Gangsta

There are 18,000 ways to start a post. I can’t find a single interesting one to add in here…but please, enjoy yourself, and add your own that makes you chuckle, I’ll wait…

:::::::self gratifying entry here::::::::::::::

Great, now …. to begin with, I am sitting outside in the middle of the outer bands of a hurricane,  my award winning hair blowing in the wind, the only thing that makes the previous statement gangsta is that I am thoroughly enjoying a cigar that a friend gave me.

Gangsta. in a sad white girl way.

I do remember when my life was exciting.

To be fair, the previous statement is not all true. While I do “remember when”, I am really enjoying making new memories. I am in the middle of packing up my home, trying to sort through and leave behind that which means the most to someone else, and take that which means the most to me.

Being fair is probably always the best policy, but in this situation, not the easiest.

To skip light years ahead, my sailor, my munchkin and I are all moving to a fabulous new place, that I deeply adore <<<<read: black granite and taupe tile floors>>>> while my ex is moving back into the home that we bought together.

While there is no doubt in my mind that I have made the right decision to move on in life, the idea of packing the things that I hold most important in life, into a box, and move on…is still somewhat sad.

I can’t explain.

So, I spent the greater part of tonight, wrapping my glassware into the Spanish section of the local newspaper, and singing loudly to Adele… knowing that this week is full of opportunities that I never imagined months ago.

The wind is blowing wildly because of the impending hurricane, my house in in complete disarray, and I have no idea what the future holds, but I can’t wait to find out…

This all reminds me of the night before I moved here in 2005…
Funny how life repeats itself.

Yadda Yadda Yadda

“Where am I?” – is how I ended my last post, WTF is that?

Come’on now kids…You all know I’m better than that!
The obvious answer(s) are:
1-    You’re a great mother, &
2-    You’ve got award winning hair
Thanks for your e-mails, I get it & you’re right.

“…but until you start believing in yourself, you’re not going to have a life”

See, I get it.

We all have our mopy, disgusting, depressing days, I have been having a few recently. And at this point, I’m not sure why I was…
I have so many incredible things to be thankful for, amazing family, knock-out offspring, love from each and every one of my family and friends, good health, great hair , so many things…

I’m thankful, I am beyond that.

I always write a letter to my biological mother, save it, and then delete it when I read it the next time, because life always transforms.  Things change, decisions amend,  we adjust.  I stumbled upon someone’s entry tonight, which made me decide to stop revolutionizing my life to be what I need it to be in the future.  I can’t change what I am now, or yesterday, or six years ago.
And nor do I want to.

The things I am, have, learned now…are because of what I’ve done.

I keep modifying what I would say if I ever met the person that gave me everything, and I think I’ve been looking at life all wrong. From the wrong perspective.

This is now.

I know exactly what I want.

And I know exactly how I’m going to get it.

Ready? I am. I know exactly where I am.

And I’m so excited.

Where am I?

So this guy: (http://www.loyno.edu/news/story/2008/3/26/1471) is my cousin.

He has done some amazing things…and he is the reason I went to Loyola in NOLA.

He wrote my favorite book: Oyster, not because I’m related to him, but because it is amazing in every sense.

I’ve been a writer my entire life, not always by career, just by chance, and I’ve never had the balls to sit down and talk with him about anything.

He is an award winning playwright, and unbelievably talented. When do I get over my fears and put my thoughts onto paper like he does? What has to happen?

I spent two hours tonight lecturing my little cousin on life, and school, and getting his shit together, yet I sit here and just dream.

I know life doesn’t begin, it happens…so what am I doing?

Where am I?

Happy Birthday to you

“Laugh as much as you breathe and love as long as you live.”

Well…I started this post as a 26 year old… but it turned into an old lady rambling….

In complete fear of spell check horror, I write all my posts in word, then transfer to here, as if you care, however, while I was doing this, as usual, life got in the way, and I turned 27…

hmm.

27

really

I don’t feel any different.
I’m sure my hair still looks amazing, but still…I expected something… To be quite honest, I expected impending doom…let me explain.

My birthdays began on May 22, in 1982…and had a wonderful showing. Up until my 16th… You see, it was at this point, that in true ginger –form, I accepted the fabled Molly Ringwald curse and had a hideous 16th birthday. My own parents forgot my 16th birthday in order to attend a Barry Manilow concert.

I’ve said it before, but again, I hope I spelled that wrong. Ever since then, I have had pretty low-par birthdays. To name a few for example:

18- Graduated, however…graduation on stage was uncertain because of rumored alcohol consumption during dreadful senior prom…luckily, I graduated on stage, however…was close. Anxiety attack close.

19, &20 …the exact same boyfriend broke up with me both years…you would think I would catch on. He has since caught a horrible STD. The cosmos are still laughing.

21- working

22- ehhhhh. So bad, can’t even comment.

