number thirty one: control

"So this is the new year
And I have no resolutions
For self assigned penance
For problems with easy solutions"

this is one of my favorite songs ever written. in a few days time, i will undoubtedly use a familiar lyric to represent my moment on facebook just before the clock strikes midnight. because... because it's a nasty habit. but this song always makes me reflective on my life, and i feel like it sums up an all too familiar feeling. whenever i hear it, i'm instantly moved to think about the changes in my life i want to make.

i think of the dawning of a new year to be melodramatic, why do we use a fabricated calendar to dictate when we're supposed to make changes.

that's not how i work. i believe when a person is inspired to change, and change in a fundamental way, it won't be because a certain day of the year will create said change.

if you want to change something, why wait until a new year begins? grab the moment, do it now.


one of my role models is my former boss, Deborah Adams. she instilled by example this thought process of what do you want? now how do you make it happen? then do it, take the steps.

i like to think of life as that easy. that black and white. if you want something, make a plan. discipline yourself. don't settle. take control of yourself. if you do these things, you'll have control over your life.

the changes i want to make for my future have nothing to do with a calendar. they have to do with the moment i make a decision to take control of whatever it is and taking the necessary steps to make it happen.

the changes i want to make are too complicated to be posted here. but the steps i take in order to make them happen are simple. a slow growth, a deliberate growth, that is simple.

number 30: christmas

it's official, christmas is over. presents opened, fridge stocked full of leftovers, most relatives have fled.

i can already tell this post is going to be a trite, cliche bit of rambles. i have no idea where i'm going with it.

growing up, the holidays meant something. everyone would meet up at my dad's parent's house and we'd hang out all day. playing card games, eating (please note no one drank... how i came from this gene pool is sort of beyond me), opening gifts, and napping whenever the baggy brown velvet couch became available. typical middle class subdued happiness.

as i've gotten older, that's stopped. my grandparents spend their winters in the desert, and no one bothers to come together. except my uncle, who has become my favorite part of the holidays. i interviewed him a while ago for a paper on Vietnam (he's a Vet), and he just fascinates me. he's also impossible to shop for since he only purchases goods made in the US. you're probably thinking he's a toby keith fan who wears denim cut offs and owns a shotgun. he's not. he's just a man with principles, and men like that are rare and inspire me to stand for something.

but back to my point. the holidays aren't the same big, happy time they used to be. i no longer follow my grandpa around while he holds his video camera (which was the size of a large mailbox) trying to get him to record me for the 34th time singing Reba McEntire.

yeah, i used to want to be a country singer. as if any of you reading needed any more ammunition to make fun of me with.

while they're not what they used to be, i appreciate them for what they are and what i know they someday will be.

at the moment, they're an excuse to veg-the-eff-out. i'm not one of those people who gets dressed up for christmas or christmas eve. leggings, my red SU shirt, an ugly oversized sweatshirt, greasy hair, and no make up. there are photos from the past three years of me in that exact uniform while opening gifts. i like the idea of being low key for christmas, considering that basically every other holiday i celebrate involves a lot of effort(read: a lot of make up and booze). christmas, it's back to basics. naps are encouraged. and i have a thing for naps.

i also like to think about how i want christmas to look like in years to come. i really have no idea where i'll be a year from now. i could still be single or i could have a man. i've spent one holiday with a serious boyfriend, and he gave me luggage. yes, not only did he give me emotional baggage but literal as well. i've learned from single and attached holidays which i prefer. baggage aside, i like sharing the holidays with someone i'm in over my head in love with. so i hope, as much as i HATE to admit this, that next christmas i start to make new holiday traditions with a male companion. but i hope this hypothetical manfriend will be okay with my christmas uniform, that part of today's christmas is as mandatory as not getting me luggage for a holiday ever again.

number twenty nine: camel blues

There’s something comforting about the smell of cigarette smoke on flannel.

Usually, the smell of my habit on my clothes disgusts me. It makes me feel dirty and grungy, but not in the hip Seattle way. I’m self-conscious of the way my hair and hands smell and mouth tastes after even a single drag. I can’t get to my bathroom fast enough to wash my hands and convince myself that a spritz of perfume covers the lingering scent. I know it’s not enough, and I know that while living at home my cover-up was less than successful with my parents.

