redondo, or near the beach for that matter.)

Anyway, the hike was amazing. The next day was my choice where we hiked, and I chose Feather Falls. I had been there twice in the summer, and I have to say that winter was a lot more pleasant to hike in. The weather was cool (50 degrees as opposed to 100+ degrees like it was in the summer), and the foliage was so GREEN.

What I love about hiking is that it's in a world of its own. It's not like running where I just have to concentrate on getting enough oxygen, and not being able to enjoy the scenery. And it's not like walking which gets a little monotonous. Hiking lets you explore your inner strengths, lets you stop and smell the flowers, enjoy the sounds of nature. Hiking is the only time where I get to just be in nature--not one with nature, just be in nature, be swallowed whole by it.

So while every part of my body probably can't agree, I truly had an amazing time hiking this weekend, and hope to go on many more in the months to come (and hopefully with the same guy).

Namaste, friends.

And today...

2010-02-05T16:47:00.000-08:00

Today was just one of those gray, cold, boring days where I find myself dreaming of home, the coast, sunsets, fireplaces, and my family back in Redondo Beach.

Re-Emphasizing the Stereotype.

2010-02-02T22:07:00.000-08:00

Or in other words, If you can't beat 'em, join 'em.

It was last Thursday when it hit me. I went to the grocery store to pick up some red cups for the beer pong tournament some friends and I were hosting, and I thought I was the most original person ever, to be partying on a Thursday night. The grocery store had something else to say about that.

The grocery store was bustling with college kids (which makes sense because it's a college town, but seriously). There were swarms of us, people in heels carrying 30 packs and handles of vodka and red cups to the register. Usually I would be embarrassed to be caught alone in a grocery store surrounded by college kids buying alcohol--usually it's something to do with the fact that I'm not partying with them--but that's when it hit me: I was one of them. It was an amazing feeling, to be taking part in Thirsty Thursday.

And that is why I post this picture with pride, because for the first time in my life I am proud and happy to be a part of a stereotype, not just standing aside watching the stereotype (and my life) pass me by.

It's taken me 3 years, 3 colleges, and 3 months, but here I finally am.

Namaste, fellow bleaders.

Hope for all of us.

2010-02-01T12:24:00.000-08:00

"Hope is the essence of all good men."- Ethan Canin

I've been doing a lot of thinking, a lot of meditating, a lot of praying lately for the tragic events that took place in Haiti, and the on going efforts. It's amazing the overall kindness that the world can bring forth in a time of need. It makes me sad to think that it takes something so awful to remind us that there still are good people out there. I've been obsessed with this video lately...the song seems so appropriate right now. Justin Timberlake performed this song at the Hope for Haiti Now benefit and its originally by Leonard Cohen, but I think this version is much more beautiful.

Just listen to the lyrics, maybe you'll be filled with hope too.

Namaste.

Me, Meryl, and a pair of stolen glasses.

2010-01-28T09:00:00.000-08:00

I had the craziest dream last night, I have to share it with y'all. First off, you must know that I am in the market for a new pair of glasses because my Oscar de la Renta frames have been bothering me lately. I have become obsessed with paying close attention to people's glasses frames--from anyone in my classes to people on the street, I observe everyone's glasses that I come into contact with.

Anyway, in my dream last night I ran into Meryl Streep in public. It wasn't just any Meryl Streep, it was the Devil Wears Prada Miranda Priestly version of Meryl. She caught me eyeing her (but I was really lusting after her glasses frames because they were the most spectacular pair I'd ever seen) and she frowned at me. "Can I help you?" She asked. "I love your glasses," I told her. "What brand are they?" And with abbreviated sighs she went on to tell me, "What brand do you think they are?" She took them off and I saw that they said Vogue (and this made perfect sense to me, because in my dream Miranda Priestly was the editor-in-chief of Vogue Magazine instead of Runway Magazine). I knew only one thing, and that was that I had to have these magnificent frames. "Where did you get them?" I asked. And this is when Miranda Priestly, aka Meryl Streep, proceeded to grab me by the arm and we jumped through to another room where they kept all the clothes for the photo shoots and she took out a shoebox full of frames identical to the ones she was wearing, but in all different colors. "Take what you want," she said. "No one will notice, I do it all the time." This is how my dream ended, with me finding the perfect pair of glasses frames by way of the Miranda Priestly version of Meryl Streep who stole them.

What does it all mean?

Namaste.

Sun Shiny Day

2010-01-27T23:44:00.000-08:00

Something amazing happened today during my literary editing and publishing class. I have been back in Chico now for a few days, and the sun has been M.I.A. and rain has basically been running the show. My bad-ass professor (who I LOVE) was going into heavy detail about the requirements and expectations for the course around 4 this afternoon when she stopped mid-sentence with her eyes glued to the window. "Everyone, everyone turn around, the sun is shining!" So, just when I thought I would never see the sun again, or have the puddles dry up long enough to ride my bike to class, the sun came out and reminded me everything is going to be all right.

I've been writing on here for almost a year now, and I realize that I allude often to "Chico", "home", "LA", etc, and I am here to set the record straight (you know, just in case anyone is an avid follower and has been confused--it's the sunshine that's inspired this wishful thinking part of me). Anyway, I am from Redondo Beach, which is in LA. This is where my heart truly belongs, but I am currently trying this living experiment called "going away to college" in Chico, CA. I transfered as a junior last fall and have been enjoying every moment away. For those completely unaware, Chico is 2 hours north of Sacramento, a good 9 hours away from LA. It is NOT Chino--there is a rather large difference (so, no, I do NOT go to school in that place that Ryan was from on The O.C.). Better yet, I have a map for you...Where is Chico? So you can get a better feel for where I'm from and where I go to school.

Any way, this post is dedicated to the sun, with the utmost optimism for more days like today, where the sun graces us with its presence and I am able to appreciate it.

Namaste, fellow Bleaders.

"Eyes wide open, always hoping for the sun." -Norah Jones

Leaving Los Angeles (with a sense of Gratitude).