23- Moved to SoFla: in the end, not bad at all. However, at the time… 6 mo. preggers and in a car for 3 days, not happy…

24- stuck in a town full of crazy religious fanatics

26- crazy ex-bf sending angry texts my way & possible stalking…

so… 27…starting out pretty well…

If I were 15 and I was asked where I would be, or what I would be when I was 27, I’m positive my answer would not be remotely close to where I am today…

{ as much as I hate cliché statements, I am about to make one…}

My life is still a complete uphill battle…I was taught to succeed, and never taught that the path is going to be rocky as all get out…however. I love it. I love all of it. I an blessed with the most incredible gift, every waking day in the form of a mini-me, I have amazing friends, even the ones that aren’t here, have not left me without a smile, I am madly in love with my other half and finally, I have a family that has not left me alone, even when I wanted it….

So…I could complain that since the ripe young age of 16, I was doomed…and I have…

But we all know that my smile and my jokes are as big as my heart and as great as my hair.

Love you all. May this next year be as amazing as I have planned.

with a vroom vroom here…

and a vroom vroom there…

thas’a right Ladies & gents, after a year of painfully stagnate living.  I’m a 100% certified, legal driver again.

And I heart it to pieces.

::::If you’re looking for a juicy story here as to why I couldn’t drive for a year, like a lohan-esque excursion, keep looking, I had mysterious, bogus toll violations that have been fought and conquered, moving on:::::

As much as I loved being the girl who walked everywhere and saved the ozone layer, every single, god loving, friggin day…I missed things, like Target.

The train doesn’t stop at Target, or at least, Super Target, and even though loving boyfriend, and incredible friends could bring me, it’s not the same. My one guilty pleasure in life, is waking up early on a Saturday morning, stopping at Starbucks, getting a Venti-Non-Plus-Something-in a cup, and aimlessly roaming around Super Target for an hour. (Half an hour was spent filling my cart up with oodles of things I didn’t need, and the other half was unloading them back to their respective place)
So Saturday morning, with offspring in tow, I did just that.  And loved every pointless minute of it.  Granted, the sun was shining, there wasn’t a cloud in the sky and the rest of South Fla. was at the beach….I was shamelessly at Target. And considering applying there.
Why?
Because I’m also unemployed these days. And working through my divorce finally.

Now…most people see the above two statements as negative.
I on the other hand, am at peace.
My agency: nightmare
My marriage: misjudged
Both agency and former suitor probably read this, so I decline to go into detail.
Who has two thumbs and is full of surprises these days?

::::image of me pointing at myself:::::

This girl

While on my high of excitement, I’m also masking a low that is looming in the rearview (car talk is fun when you have one). Loving boyfriend mentioned earlier…is leaving the country for months. Yes. Months. And I am torn.

There are many things I admire in a person, loving your job and being amazing at it, is one. Said boyfriend, is both. So… I bid him adieu with a wet hanky in hand and long for September when he returns.

While I am undoubtedly jealous of his Euro-trip, I look forward to things that I get to do on my down time….like….um…. long runs on the beach, tanning until I look Italian, finding the perfect shade of nude for my nails, and karate.

Karate?

Yes. But not for moi. For offspring. I ventured into …well…Target again today, it’s an addiction, I know, but help is just inside those doors, those squeaky clean, welcoming, sliding glass doors….ahhhh….*ahem, anyway, went into Target today with offspring, and saw other small child in karate gear.
“I wanna do kung foo too!” Offspring screamed
::::Mother of karate clad child winced at scream and then smiled politely:::

So… I look to google to guide me in the direction of local “kung foo” establishment and pray that Offspring  will enjoy…

I myself, can’t imagine anything being fun without fun shoes on…
But at least I get to drive him there
::::image of me pointing at myself and smiling:::::

Between two evils, I always pick the one I never tried before.

- Mae West

So true.

Not gramatically correct, but true.
So. what do I say?

Never gonna:

Give you up…
Let you down…
Run around…
Desert you…
Make you cry…
Say goodbye…
Tell a lie…
Hurt you…

Not necesarily in that order, but it’s a start.

Just been busy as hell these days.
And quiet. Shocking, I know.

I’ll be back soon, with good news.
Again, shocking. I know.

All good things come to those who wait.
and me.
In the meantime, my new favorite phrase, “Sweet tap dancing Christ”
for the image alone.

cute little holy tap shoes….

Unforgettable

I don’t think I’m supposed to talk about it…because it’s over, really really over, but at my wedding, my dad and I danced to “Unforgettable” by Nat King Cole.

I was unsure about my dress, my table linens and even my answer to THE question, however, I’ve always known my dance with my dad would be to “Unforgettable”

I’ve had a rocky relationship with my parents, from the moment I clumsily stepped my feisty, quick feet on the floor. I’m more like my mom, headstrong, assumingly always right, and completely outspoken, but inside, I wish I had my dad’s qualities.

