No Fear

I have recently come to terms with my biggest enemy - fear. Believe it or not, I used to be a fearless child. I was the girl who could bait a fish hook, run a horse, sleep outside without a tent, and swim in a swamp. One time, I even jumped off a second-floor balcony, just to prove I wouldn't break my legs. As a middle child struggling for attention among four siblings, part of my identity was to become the "tom boy." I needed to prove I could do anything boys can do. In high school, I took it so far, I even joined the wrestling team. It was a short lived pursuit, but I made it through two excruciating practices.

Lately, fear has turned me into a panicky nag. "Slow Down, " I yell to Jake in the car as he flies around the curb in his CRV. Where did this come from? Last time I went horseback riding all I could think about was falling off the horse and suffering the same fate as Christopher Reeves. That time, I didn't even break a trot, but when I was 13, I could canter a horse through a river and not feel the slightest tinge of fear.

Recently, I had the pleasure of visiting Kauai, a Hawaiian Island known for its skyward cliffs and rough surf. I envisioned myself surfing turquoise waves, sky diving, and zip lining through a canopy of trees. None of that actually happened. Although I would love to learn to surf, I've only swam in the Pacific a couple times. Waves throw me around like an abusive boyfriend, flinging my body to the ground and then sucking me back into an ocean of pain. I'm just not used to the superior strength of four-foot waves. One day, I will attempt surfing, but only after I master ocean swimming.

Sky diving might give me a heart-attack and I heard zip lining was a complete rip off. On my last day on the Island, we took a detour to Kipu Falls. The guidebook said it was the ideal waterfall to jump in and that it even had a rope swing.

After climbing over slippery rocks and through a chigger-inhabited sugercane maze, we reached the waterfall. Twenty feet doesn't seem so high until you're standing above, looking down, into a pool of darkness, not knowing what is at the bottom. Local guys back flipped off the edge of the cliff, as I held the rope in my clammy hands. Jake assured me I would be fine, even though just a minute ago he was doing the same thing: contemplating death.

"I'm not doing this," I said staring down into the wide pool.

Then something happened. The rebirth of my old self. The girl that could push fear deep into her belly and shut her brain off, if only for a second.

"Ahhhhh" I screamed as I swung out, past the tree and landed butt first into the fresh water.
The local guys clapped for me and I felt a deep satisfaction knowing I was one of the only girls to "cliff dive" into the waterfall that day.

I was beaming as I climbed back up. In those 5 seconds I felt a thrill I haven't felt in a long time. The sense of danger, the feeling that I could do anything -- as long as I stopped fear from controlling me.

Sometimes you just have to shut your brain off, embrace the spirit of Aloha, yell "Fuck This,"and do whatever it is you're afraid of. I promise, you'll feel alive like never before.

Gone Travelin'

I'm headed to Hawaii tomorrow! I feel that slight tingling in my stomach the way I always do before a big trip. I also feel a cold coming on.

I've never visited the Islands and can't wait to explore. I should be packing right now, but my empty house is for once peaceful and I need to relax.

I never thought I could do the things I'm doing right now. I never pictured ending up with a beautiful husband and enough money to travel. Growing up, Michigan was my family's only vacation destination. I didn't step on a plane until I turned 19 and visited my cousin in California. I never stopped. Thanks Brandy.

For now, I'm prolonging the moment, anticipating and pondering what is to come. If only I could feel this way everyday.

Moments of Happiness

The world can eat you up inside. Negativity feeds on my insides like maggots, turning me into a shell, unaware of all the beauty that surrounds me everyday. Somewhere along the lines I stopped believing in the basic good of people. I started to prefer concrete landscapes to pastures, I started to perfect my image. I started defining myself by what I do and where I live, which are only one small pieces of my real self.


I'm afraid to point out the beauty of the world. Afraid it makes me seem earnest, naive, and boring. Does anyone even notice anything anymore? When I ride the bus, headphones tucked in my ears, I do notice the mist that surrounds the skyline, the beauty of the water under the bridge, the wonderful people on their daily ride to work. I even notice the raindrops forming freckles on the window.

As I take that first sip of coffee or indulge in a croissant, I feel happy. It is so easy to get lost inside my labyrinth brain, but I'm coming out and trying to enjoy these little moments. I'd like to kill the cynicism and press the reset button just for today. I'd like to forget the difficult moments in my childhood and remember the good ones. There were so many good ones.