2010-01-21T10:34:00.000-08:00

It's been a fantastic 5 weeks being back home in LA with my parents and friends. 5 weeks feels a lot longer than I imagined it would, which isn't a bad or a good thing. I was so blessed this holiday season to get to go back and work at lululemon and spend time with my favorite lulus. I managed to break up with my boyfriend, get in a car accident, and clear up a speeding ticket. I managed to spend every last cent of my paychecks, acquire a beta fish named Christine, and gain 10 pounds (of cookie muscle). I was able to visit with my favorite uncles up in West Hollywood, my favorite aunt from West Virginia, and my best friend who goes to school in New York. I yoga'd, trapeze'd, and drank fine wine to my heart's desire. I watched plenty of trashy TV (newest addiction: Operation Repo on TruTV), catch up on some long lost reading, and keep my room a constant chaotic mess. And in the midst of all this, I look forward to going back to Chico and creating more adventures for myself. I look forward to once again being surrounded by college kids my age. I look forward to weekends full of kegs and beer pong. I look forward to fresh faces in class and around campus. I look forward to all of it. So while I will miss my friends and family back in LA, I realize how truly blessed I am more than anything to feel as if I truly belong to 2 very opposite places, and to have them both welcome me back when the time is appropriate.

So I leave LA with a last and final amazing thought:

"You can kiss your family and friends good-bye and put miles between you, but at the same time you carry them with you in your heart, your mind, your stomach because you do not just live in a world, but a world lives in you." -Frederick Buechner

Namaste, fellow Bleaders.

Sir Felix (For my lovely fat cat).

2010-01-20T15:54:00.000-08:00

Black and white

A ball of black and white

Shoved in the back of a tiny cat carrier

(This is the first thing I remember about you).

I remember reaching in and pulling you out

I remember seeing your six toes

I knew I had to have you.

The day we lost you

Then found you sick--

bleeding, hurt, marled.

I still remember how terrified I was

How it shook through my bones

Like an earthquake.

I remember the day we brought you back home

One less tooth

Still my baby.

I think about all this as you lay across my feet,

vibrating the bed with your thunderous purrs.

All I have to do is look at you and you start.

You've been here, seen it all.

You've seen us through all pets--

the 2 dogs, the 3 more cats.

You've been here, you've accepted.

Ten years, or is it really eleven?

Eleven years and

Still my baby.

I think about all this as you saunter your

body up the bed to my face,

As you lay next to me taking up the

rest of the bed.

I fear what lies ahead

how many more pets you'll see us through.

But you--what do you fear?

(Besides strangers, and loud noises, and my guitar "playing").

You do not fear the Future.

You instead remind me, as I scratch your

chin, your face, behind your ears,

down your back, up your tail;

You remind me as you reach out with your big paw toward my hand;

You remind me as you lick my fingers with your sandpaper tongue,

rough yet somehow gentle;

You remind me, Sir Felix,

to just appreciate the moment.

(And for that I love you most.)

Rainy Day Blues?

2010-01-20T12:41:00.000-08:00

Come to think of it, I actually wouldn't call it the blues, because I am loving this rain. For those unaware, Los Angeles is being hit with a series of "serious" rainstorms for the past couple of days. While rain isn't as terrifying or intimidating as East Coast blizzards or Middle-American tornados, rain is something LA does not get a lot of. Because we don't get a lot of it, not many know exactly how to act in it, leaving room for about one hundred thousand problems to arise.

Anyway, I wouldn't call the way I feel right now, as the rain gushes down the roof and hits the patio outside my window creating a loud rhythmic sound, I wouldn't call it the blues. I'm sitting on my bed in my pjs (ie: my favorite pair of lululemon cotton pants, and a Chico State sweatshirt) and have no plans to move from this spot today. I have plenty to do, things like clean Christine's, my beta-fish, tank because she's been sitting in murky water for a couple days now. Or finish up my online traffic school (for the LAME ticket receive in October for going 80 in a 70 zone on a rural freeway). I could start packing, seeing as I leave Los Angeles and head back north to Chico on Sunday for the next 4 months. I could, and should, even shower and make life more pleasant for anyone in the house.

Instead I just sit here, reading. I've been reading a book titled This is not Chick Lit lately. It's a compilation of short stories written by women writers. Aside from it being amazing, I am loving, no LOVING, the fact that I can sit around and kill time by reading a book of my choosing. Ever since I completed The Shack last week, I've been in this craze to just read. Classes start for me next week, and being the English major that I am, I am expecting a semester full of books and articles that I may or may not enjoy, but I nonetheless do not choose. So, here on this rainy day, I am choosing to spend it in bed reading a book of my own choosing.

Hope y'all are staying dry and safe!

Namaste

The poodle and The Shack.

2010-01-13T17:56:00.000-08:00

"The worth of a book is to be measured by what you can carry away from it."

-James Bryce

I cannot put this book down, but I still have about 50 pages to go. As previously mentioned, The Shack by William Paul Young is one of the most eye-opening and life changing books I have ever read. Each and every word makes me think and meditate deeply, so reading it takes a little longer than I would imagine. So, this book is worth more than gold judging by the amount I am carrying away from it.

If y'all get the chance, I suggest reading it. It was transform your entire life, I promise.

Namaste.

(PS--That's my poodle, well my mother's poodle, sitting next to me. Her name is Layla. :] )

Back to the mat.

2010-01-11T22:53:00.000-08:00

Every Monday afternoon last year I found myself in my favorite power yoga class lead by my favorite yoga instructor. This class would set my week off on a calm foot, and without it I found myself in a frenzied state of mind. This class was like the coffee of my week: the first thing I reached for to get my mind and body focused for the upcoming week.

I went back to this class this evening. It had been a long, long time since I'd even unrolled my yoga mat, let alone practiced alongside my favorite instructor. Sometimes she refers to our yoga mats as a diving board, and by walking to the front of it you prepare yourself to take a dive into the deepest parts of your soul. As we went through the practice today, something amazing happened. It was the same rotations I used to practice, the same Vriksha-asana and the same Surya Namaskara A & B, except for one thing: I was totally and completely out of breath after each pose. The older, stronger version of myself circa 6 months ago would never have had this problem because the older, stronger version of myself used to practice religiously at least once a week.

But today I was legitimately out of breath. Not only that, I was amazed by how difficult the class really was. It was almost as if I had gone away and come back an outsider, with a fresh set of eyes and muscles. I went into the class thinking that I was out of shape, I left knowing that I was out of shape. I was shocked that my muscles that I had spent a year and a half acquiring through yoga managed to deflate in 4 months since I've moved away. Now, don't get me wrong. I truly enjoyed the class and plan on going again next week, it just totally kicked my ass.

So, here's another thing to add to my makeshift list of simple pleasures to invite back into my life: the simple pleasure of not taking my yoga muscles for granted. I guess I had this coming, I guess it was my own body getting back at me for neglecting it and not practicing. But the best part is the comfort knowing that my mat is always available, always calling, and always willing to provide me with that extra spring (if you will) before diving into the farthest reaches of the beaches of my freshly awakened soul.