They knew I’d picked up the habit, sneaking drags while they were asleep, hiding the butts in a hallowed out bit of tree in the front yard. They hate my habit, as do most of my other friends. Some have embraced it and have stopped nagging me, some have even picked up the nasty habit the same way I did. I hate myself for that, because there’s a chance they won’t ever be able to quit. I know I’ll quit. I tell people all the time I’m trying to. At first they believed me, encouraged me, were disappointed when they caught me outside fumbling with a lighter. These days, there’s none of that. They know that I’m not ready to give up my longest and arguably healthiest relationship.

I’ve quit once, for a man I pegged with forever. When forever ended, my camels were there to dry my tears.

months back, I gave my lungs a break. I ended up pressed against a doorway with a man, and his leather jacket smelled like my habit. And it was intoxicating, so much more appealing than the bottle of Light Blue I bought forever for Christmas. With his cigarette still lit in one hand and his other tangled in my herbal-essences-drenched hair, the smell of stale smoke was perfect. the kiss lasted a moment, as did my habit's pause.

The faint reminisces of last night’s pack is lingering on the flannel I’m draped in. and there’s something comforting there. It smells like home: Familiar, constant. A home that I know I will happily someday leave.

number twenty eight: editors

this whole writing thing is complicated. i love it. i live for the moments where thoughts burst from my fingertips and onto my computer screen.

i should take a moment to note that i type too hard. it's like i'm in an abusive relationship with my keyboard. i spend my days punishing vowels and consonants.

i write for three sources right now. culturemob allows me access to press passes and journalism. my blogs (yes, plural) are free form ramblings. and last week i was asked to write short stories for another site.

i'm having a hard time with the last one. short stories... plot lines complicate my thoughts. but i made my first venture, and spent my thursday evening wrapped up in my thoughts and what i'm posting below is what came of it.

"I’m nothing more than a goodtime girl. Take me to the carnival. Take me to the ocean. Let me breathe with the sky. Let me drink until I can’t stand. Smoke until I can’t speak. Laugh until tears fill my colorless eyes.

But whatever you do, don’t let me love you.

Because I won’t ever love you.

Not like I loved him.

It’s not fair to use the past tense. It’s also not accurate to use the present. Is there a tense to use for something that’s all encompassing – something to explain a feeling that had no start and no real end, but is just always present? Like an incurable disease. You are psoriasis. You come and go, in and out of my thoughts. Unyielding. Except a disease is something undesired, and this feeling, left to linger over the years, is something I can’t label in the negative.

There’s nothing negative about loving someone the way I do you. Regardless of how long it’s been since we last mumbled hellos and goodbyes. Or how many men have attempted to replace you in my squeaky bed. Or how many pills have done their best to dislodge you from my memory. Thinking of you, I think of running through a field of corn. The stalks whip and tear at me, trying to stop me. They cut me the way thoughts of you, blindsiding me on a Tuesday afternoon, cut me. Leave my eyes bleeding tears of emptiness. All the cuts don’t matter. Stopping isn’t an option. Neither is not loving you.

I wish it were. I’m glad it’s not. Knowing I can feel something other than the desire to have a good time is the only thing that lets me know I have ever been anything but my present state: A goodtime girl.

I once had a love. Someone who excited me like the Ferris wheel. And felt like the waves wrapped around me. Who made the clouds dance. And was like whiskey to my thoughts. Without you to fill my lungs, and without you to put the grey-blue-green beneath my lashes, a goodtime girl remains."


that's my first venture for the new site. and i'm thankful for the people i have in my life who are available to give me insight. the version you see above is a few drafts deep. and those who read this, i ask you to submit your opinions. your corrections.

i like to pretend i have a clue as to what i'm doing here. but i don't. and that's why after writing for my multiple sources, i've come to adore my editors. official and unofficial.

narrow-mindedness is not a trait i want to posses, especially in my prose.