If only we could all reflect on these tiny moments of happiness and forget the crap that comes along with life. Forget becoming wrapped in an image and admired. Point out the good things, the real things, the reason we are here.

The Illusion of Romance

After a certain age, daily life isn't as romantic as it should be. I barely feel the breeze on my cheeks, even on a brisk fall day. I've become jaded. Living here nearly 2 years, I don't even notice the way the clouds form a halo around Mt. Rainier anymore. I'm just trying to survive, head down, coffee in hand, to work and home again.

But sometimes, just sometimes the right moment strikes. Yesterday, after a sunset beach walk the husband and I went to Abbandanza, an Italian restaurant in my neighborhood. Perfect for romance, the lighting is low and the windows overlook city streets. A man played melodic Spanish songs on his guitar. It would have been a great Wednesday evening if it weren't for the most annoying couple on the planet.

A mid-age couple with graying hair, dressed alike in all-black formal wear sat directly in front of us. The woman raved about everything from the plump waitress to the Gnocchi specials. In an exaggerated voice, she'd say things like,

"Oh this is just simply divine, just simply divine."

Or "Have you ever tasted anything so heavenly?"

That was just about the food, which was good but undeserving of such accolades. The Spanish guitarist made her weep and she stood up, clapped, and exclaimed "Bravo", loud enough for the other 6 other patrons to hear.

I started giggling and couldn't stop, almost bursting into tears myself. I felt like I was watching an SNL sketch. Either this woman was a theater major in college or she hasn't been out in a very long while.

Nothing ever really lives up to my expectations. I can't stop and smell the roses because I'm always striving for the next big thing. Music never makes me weep, unless it was written by Elliott Smith. I would certainly never openly cry at a restaurant unless I found a roach in my food. Or if I was being dumped.

What made this woman proclaim loudly that everything in the place was fantastic or wonderful when it really wasn't? Am I so screwed up, that I can't appreciate such things, or is she just a nut? Whatever the answer, it did make for a fun night, although a non-romantic one.

Are rich kids really this stupid?

I loathe rich kids. The funny thing is, I love watching them live out their shallow, meaningless lives on reality TV. Not only does it give me a good view of a totally different world than my own, it is effing hilarious. Sometimes I feel like I'm watching a nature show -- only with less narration and more "like..." and "that's shady" in between descriptions of random hookups.



I've often wondered about the life of the rich kid. What would it feel like to get every thing you could ever want from the moment you're born? I have a hard time when people say, "oh they have it rough, you don't know what goes on behind closed doors." Sure I do. They get the keys to a new Mercedes, then crash it three days later. Or they have a crazy pool party while their parents are traveling Europe. Or they have a 100,000 Sweet Sixteen bash, then bitch when their parents don't get them a horse.



I've recently applied a scientific theory to the Hills and NewPort Harbor. Rich people don't have to be smart. Look at the products of their procreation. These kids can't even articulate a simple sentence without saying, "whatever," or "that's ghetto." And yet, these are the ones that end up at Ivy League schools because they are legacies and well connected. The whole system makes me ill. How does Heidi already have her own office? She is engaged to a guy who painted "Hollywood," graffitti-style on their apartment wall. Did she ever finish college? I've never seen any of them go to school and somehow they landed really prestigious jobs.



Yes, I'm well aware that reality shows aren't reality. But I've actually observed rich kids that act like this. Then, the rich kids turn into rich adults and they are still just well-groomed assholes whose lives are about as fufilling as an empty martini glass. Me thinks the proletariat should have another revolution.

Things I hate

Writing about things I like is too easy. I could talk at length about how I love coffee and drink it everyday, and how I like to sit on my porch while reading the newspaper, but it doesn't make me any more unique. I'm more of a hater. I despise everything I find fake, pretentious, or just annoying. I probably even hate you.