Namaste

(PS- There really are true bleaders of my blog out there! Check out where I was footnoted for my use of the word "snuggify" on a Purdue Grammar Gang blog . I feel so special!)

Inspired.

2010-01-09T21:19:00.000-08:00

I've been inspired by so many things lately it's been hard for me to narrow it down to just one blog post. With my life de-Facebooked, I was hoping to take the time usually spent on that website to update this blog more often, but believe it or not, I have found many more endeavors (that do NOT involve the internet) this past week. I've been working (lululemon), I went trapezing (a post about fears for later), I went sight-seeing in downtown (my aunt is in town, so we get our touristic thirst quenched once a year when she comes to visit), I've been sleeping (a lot), and most importantly I've been reading.

I haven't had an actual moment to spend reading something I choose in a long, long time (not since I took an "intellectual health day" back in October and finished reading Julie & Julia). But the book I'm currently reading, The Shack by William P. Young, is arguably one of the most inspiring and truly eye-opening books I have ever read (again, a post for later, once I've completed it and let my brain fully digest). Reading for pleasure is being added to this makeshift list I am compiling of simple pleasures I want to pay more attention to and invite back into my life in 2010.

My friend Katie is my original inspiration for this idea. A couple days ago she compiled her own list of simple pleasures that she wants to include in her life, and I realized that I want to make my own as well.

The feeling of opening up a book and not being able to put it down (and staying up till sunrise still clinging to each word) is one that I wish I could always carry with me. Even simpler, I have an amazing balcony with these expensive all-weather rocking chairs that gets direct sunlight for 6 hours during the mid-morning through mid-afternoon. I want to sit out there on those comfy expensive chairs, book or no book in hand, and just truly be. I want to open up my blinds in my room every morning to let in natural light. I want to make my bed and keep my room walkable so I can enjoy the space I have. I want to buy magnets so I can display things on the refrigerator. I want to print pictures up and hold them in my hands and then proceed to put them in a photo album.

I will compile my official list and post it a bit later. For now, fellow bleaders, I shall leave you with an interesting concept to ponder:

"Even should we find another Eden, we would not be fit to enjoy it perfectly nor stay in it forever." -Henry Van Dyke

Namaste

My first full day de-Facebooked

2010-01-02T10:03:00.000-08:00

I woke up this morning anxious. I'm not exactly sure why. I went to the pantry, took out the coffee. The only coffee we have left is this coffee one of my friends brought me from Costa Rica. I'll have to tell him I tried it and it was delicious. As I was scooping the coffee into the filter I realized to tell him thank you that would involve writing on his Facebook wall because I don't have his number. After texting a couple friends that I thought might have it, I learned that none of us have his number. Our only means of communication was via Facebook, and with that cut out of my life, I am missing out on communicating with a good friend (but obviously not that good seeing as I don't have his number).

I began summing up the people I do not have any other contact with save Facebook, and the list is quite long. This whole no Facebook business is a little difficult, but I didn't think it would be easy, that's why I deleted it in the first place. So I shall keep on truckin' through my days without Facebook. (How pathetic do I sound?)

Other (better) things I did today that did NOT involve Facebook:

Went to work (at lululemon)
Went to Whole Foods and purchased some lemon zest hummus and carrot sticks
Consumed lemon zest hummus and carrot sticks
Got coffee with a best friend
Drove through Santa Monica and Malibu with said best friend
Finished this blog post and came to the conclusion that today was just as fulfilling as a day with Facebook, and I am perfectly fine without it.

Good night, fellow Bleaders (blog+readers=bleaders).

Namaste

New Year, New Resolve

2010-01-01T20:22:00.001-08:00

FYI: I am NOT to be confused with one of those people who believes that at the stroke of midnight on New Year's Eve the entire weight of the past year magically disappears and you transform into a brand new individual. I won't lie to you by saying that I have never bought into that, either. But for many years now I have come to realize that New Year's and the promise it holds is just as overrated as salad.

Over the past few December 31st's, beginning with the 12.31.2006 New Year, instead of making resolutions, I have made resolves. In that particular New Year I made a resolve to be strong. This particular resolve backfired on me because by becoming strong I turned to stone. I became a heartless emotionless person and lost many parts of myself I am still trying to retrieve. On the 12.31.07 New Year I made a resolve to open my heart to everything. This turned me into an overly emotional person who everything in the entire world brought down. I lost even more of myself. Then last year, 12.31.08, I made a resolve to not give a shit. Those were my exact words: "In the year 2009, I will not give a shit". 2009 opened some amazing doors that I never imagined would be available for me. It was difficult, I struggled, but I found myself last night at the stroke of midnight not wishing this past year away (for the first time in, EVER), but rather kissing it goodbye and embracing not only another year, but another decade.

So what is my resolve for 2010, you may be wondering? I decided not to make a resolve this year, but instead physically take a public step in the clarifying direction. So, this morning at approximately 10:30 am, I deleted my Facebook. This may not sound like an amazing feat for you, but for me this is a remarkable triumph.

William Wordsworth once wrote a poem titled The World is Too Much With Us. In it he details how modern city life, although written in 1807, keeps us from experiencing nature, which should be our ultimate guide. These words, "the world is too much with us" really struck me personally. I once (up until yesterday) spent a disgusting amount of time on FB, posting pictures no one cares to see, updating my status with nonsense like "I just ate the most delicious turkey sandwich known to mankind 3 minutes ago", and Facebook Stalking old friends (which has been taking up most of my time).

I guess we can call it a resolve. I have resolved to de-Facebook my life. I will not put a time limit on this. I would like to say forever, and if that works so be it. I just want to see what life is like without depending on Facebook to do the dirty work of reconnection for me. I want to connect to people via good old telephone conversations rather than spending 5 seconds to post something like "Bitch, I miss you" on their wall (Because really, a text message of that is so much more personal). I want to take pictures and print them up and put them on my actual wall in my room to look at and remind me of who I have in my life and what I've done rather than posting them on some virtual wall that the entire world (literally) can access. Most importantly, I want to see if I can communicate with people these days without the comfort of a middle-man like Facebook to do it for me.

So I will keep you updated on this quest. For the few of you who have been reading since October, I have given up serious luxuries before (see also: coffee), and that worked for about 3 days. But Facebook is different, it's not a stimulant. It's a tool that got way out of control in my life. Maybe I'll be able to finish writing a few stories, or a few (of the many) half-read books sitting on my make-shift bookshelf.

Happy 2010, y'all. Let me know what your resolves, if any, are. :]

O, Promised Land

2009-12-04T00:10:00.000-08:00

A year and a half ago I had a vision: Family, friends, fresh lobster, cold beer, hot tortillas, Thanksgiving Day spent in Yelapa.