Our parents, or at least my generation, all preach how easy we have it, how they trudged through snow, grew up so tough, but my dad honestly did. (Not the snow part, I’m from New Orleans, seriously now)  My grandmother, sweet tap dancing Christ love her, struggled to raise a boy and a girl after her husband left her with two young children. He was a rat bastard and I think for that reason alone, my dad has been a friggin warrior.

I thought growing up, that my dad was a kitten. It wasn’t until I started to test my rebellious roots, that I saw that he was a lion in sheep’s clothing <insert whatever cliché statement you prefer there>

My mom could react 99 ways to one problem, throwing plates, screaming until she was purple, slamming doors, taking off in her Lincoln, etc… it never phased me, she was just as volatile as I was…not sure why I’m speaking in past tense … she IS just as volatile as I am, and I found each outlandish reaction, gratifying. Don’t tell her. It wasn’t until my dad stepped in, and bucked.

Thats.when.I.knew.I.fucked.up.

I can remember, vividly, the first time I was in trouble. Lots of trouble.
I could go into detail, but my therapist advises against it. Keyword: unforgettable.

He taught me the things I needed to know to survive, patience, a sharp tongue, wit and humbleness ←Not an actual word, but he did.
I can throw a ball like a champ, negotiate like it’s my middle name (wouldn’t be so odd in the time of “Moxie Crimefighter and Pilot Inspektor), size up a person’s character in three seconds flat…and I owe it all to him.

The story that I’ve always heard from my mom, was that I was put in dancing school because she made a promise to someone when she adopted me, that I would be a dancer. I never learned who that person was, I may never learn, but… the night of my wedding, when I stepped on my dad’s feet like I was 6 again, and danced to “Unforgettable” with him, I knew why she made that promise.
So as I sit on my porch, thousands of miles away, listening to “Unforgettable”, I thank whoever is up there, that the two people who scooped me up, signed the receipt, and called me “daughter” did what they did.

Unforgettable in every way.

Sing it girl: ” I’m here, I’m que…well…I guess I’m just here…”

This past month has just about thrown me on my tush and slapped me upside the head

(Now, if you re-read that, and insert a deep, Southern, Paula Dean accent, then you’ll know how I meant it to be said…)

My how I do love those ellipis

(Again, if you re-read all of that, and insert a deep, Southern, Paula Dean accent, then you’ll know how I meant it to be said…)

I get approximately eleven minutes to myself each week, to do whatever the sugar I want, so let me use this time to just rant, ready? (just be thankful I chose it to share with you, I was going to spray some self-tanner on, but then I realized… a) white is the new right,  b) I don’t have patience to let it dry, and c) I don’t have any, so unless butter and brown crayola work…I am S.O.L. and you are in business my friend….)

(I’m also going to put it out here that I am directly quoting the genius of the lovely Shelli of “www.happylittlenest.com” because what she said, is exactly what I did today in my own little head, beautiful hair and all, enjoy:

“What are you scared of?” You ask.

“I dunno, really.” You say.

“What could happen?” You ask.

“I dunno, everything? Anything. All of it.” You say.

“Just let it go.” You tell yourself. “Just let. It. Go.”

“I can’t.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know!”

“There is nothing to be scared of. Everything will work out. Everything will be ok.” You say.

And this time… although your not quite sure why…

your head stops thinking so fucking much and you believe your own words.

This time.

Your heart believes it.

Your head knows it to be true.

It was meant to be this way the whole time…

you just didn’t know it then.

But you know it now.

You don’t know why or what changed.

And, for once, you don’t care.

I don’t care, I do care, I’m not scared, I am completely horrified, etc…

I am just ready to be me again.

Nothin but love

-Kala

Godiva

I quit smoking last May, however, I keep a pack on hand for days like today when I have an emotional melt down.

*cough*Ugh*gag*dramatic eye roll*sigh*

I wish I would have eaten a bag of chocolate instead.

Not Easy.

When I was in second grade, I had this awful perm that I begged my mom for.

Be careful what you wish for.

But, I also had a teacher, who had the most amazingly long, silky, salt and peppered hair. I would watch it glisten in the halogen light when she would move and even though her clothes fit her three years before that, she had a mustache and she sounded like she was in pain when she spoke, I thought she was beautiful.
I wanted her hair and I remember thinking…when I get older, my hair will be amazing like hers and my life will be just fine.

Now…to clarify, in second grade, things where pretty damn good. But the fact that the fifth grade boys on the back of the bus would howl with laughter at my knee socks and Shera lunch kit, my best friend was a 13-year old girl who would rather smooch random neighborhood boys than talk to me, my mom refused to let me wear make-up and my leotard at ballet never made my lady parts look as good as my ample 19-year old instructor…all seemed to rock my world.

Alas, life was good.

When you get older…oddly enough, those kids of aforementioned problems, are almost a dream.

Things are rocking these days.
Life is more challenging than I bargained for
And my leotard still doesn’t make my lady parts look as good as my ample 19-year old instructor, circa ‘89.

It’s how you react when you are down…that’s what I have to keep thinking…that makes you a person.

I just want to be a good person.

Please.