Things I hate:

• People who say, "It's all good in the 'hood." Someone said this on the bus last week and I would have shot him. If only I had a gun.
• Anyone who could "taste the fat" in their latte. Fuck you.
• Public transportation guy. He's the city dweller that loves to go on and on about all the best bus routes and what time they arrive. Jesus, is life really this sad?
• Man bags. My brother started me on this and I noticed one yesterday. Get a briefcase.
• Cinephiles. If you don't sometimes watch Patrick Swaze movies because you're above them, I hate you.
• People that swear they don't have a TV and yet have mysteriously seen all the episodes of Flight of the Conchords and other "hip" shows.
• On guys: vertical-striped club shirts with the sleeves uncuffed; tight, straight-legged jeans; androgynous hair; and faux hawks.
• On girls: those new, hip Castro hats; tiny dogs as an accessory; obviously fake tans; long nails; and mom jeans, (which are supposedly "in", but WHY?).
• Anyone who thinks they are a character from Sex and the City. If you say something like, "I'm a Carrie" I might kill you.
• Men who think that because they own a pit bull, they are street, or that having a mean dog makes you more of a man. Just get a fast car like everyone else.
• People that name their pet using "obscure" film or art references. I once met a cat named "Georgia O'Keeffe." Lame.
• Rich kids. Sorry rich kids out there, but I secretly loathe and envy you at the same time. Make it up to me. Do some charity work or something. If you are waiting for a trust fund, don't come around here. Period.
• People that actually like Cupcake Royale. Ummm... news flash the cupcakes should be moist, not dry and crumbly. You obviously fell victim to the lure of their cool sign and pink color scheme.

I've been waiting forever to get that off my chest. In my next blog, I'll try to stop the bitterness and be more open and positive. Promise.

Got a parking violation and a stain on my shirt

Parking tickets suck. Appearantly, on 7/20, which I can't even remember (of course), I parked somewhere I shouldn't have. WHERE?? And they charged me double because I didn't comply to the first notification.

GRRRR. I'm frustrated and the rainy season is coming and I can't find my umbrella.

An ode to old friends

I never had any friends later on like the ones I had when I was 12 - Jesus, did you-- Stephen King

I grew up in Chicago. Whenever I think of "home," I think of the neighborhood I lived in along with the 7-11, Dominicks, and Beggars Pizza that lined the street and defined my youth. Even though those sacred places are still there, that cliche "you can't go home again," rings in my ears everytime I get on a plane.

Chicago is still the same place, the Sears Tower hasn't fallen yet and my neighborhood still has the same A-line-framed houses it had before I left. But as I see kids happily riding bikes through the street, I know that even though my house still stands, "home," is long gone.

7-11, Dominicks, Beggars Pizza, the Dollar Store, the Mt. Greenwood Pool, and Mt. Greenwood Park hold some of my favorite memories. The places are still there but the people that shaped my most important years are all grown up. Some have jobs and homes and some even have families. Some I lost touch with and it breaks my heart.

These are the most important friends, the ones that know all your secrets and would never, ever tell. The ones you played basketball with well after dark or sometimes even at sunrise. The ones who slept over on your living room floor. These friends loved you even if you had lice or mice or problems at home. They are the ones you rode bikes with, the ones you chased boys with, the ones who braided your hair.

I don't really miss Chicago, I miss the people that made Chicago my home. The people that made going to Dominicks an adventure. How is that possible? I constantly try to recapture that excitement, the sense of "anything can happen," and my expectations are never met. Although I lead a fabulous life, that childlike thrill can never be replaced or relived.

So when did it all end?

Yesterday

Jake and I went to the beach then had dinner and drinks at Jak's Grill, which was fantastic.

At the beach, a seal poked its little head out of the water. At first, I thought it was a black lab then it dipped back down into the water. So cute. I'm still amazed that I have seen both bald eagles and seals since I've lived here. I have yet to spot a whale. :(

When we sat down in the bar section of Jak's, there was a gorgeous girl sitting alone with a glass of white wine. She sat there the entire time we were there, texting someone and looking towards the door, obviously waiting for her date.

After an hour she left and the waiter took away the remaining wine. Ostensibly someone stood her up and it made me feel bad. Who would do such a thing? When I was dating that was my worst fear. I hate being in restaurants or bars alone. I feel like everyone is staring at me.

On a side note, I'm done with film. I really need a digital camera. The film store mistakenly sold me slide film, now I have to go through each one and get those converted into prints. I haven't used slide film since the last photography class I took, where our pictures were put on the projector for the whole class to see. Then, I accidentally bought a role with space for only 12 pictures. C'mon!!

Only 1 month, 1 week, and 1 day until I leave for Hawaii. I can't wait. The last trip I took was a year ago to see my mom on the East Coast. Since then, all my disposable income has been used to fly home to Chicago.