Yelapa is a tiny, tiny jungle town outside of Mismaloya, which is a tiny village outside of Puerto Vallarta. It is so small and so isolated by jungle and beach that they never built roads to it, so the only way to get to it is to take a water taxi there. A wide, beautiful beach greets you upon arrival followed by the friendly restaurant owners. There are 3 restaurants in all of Yelapa, on the beach. You order your fish, they go catch it for you. There is a tiny town that you can walk through as well, and it leads to a beautiful waterfall.

Anyway, I had this vision of the lobster, the beer, the family and friends, the beach. And sitting at the plastic table in the sand last Thursday I looked up from my plate, scanned the table and the faces of all present, took a long gulp of my beer, and realized that my vision came true. It was the first of (hopefully) many Thanksgivings spent here in Paradise.

I was gone last week to give Thanksgiving it's proper due here, because other than the eating and socializing, Thanksgiving's meaning is what makes it such an important holiday. I've been giving it its proper week-long due of what I am truly thankful for in my life, kind of like an inventory check, if you will:

I am thankful for my parents. [This probably sounds lame or rehearsed, but I am so blessed to be given such understanding and loving parents. My dad and I are like best friends, he gets me and understands me. My mother is crazy and eccentric, and I see a lot of her in myself. I am thankful they are still healthy, and I am thankful we are all still together and truly happy when we get to see each other.] I am thankful for the relationship I am (finally) in right now. [It's only taken us 3 1/2 years to get it right, but he and I are here and making this work. Complicated doesn't begin to describe it, but with all our frustrations and the distance, I am happy to say I am happy with it.] I am thankful for the place I am at right now. [I am going to a great school in an interesting little town, and while living up here in the middle of nowhere gets to me sometimes, I realize that never in my life will I ever have the chance to live in such a rural place again, and I am embracing the changing seasons and colors, the rain and the latitude.] I am thankful for my friends, new and old. [Again, rehearsed, but if I went out to describe each and every person I am thankful for in my life no one would continue to read (that is, if you still are). But truly, and most sincerely, I love each and every person in my life right now--near and far.] And lastly, I am thankful for myself. [Note that this is not a narcissistic statement in any way, it's taken me years to face myself and come to terms with myself and look myself in the mirror and accept myself for who I am. It is a daily struggle, to be happy with myself, but I am here, and I am loving the skin I am in (even if this skin is a little stretched lately due to the 10 pounds I put on eating my body weight in guacamole and margaritas in Mexico).]

I hope you all had a blessed Thanksgiving. :]

Snuggify your life.

2009-11-08T23:04:00.000-08:00

I have to admit, I fell in love with the Snuggie the moment I saw it on a late night infomercial. The idea, the color, the name--everything instantly made sense to me. I knew I had to have one. The only problem was, I bought it in the height of summer, and brought it with me up here to the 100+ degree weather. I kept it on the highest shelf in my closet for months, anticipating cold weather, wondering if it would ever be cold enough to wear my blue Snuggie.

Now it's freezing up here in Chico, especially in the morning. I wake up in my Snuggie (I go to bed with it on, and snuggle into it AND my bed) and wear it to the kitchen to make breakfast. I get to take my bed with me. It's like still being snuggled warm in bed, but also being productive at the same time.

And seriously, what can't a Snuggie do? They have a color and print for everyone (I bought my friend a leopard print one as a graduation present). They have runway shows featuring Snuggies, every store has a large Snuggie display. They're almost too cheap to knock-off, so the brand sticks. And while it is kind of sort of maybe just a really long robe worn backwards without a rope, it is the best purchase I have arguably ever made. So what are you waiting for? Snuggify your life, see what happens. If anything, I promise you'll find yourself warm and toasty.

Healing for November.

2009-11-06T23:54:00.000-08:00

The Zen Tarot card that I chose today for November (although a few days late) was Healing.

It is a time when the deeply buried wounds of the past are coming to the surface, ready and available to be healed. The figure in the card is naked, vulnerable, open to the loving touch of existence. The aura around his body is full of light, and the quality of relaxation, caring and love that surrounds him is dissolving his struggle and suffering. When we are under the healing influence of the King of Water we are no longer hiding from ourselves or others. In this attitude of openness and acceptance we can be healed, and help others also to be healthy and whole.

For November, I am faced with this Healing card. Here is my take on Healing: When I was home last weekend I reconnected with a part of my past that for a long time was shut out. We reconnected, over lunch, over a long conversation ("Among the porcelain, among some talk of you and me"*), and came to no immediate conclusion--just a simple one. It's so nice to have this certain person back in my life, so nice for me to be back in his. And yet, after all this, we are literally stuck. We find ourselves worlds away, in different time zones. And yet there's something that makes me look far beyond all the specifics, all the mountains and valleys and vines (covered in thorns) that stand in our way, to a place far beyond this distance. I wish I could have stayed longer, hovering over our lunch, wrapped up in each other's embrace. And I told him this, "I wish, I wish we had more time." And he said something that stuck with me. He said, "Even the short time we had was well worth it." And it was.

So I think of this Healing card, and maybe I'm looking too deep into this. But it's the Osho Zen Tarot cards, and we're allowed to mold them to our specific needs. It is a time when the deeply buried wounds of the past are coming to the surface, ready and available to be healed. I cannot spend another year pretending he doesn't exist, pretending I don't hold these feelings for him. He most certainly is a part of my past, and the road that's gotten us here has been far from perfect. I wouldn't necessarily call our past a wound, rather a cut that never healed. That we still carry this torch for each other, maybe we are wounded together. Here's to hoping we heal together too.

*Reference, as ever, to T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock.

How the sea can set you free.

2009-11-05T11:00:00.000-08:00

"A man travels the world over in search of what he needs and returns home to find it."

-George Moore

I have lived by the sea all my life, and never truly smelled the ocean. I knew it existed, the salty scent, but I never traveled anywhere that there wasn't an ocean. I never enjoyed the smell, because I didn't know any other scent.

I have been living away from the ocean for 2 1/2 months now. I live 9 hours north east of home. Before now, I had never even traveled 2 1/2 days without being near an ocean. Last weekend I paid a short visit to the coast. I went to Santa Barbara for Halloween (for those not familiar with Santa Barbara on Halloween, try picturing 100,000 intoxicated college students dressed in little more than cheap polyester costumes). I cannot tell you what happened Friday night, but I woke up Saturday morning on a bathroom floor. Most mornings when I wake up on a bathroom floor (believe me, it doesn't happen very often, but it happens) I try to curl myself into a tiny ball and pray the universe swallows me whole.

Instead of wishing death upon myself this particular very hung over morning, I simply walked out my friend's front door (which hangs over a cliff by the sea) and took a deep breath. That was all it took, a deep breath. I smelled the ocean for the first time, and it set me free.

Later that weekend I drove home to Redondo Beach. I walked the two minutes from my home to the ocean and sat on a bench for a long time. I came to the ocean, and took a deep breath, and another, and another. I got high off the sea. It was a magical and moving experience.

I miss home, yes I do. But I love living away from it for the sole purpose that if I had never gone away from the sea, I never would have been able to come back and smell it. It's a powerful thing, the ocean. It roars and carries you places. Let's just hope it carries you back home.

Coffee, back from the dead.

2009-10-28T09:14:00.000-07:00

Okay, so I had coffee this morning. I don't exactly know how it happened. I definitely never saw it happening. One second I snuggled into my nice warm Snuggie (I understand fully and completely where the name comes from--a post for later) and the next I was scooping Hawaiian hazelnut roast into my coffee pot. And another second I was gulping it down with my oatmeal and turkey sausage.

And guess what? I feel great. I feel more than great. I'm shaky and smily and it tasted so good, I had two cups. So I guess sometimes you just have to stick it to the doctor. Sometimes you have to say, "Look, I understand your reasoning, but maybe you should try cutting something else out of my universe, like brussels sprouts, or even soy milk." I think I would be perfectly fine if I never had to lay my eyes on brussels sprouts again. And soy milk, well, I've gone 2 years without dairy milk, I think I could find a way to manage without soy milk.

I cannot, however, find a way to manage without coffee, as the past 7 days have proven.

Oh, coffee, how I love thee.

Half-read but not forgotten.

2009-10-28T00:52:00.001-07:00

Today I did something not entirely academically responsible, but intellectually rewarding nonetheless. I woke up around 9, rolled out of bed, ate breakfast ( a COFFEE FREE one, I might add), and then sauntered back to my room. I decided class was not going to happen today. Instead, I stared at my makeshift bookcase (a 2-shelved wicker unit that has served various purposes throughout the years such as an over-the-toilet toilet paper storage facility and a wall decoration for my mother's glass parrot collection--before I clepto'd it and brought it out of the house with me) and looked at all the books wedged in there (the shelves are short, and not exactly wide enough to house all the books I accumulate and carry with me, hence the term "makeshift").

I have this really nasty habit of starting books, diving into them really, and getting halfway through, then going and starting another book. "You can read 2 books at once, Cassandra," I always tell myself. But then I become so involved in the first half of my new book that the old book is quickly placed on the makeshift wicker bookshelf. I repeat this scenario, too, so that my makeshift bookcase is littered with a bunch of half-read books. Today I decided to put my foot down. Today I set out to finish Julie and Julia by Julie Powell (If you recall, this was one of my goals for SEPTEMBER). And guess what? I powered through those last 157 pages, and even read the preview of her next book (which I promised myself I would not buy until I have taken the same action with a few more half-read but not forgotten books).

And it was so anticlimactic, in a tasteful way. I didn't feel overwhelmingly satisfied with my small but oh-so-overdue feat. I didn't even care too much for the ending of the book (I finished the book only because I feel like I owed it to both Julia Child and Julie Powell, but I honestly was getting sick of reading about butter and oil and expensive meats, and more butter). But something important emerged within today: I set my mind to something so seemingly small (although after reading 157 pages about butter made me feel a bit heavy) and actually accomplished it. In September I made a statement (see also: Goals for September) that I wanted to be "better". Even I am amazed by my own simplicity and simultaneous ambiguity. So I guess being "better" isn't extreme. It's small and simple and buttery and requires little more than some alone time, a blanket, and a half-read but not forgotten book from your makeshift bookcase.

[6 days with caffeine, and I'm surprisingly being productive].

Salute your Futility.

2009-10-26T23:35:00.000-07:00

I have 2 favorite words: Salute and Futility. I don't know why these two words attract me so, but they seem to play common themes in my life.

Salute: n. formal gesture, act, etc. expressing respect

When I think of the word salute, I think of Sun Salutations in yoga, and how we are essentially respecting the sun, and a peaceful feeling strikes me somewhere deep in my soul. This peaceful feeling resonates throughout my head and heart, and I dig deeper. I think of why I practice yoga. I practice to salute myself, to respect my body, my mind, and my soul. I think of a salutation as the highest form of love that you can offer yourself, and everyone deserves to be saluted by themselves. If you cannot respect yourself, how can you expect someone else to?

Futility: n. useless

I think of all the useless jargon that goes on in my own life, and in the world, and it doesn't make me angry. It makes me smile thinking that enough useless futile actions and objects had to add up in the world so that this adjective--futile--transformed into a noun, futility. And yet, you cannot grasp futility, you can hardly spot it. It's an essence, it keeps up the pretense. It keeps us from the Truth.

The word futility reminds me of my favorite book, The Heart of Darkness by Joseph Conrad. I cannot explain what kind of emotions run wild within me when I read this book, but it is essentially one man's naive quest for adventure amidst danger and lies. It doesn't sound uplifting, and I guess it really isn't, but for someone who has gone deep within my own dark heart, into the plumbing of my soul and found myself hovering on a rock there (a post for later), this book changed my life.

I cannot explain any more than you now know as to why these two words are my favorite, when there are so many other words out there. I just love them, and I have chosen to share them with you. Salute your Futility, and tell me what happens.

:) Namaste.

RIP Coffee: A Sad Tale

2009-10-19T19:01:00.001-07:00

"A man should go out swinging an axe. Instead, I shall go out in a coffee shop."

-Ethan Canin

At least, this is the way I always imagined I would go out. I'm 20, and I have imagined for years now that my life would be spent intellectually stimulated in a warm coffee shop, sipping caffeine and gorging on the words of classic authors. I have spent so many years of my life doing this (See also: my last posting). It's not a sad existence. I love nothing more than a good book, a comfy mismatched chair, and a venti Americano (not sweet, but creamy).

My 6th grade teacher once warned us 11 year olds never to become addicted to coffee. She told us it was one of the worst things you can be addicted to because it's not socially unacceptable like smoking or excessive drinking. In fact, coffee seems to be one of the most social activities a person can engage in. "Just consider yourselves warned," she said. Why didn't I listen? And even worse, why do I still remember those words now, when it's too late?