Also, I decided to take my freelance side career a little more seriously until I go to grad school. I'm suddenly inspired to get off my ass and not settle with being a copywriter. I'll let you know how it goes.

Good Question

At 26-years old, I'm screeching towards 30 like a bullet train. Only four stops left to go before I hit the big 3-0.

And with that, comes the pressure to have kids. Ever since I got hitched two years ago, women feel like it is their right to intrude on my personal life by asking this life changing question.

When are you going to have kids? When are you going to start a family? Then they follow it up with, you know, your chances go waaaay down after 30. These women are harmless enough and most of them are mothers, so instead of snapping, I smile and shrug my shoulders.

I've been putting off the answer for so long. I've never really been much of a kid person. Sure, my niece is fantastic and my nephew is cute. If anyone could make me want kids it would be them. But I've baby-sat maybe twice in my entire life. I'm unqualified for the job.

Then there is my life that took so long to build. I can finally add "writer," to my resume, a career I decided on and pursued since high school. I moved 2, 300 miles away from my family to live in my personal utopia, the Pac Northwest and will have no outside help if I decide to become a mother. I would have no choice but to pack a U-haul and high-tail it back to the Midwest.

Also, I would probably be the worst mom on the face of the planet. The all-day work it requires makes me squeamish as does the thought of moving to the suburbs and attending play dates.

Part of me wants to live out the rest of my life child-free without the expense and responsibility. My Saturday morning routine of drinking coffee and reading the Stranger while sitting on my balcony would be replaced with feeding cheerios to a screaming child. Not exactly a pretty picture.

Then there is my newest dream, which is to become a travel writer. I'd like to write travel articles for the paper and then continue to write some guidebooks, and maybe a memoir. This would probably be impossible with a child.

If I finally make the concrete decision to live a child-free life, am I going to regret it? I decided not to even think about it until I turn 30. Until then, I plan to travel and frequent fancy restaurants, living out my 20s the way I always pictured. If I catch the baby bug, so be it, but I have lasted this long without a bite.

TGIF

Yes, I am very aware that this title is incredibly lame. It is the Friday before Labor Day weekend and I have absolutely no concrete plans. Scratch that, I am going to the Blackbird Bistro in about 15 minutes to enjoy a plate of breadcrumb-dusted macaroni and cheese. That is really all I have planned for the next 3 days.

After an endless afternoon spent writing about a zillion Tokyo events, I'm not sure how I can stand to write much more. I have learned more about Japan in the last 8 hours than I would if I actually visited there. So, please allow me to make the disclaimer that this post may suck because my brain is fried. I am tired, hungry, and I soon may be drunk.


What I intend to write (and who knows how far I'll get) is a scathing piece about women that model their lives after Sex and the City. Although it is one of my favorite shows, I've recently become aware of more and more women prancing down the street in skirts and high heels, clutching tiny purses like miniature Carrie Bradshaws.

Sex and the City is fictional, the characters are fictional, so whether you identify with Carrie, Charlotte, Miranda, or Samantha, just remember that they don't exist. The so-called fabulous New York life is not reality. If it is, you must be very rich, in loads of debt, or living in Brooklyn.

I'll admit it, I've been seduced by the tall buildings and neon lights of the big city. I grew up in Chicago and before I relocated to Seattle, I thought that Chicago was the only city that every existed. When I moved, I felt like I left my long-time lover. As I soon started to love another, I realized one American city is just like the next. Even the view gets old after awhile.

And the fashion. One summer morning, I decided to pull a Carrie Bradshaw and slip on the velvet peep toe heels I just purchased from Nordstrom's Rack. Limping down the street towards the bus, I felt like I was playing dress-up in my mother's clothes. People stared. The outfit was cute, the black pencil skirt and hot-pink polka-dot wrap shirt coordinated beautifully and someone even gave me a seat on the bus. But mobility was definitely a problem and after a day spent sucking in my stomach, I decided never to try high fashion again.

Given that the extravagant lifestyle and ridiculous fashion is simply not REAL, it is only logical to assume that the character's sexual relationships are exaggerated. I think women can have/should have sex with whomever they want. But only if they enjoy it and are absolutely sure that the men aren't using them.

Having a lot of sex partners is dangerous to a woman's self-esteem if she feels at all cheapened by these encounters. Some women can handle having casual sex, but as I've observed many cannot. Sex should never be a way to establish your identity or gain power. It certaintly should not be modeled after a late 90's TV show.