I've been sick for a few weeks now. I won't go into details. But I will ask this: What's a girl who has spent the past 6 years drinking 2 cups of coffee every morning to do when her doctor tells her she cannot drink coffee any longer? I'm trying to figure this out. I've been 5 days without coffee. 5 days out of the 2,190 past days that I have spent drinking it in like air. And already I have the urge to punch a hole through someone.

"Cassandra, if you want to live forever, you need to stop drinking coffee," she (the doctor) said. Okay, so maybe those weren't her exact words or reasonings, but she did essentially tell me that coffee is going to cause serious health problems for me if I continue to consume it the way I do.

It's been 5 days, and last night I had my first true anti-caffeinated meltdown. My roommate can vouch for you. The day before I went to the doctor I purchased an expensive Hawaiian Hazelnut roast. Last night I found it in it's glory, just sitting there in the dark pantry, taunting me. My coffee pot too. It just sits there, empty, barren, clean (when is a coffee pot ever truly clean?), unplugged. I started crying for the sake of coffee, for the sake of my body rejecting the one thing it craves. I started hyperventilating, looking too far forward, trying to picture tea in my favorite cup instead of coffee. I already am having withdrawals from the companionship of my mug next to my straightener, I used have it by my side as I got ready.

I was telling my sad tale to someone in class today. They suggested DECAF. I refuse to drink something so futile. I refuse to drink an impostor. And the worst part is, I still have hope that maybe I can have coffee someday. I can't get rid of my coffee pot, I don't have the heart. My heart used to beat because of coffee. Now it beats of its own free will, un-stimulated, un-jittery, un-anything but lonely.

So maybe, on second thought, I will go out swinging an axe. Swinging an axe right through every coffee shop that smells so delicious and lures me in. And then right through my own brain whenever it decides to remember what I can no longer have. RIP Coffee.

[*Please note: This is Day 5 in my quest to be Coffee-Free. Please excuse the crazy talk, I'm just a person with an addiction.]

"I have measured my life out in coffee spoons..."*

2009-10-19T11:25:00.000-07:00

Isn't it funny how we find ourselves so caught up in our own routines, our own worlds, our own Adult lives? Isn't it amazing how we burrow ourselves so deep and make the path so treacherous to penetrate when we're just trying to save ourselves? And someone--an old best friend--pays a visit, and you get a tiny little glimpse of life before the rosebushes and brick walls and moats with alligators and complicated love tales.

It's overwhelming to me how just last week I thought I'd settled: wake up around 8:30, head straight for the coffee pot, shower, breakfast, more coffee, dress, hair, makeup, keys, bike, ride, lock, class, home, attempts at homework, snacks, nap, gym, dinner, TV, read, sleep. Repeat. How I burrow myself into the everyday boring disasters of my life, how I build it all together, and one person destroys it with a simple conversation, or even just a laugh, about yesterday.

There are no words to describe the joy of having an important piece of my Past come stay with me this weekend. It's amazing how we settled into who we once were: around a table at a distant Starbucks, and yet between the different beverages (mine the strongest Americano, their's something dairy-infused and sweeter) and the scuffed wood of the overused coffee tables, we told our Stories, 2 years in the making. I think sometimes about how great it is to have these moments, to see the gap between us and to think of the powerful feat that we're still here, still caffeinated, still listening, still sipping, still laughing, and still sharing.

*Reference to T.S. Eliot's The Love Song of J. Alfred Prufrock

Newsflash:

2009-10-10T13:27:00.000-07:00

The chocolatiest of pancakes cures the nastiest of hangovers.

N'joy.

Potage de Ma Vie

2009-10-06T20:10:00.000-07:00

There's something you should know about me: I have an addiction to Italian Wedding Soup. I don't know what it is about that delicious blend of spinach and meatballs and carrots--but it takes me home, it just makes me so happy.

I used to have this Italian neighbor that cooked meals for my family whenever one of us was sick. One time my mom was in the hospital and she made us her homemade Italian Wedding Soup. I was 14, and for 6 years I've gone looking for that taste, never finding something so delicious. My mom decided one day to take matters into her own hands and concoct her own version, after much trial and error, of Italian Wedding Soup. Her version is...good. Okay, it's great compared to the canned version of IWS. But once you've had something so magical as the authentic Italian version, it's hard to shake that tasteful memory from your mind.

Why do moms always make everything look so easy? Like saran wrap--how do I tangle myself in the entire roll, trying to wrap up a sandwich, and yet my mom magically has my sandwich air-tight within seconds? Same goes for making IWS. Tonight I thought it would be really fun to cook said IWS of my mother's. I've been living out of cans of Progresso's version of IWS for the past few weeks and thought it would be fun for a change to have some homecooked soup. (Please, also keep in mind that I've never made anything more difficult than stir fry from a bag.)

And I'll spare you the details of what happened over the course of the past 2 hours, mostly because I myself am not entirely sure. There were moments when I saw chicken broth boiling over the pot, onto the glass stovetop, incinerating my eyes with boiling spinach. There were moments where chunks of ground pork and Italian parsley were being tousled across the kitchen counter, when there were eggs and parmesan cheese in my hair and running down my leg (not quite sure how that happened). There was an extreme moment of clarity where I realized I didn't put the onions in, and I believe my entire neighborhood might still be trying to interpret the string of curses expelled from my lips.

But what I did create, whatever it is you see there--this is the most delicious bowl of soup I've ever tasted in my entire life. Now, if only I had written down the ingredients I improvised with...

Where is this path leading us?

2009-10-03T21:26:00.001-07:00

"Where are we going? Where, I might write, is this path leading us?"*

Is there an answer to this question? Isn't the answer to this question one we all secretly fear, the one that keeps us up at night? And why can I only seem to answer it with more questions?

I'll apply it to my own life to give it some definition: Where am I going? Where is this path leading me?

I go to school. I guess, as an English Editing & Publishing major with a minor in Creative Writing, you could say this "path" of my studies is going to lead me to a career in writing--at least that's where I'm aiming. I hope to one day have published works, and be in charge, myself, of publishing other people's works. Am I on the right path? I sincerely hope so, but I will only find out later on, further down this path.

I practice yoga. Where am I headed in my practice? I spent the last year getting to know the deeper side of my soul, and yoga allowed me to reveal that part of me. Where am I headed now? Or, you might ask, why do I practice? Aside from this obvious self-realizational aspects, I'm planning to one day teach yoga--I guess I hope my path leads me to teaching a mean Ashtanga-based class.