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That is my rant of the day. Stay tuned for tales from my not-so glamorous life. I'll be describing my rebellious crooked tooth and mysterious rash.

Elwood - my dog

Elwood is sick today. I could tell as soon as I got home and let him out of his crate. He is super lathargic and just plain not himself.

I'm not the best person to deal with illness. It causes me to panic and I always think of the symptoms as much more serious than they actually are. Today, I got nervous, shaky, and almost rushed him to the E-VET.

My sister had a liver transplant six years ago. She has been through some very intense sugeries and illnesses. She is healthy now and I can't even put into words what a relief that is. Even though her health will always be a concern, I'm glad that things are finally OK.

Since then, I'm anxious about health issues, whether to do with me or my family. I may be a hypochondriac. When it comes to my dog, I don't mess around. He is a 15.4-pound living thing that I am responsible for and he can't tell me how he is feeling. Elwood is more work than I ever thought, but he gives me much more in return, the loyal little Boston Terrier he is.

His diagnosis? Nothing really. I find Vets don't often give an actual diagnosis. He had a fever, was given antibotics, and we were sent home. He is still sleeping and that really worries me, but I'm trying to trust the Vet even though he only saw El for about 15 minutes.

And here I sit, waiting for Jake to return and watching that Hulk Hogan reality show. I hope his son and anyone else involved in that accident pull through.

An introduction of sorts

Who am I?
Why is this question the hardest one to answer? I know myself. I've been creating and reforming my identity since I was in diapers. On the surface, I suppose I'm like a lot of other 26- year-old women. I live and work in Seattle. I work as a copywriter in Pioneer Square and write about everything from travel to toys. I have a dog, a husband, and an apartment.

I was raised on the South Side of Chicago. Before you are impressed, I'll admit it: I wasn't technically raised in Chicago, more like Merrionette Park, a suburb that is literally three blocks outside the city limits. An area best known for its proximity to faux Irish bars and Western Avenue. Being from a working-class family, I'm thrifty, hardworking, and proud.

I am an animal lover, an amateur photographer, and a feminist. Most people think I'm sweet. I'm loyal to my friends and though our lives continue on different paths, I continue to love and admire each one of them. I judge people too quickly and it is hard for me to find new friends, especially in this city because it is so different from Chicago.

Lately, I prefer quiet nights at home and long days on the beach to drinking at bars and clubs. You may find this boring, but this is my life and I see plenty of things every day that inspire me. I'm not fucking Carrie Bradshaw and will never pretnd to be. See me at 21 and you might find that type of girl. Although I LOVE that show, my married life with dog and husband is much different. This isn't a comment on the single lifestyle, it is a comment about my life.

I won't bore you with the details of everyday life though. I'm not going to talk about going to Wal-Mart and buying tampons like it is Homer's Odyssey. That would be an interesting take though, wouldn't it? A journey of epic proportions to the Renton Wal-Mart.

The most interesting encounters of my life occur on the bus. Taking the bus gives me the advantage of quietly observing people I normally wouldn't notice. Or maybe I would, but I would rush by them in my work heels, unable to truly capture the person's essence in my mind.

Lastly, I hate nothing more than pretentious people. As a writer, I encounter them all the time. This is my space to be real and believe me, I'm very honest about who I am.

Here are some real facts about me:

• I live in West Seattle. Yes, that is over the bridge. I'm not Capital Hill, I'm not even Ballard. So -- quit reading this if you think this is "Bright Lights, Big City." I should clarify that my address reads Seattle, if that matters (which it shouldn't).
  


• I like to travel. But limited funds have made this difficult. So yes, as of this date I've never even been to Europe (gasp). And I don't have a passport (double gasp). I am so unlike these well-traveled Seattlelites.
  


• I have 2 brothers and 2 sisters. I might write about them often, as they are very dear to them. I did mention I'm part Irish, right?
  


• If I did one thing right in my life, it was marrying Jake. I will probably mention him more often than anyone, but being married is only a small part of who I am. Keep that in mind before you pigeon-hole me as a boring, van-driving, nagging wife. This isn't a blog to complain about or compliment my husband. It is all about me and my life.
  


• I write a lot. It is more than a hobby, it is my passion and profession. I can be a bit wordy and long-winded. I also use passive-voice a lot.

There you go and off I go to the gym.