I look at my relationships--my old friends that I still cling to. Where are we going? We're all off on our own paths, but we still connect and reconnect every chance we get. We still talk, we still write, we're still connected. We've gone to severe lengths to stay this way. Why? Because I guess what we have is not worth losing.

Then I look at my new friendships. Where are we going? And, is it too early to tell? We spend time together, covering the general specifics--Where are you from? What's your major? Where are you going, where have you been? (This is not supposed to be a reference to a Joyce Carol Oates Story, the title just happens to fit right in here). We seek what we think we need. For instance, I seek laughter, I seek understanding, I seek fun. I am fulfilled in all three areas by the friends I've made thus far, and yet I continue to expand my horizons.

And then there's You (and You know who You are). And we've been here, on this path, for years now. Our paths intertwine, our paths separate--then they intertwine once more. I ask the age-old question: Where are we going? Where, I might write, is this path leading us? I have no answer, except this: I hope our paths stay aligned like this for a long, long time--don't we finally deserve it?

Where are we going? It's our job to find out.

*Reference to Ethan Canin's opening lines of We Are Nighttime Travelers

Rebirth for October.

2009-10-02T02:15:00.001-07:00

The Zen Tarot card that I chose today was Rebirth. The camel at the bottom is sleepy, dull, self-satisfied. He lives in delusion, thinking he's a mountain peak, but really he is so concerned with others' opinions that he hardly has any energy of his own. Emerging from the camel is the lion. When we realize we've been missing life, we start saying no to the demands of others. We move out of the crowd, alone and proud, roaring our truth. But this is not the end. Finally the child emerges, neither acquiescent nor rebellious, but innocent and spontaneous and true to his own being. Whatever space you're in right now--sleepy and depressed, or roaring and rebellious--be aware that it will evolve into something new if you allow it. It is a time of growth and change.

I've survived my first full month in my new town, but it doesn't feel like such a huge accomplishment. I came here looking for so many things, and didn't find any of those things, and I'm okay with that. Isn't that funny? I found things I never knew I wanted, and am doing just fine without the things I thought I would need. I've made friends up here--great friends. I cook on my own, I clean on my own, I am my own self. I've drawn away from the crowd, I guess you could say I left proud, and into the Unknown. Before I left, someone told me, "Doors are going to open, doors you never knew existed". I now understand those doors, and I'm open to the ones that have yet to appear. I guess this is what the Zen is talking about--neither acquiescent nor rebellious, but innocent and spontaneous and true to my own being. I now understand how important last year was--getting an entire year to live at home and figure out who I was, so that I know and can be my own self and explore my own self up here, away from everything and everyone that knows who I am. I miss home, that's for sure. But I love this alternate universe called Chico that I live in too.

So here's to October being filled with Rebirth and exploration of myself. I ask that I go into with no expectations, so that I can truly be amazed with not only the people I'm surrounded by, but also myself. It is, after all, a time of growth and change.

Dream. Float. Be.

2009-09-29T23:17:00.000-07:00

We followed the sun and its colors and left this world

And never breathe a word about your loss...

2009-09-27T15:15:00.000-07:00

IF--

By Rudyard Kipling

IF you can keep your head when all about you

Are losing theirs and blaming it on you;

If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you,

But make allowance for their doubting too;

If you can wait and not be tired by waiting

Or being lied about, don't deal in lies,

Or being hated don't give way to hating,

And yet don't look too good, nor talk too wise:

If you can dream--and not make dreams your master

If you can think--and not make thoughts your aim,

If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster

And treat those two impostors just the same;

If you can bear to hear the truth you've spoken

Twisted by knaves to make a trap for fools,

Or watch the things you gave your life to, broken,

And stoop and build 'em up with worn-out tools:

If you can make one heap of all your winnings

And risk it on one turn of pitch-and-toss,

And lose, and start again at your beginnings

And never breathe a word about your loss;

If you can force your heart and nerve and sinew

To serve your turn long after they are gone,

And so hold on when there is nothing in you

Except the Will which says to them: 'Hold on!'

If you can talk with crowds and keep your virtue,

Or walk with Kings--nor lose the common touch,

If neither foes nor loving friends can hurt you,

If all men count with you, but none too much;

If you can fill the unforgiving minute

With sixty seconds' worth of distance run,

Yours is the Earth and everything that's in it,

And--which is more--you'll be a Man, my son!

(One of my favorite poems of all time.)

All the things I feel I need to say

2009-09-24T21:44:00.000-07:00

I can't explain in any other way.

[Note: I'm not cheating out my blog by posting a video, I just cannot describe the way I feel right now in any other way. I'm sorry.]

Fact: Even the least talented chefs can cook a decent meal.

2009-09-21T22:33:00.001-07:00

I am not a gourmet chef.

I do, however, love food in all mediums. My preference in food is unlimited--I love classy expensive food (like a nice lobster with sauteed spinach) and I love not-so-classy food (like a big bowl of ramen noodles). These days, it suits me better that I love the cheaper spectrum of the caloric food chain--I eat a lot of chicken, a lot of pasta (last weekend I ate an entire box of angel hair pasta in one sitting), a lot of bowls of cereal. Not that I'm complaining. Adapting to this new lifestyle is an interesting concept. I clip coupons. I read the weekly sales and circle in red pen what I want that's on sale. I make shopping lists because if I get the grocery store without a plan, I freak out and grab the biggest box of Cheez Its available for consumption.

I recently got creative with some eggs and cheese and sausage and an English muffin, and I am proud to say that everything that went into creating this delicious meal was on sale.

Peace.

2009-09-07T23:43:00.000-07:00

You are unlimited.

To grow...

2009-09-05T00:33:00.001-07:00

"To accept the challenge of the Unknown is the only way to grow."

Goals for September.

2009-09-01T22:31:00.000-07:00

I'm trying an experiment. I want to be better.

I think it's in the spirit of starting school in a new place, where few know me, where I have this chance to bring forth only the best parts of me.

The only way I can achieve the goals I have set to be the best possible version of myself is if I make them timely and attainable (not to mention specific, measurable, and realistic). And the only way I can make them all those things is if I first put them out in the Universe. I'm not yet ready to remodel my goalboard from lululemon. Here's my Make-Shift, Putting it out in the Inner Tubes of the Universe Goal List for September.

I hope to inspire you, I hope you enjoy.

1. I finish reading the following: Julie & Julia by Julie Powell (1/2 way done), Barrel Fever by David Sedaris, and You Shall Know Our Velocity! by Dave Eggers.

2. I read every last word of my homework assignments and do the appropriate writing/responding involved (seeing as all my homework seems to be reading a couple hundred pages each night and responding to it).

3. I have an internship at the Chico News & Review or other literary/newsworthy magazine in or near Chico.

4. I go to yoga at least once a week, I go to the gym 4 times a week. I hike somewhere green once a week.

This fall, I am challenging myself to not only complete these goals, but to pay attention to the shifts in my chi. To take note of the changes of heart, the things I care about doing now, and the things I care about doing in a month. I want to see what's going to happen on the inside as well as the outside. I want to face myself, and watch myself as I move far beyond my present perceived boundaries. Maybe this isn't just a list of shit to challenge myself with. Maybe it's a quest within the deepest parts of my soul. Maybe I'm just nuts.

Let's check these out in October. :)

2009-08-06T18:50:00.001-07:00

In this world there exists a place for each one of us. It's just our job to find it.

My life as a lulu.

2009-07-22T22:57:00.000-07:00

"Observe a plant before and after watering and relate these benefits to your body and brain."

This is how I see my life and lululemon. It was summer 2008 when I first became an educator at lululemon. I was fresh home from an awful first year of college, and upset that I was living back home with my parents. I had one goal for the entire year: get enough credits to transfer out of the local community college as quickly as possible. I had no idea what kind of goals for my future lululemon would help me to awaken within my soul.

lululemon, as I have come to discover, goes a lot deeper than the amazing products we sell. It hits a personal note, a life changing one, and helps you to see things about yourself you never have seen before. Goal setting is an area of employment that lululemon takes seriously. Your goals must be measurable and attainable--real goals that you really want to work towards, and also timely. Two months into my employment and I was having trouble with this idea. As I stated before, I only knew I wanted to get away in a year, I really had no idea where I wanted to go, or who I wanted to be when I got there. All I can say now is thank God for lululemon goal setting.

Now, a year later, I am far away at a college I actually want to be at. I now know that I want to be an editor, be it for a publisher or a magazine. I know I want to teach yoga and run my own donation-based studio. I know I want to write books, lots of them. Because of lululemon I have direction, and I am actively seeking the goals that it helped me to discover.

Unfortunately, I now live in a community that does not have a lululemon, which is the only drawback. I miss lululemon a lot, but I see this as an opportunity to explore myself as well. I keep my goal board in a place where I see it everyday, and I update it as I see fit. I keep in touch with my former lulu coworkers, and look most forward to going back to work the holidays with them.

I went home last weekend and stopped by the store for a visit. I was greeted with such enthusiasm, and stayed for a long time catching up with my second family. As I pulled out of the parking lot two hours later, I started to feel sad, thinking about how much I missed working there. Then I remembered my goals, how staying would be cheating myself out of an amazing opportunity. I do not know what the future holds, or if lululemon is in it, but I know that the tools lululemon has provided me with will last me a lifetime. Leaving home once seemed so impossible, and lululemon has helped me to realize, through goal setting, that staying there when I need to move on with my life and achieve my goals is what's really impossible.

lululemon was the water and sunlight to my houseplant self. I was withered and dry and seeking sunlight, and it pulled me out of the desert and watered me. I am forever quenched.

The El Camino of it all.

2009-06-13T23:56:00.000-07:00

There's a giant vision that wafts its way into the minds of all South Bay high school students sometime around their junior year: El Camino is a continuation, the 13th and 14th and even 15th and 16th grade of high school. It's an established fact that if you never want high school to end, go to El Camino, and it doesn't have to. I'm here to set the record straight, in my own words.

You must first understand something about my academic plan, and that's that it never included El Camino College. As it turned out, I messed up my freshman year pretty bad, you don't have to know me that well to know that I hate a little college called CSU San Marcos. The decision that I made at the end of my second semester of freshman year speaks encyclopedias: I could stay in a 4-year or move back home with my parents and go to a community college surrounded by people I never wanted to see again. Instead of surrounding myself with the unfamiliar I chose to surround myself with the all-too familiar. San Marcos, for me, really was that bad.

Somehow I made it through the entire year, 3 semesters worth of work. I managed to only run into a very small handful of people I once knew. The professors, not all of them, but most of them were legit. Most of them knew the system, they understood community college because they had attended one, too, as a freshman and sophomore in college. I got through it. I jumped through what I thought were flaming hoops but when I actually got there saw that they were just short hurdles, just something I needed to hop over to get to the next chapter of my life.

In spanish, El Camino translates to "The Way". I'm going to leave the cliche up to you to figure out.

To say that's its been fun would be a lie, but to say its been cruel and unusual also would be. It's funny how we find ourselves in a transition during life, how we're always working today so that we can do something better tomorrow. That's how I saw this whole year, it was just a transition. And now I'm kind of sad that it's over, and that I've missed the part where I was just supposed to accept that this was a part in my life, and that I should hold on to this. Because I will never be here again. And you know what? I think I'm going to be okay.

The way things happened.

2009-06-09T23:18:00.000-07:00

I always promised myself that I would be there, holding her hand. I would be the only one near to hear those last whispered breaths, and they would say, "Thank you." I would hear the machines and know that I did all I could. I imagined trails of tears, screaming her name, nurses comforting me, people calling it the biggest tragedy that they've ever seen.

There was nothing of the sort. I was there, I was there all night on her last night, but I wasn't there for the last breath. I didn't hear what she whispered. I cried, but there were no nurses to soothe the pain. No one called it a tragedy. Why? Because the death of an old woman is not a tragedy.

I always imagined that when we sold the house I would spend days and days crying in every single room. I imagined just sitting in the middle of her room where her bed used to be, pretending she was there. I imagined standing at the kitchen window, looking out at the street, and pretending to see red roses in the planter. I imagined not being able to leave, not being able to ever drive past the house without turning down the driveway. I imagined not being able to part with the keys, not being able to think about someone living in her room and cooking at her stove without vomiting.

There was crying, but not in every room. It was one single tear, as I hauled the last box of books upstairs, and out the door. I couldn't pull myself to look out that window, because I knew there were no red roses. I never vomited at the thought of someone living in her room, I drive by that house all the time. But I still have my set of keys.

I always imagined getting older would come naturally, like waking up in the morning. I always imagined that it would all fall into place, that I would be able to accept the things that I cannot change. I thought I'd be able to understand the wrinkles on my mother's face, or the way in which my father rubs his knees at night. I thought I'd be able to feel what it is you're supposed to feel, I thought I'd be where I was supposed to be, or at least know where that place was.

"Don't expect any answers dear, for I know that they don't come with age."

-Janis Joplin

The imagination is such a witty device. Isn't it funny how things turn out to be?