The Love Project #14

*Note: I am failing at completing this project but that's good for me to know. Learn and grow. 

#14: Loving Love

I love love

I like the rush of discovery

The slow, methodical process of getting to know something new

I like the excitement of infatuation

The burn of desire

Holding love in my hands and heart

Throwing my head back with pure joy

The tingle of anticipation. 

I LOVE love

But I don't know if I've ever been in love

If I've ever fallen completely

Losing myself

But gaining something bigger

That's what I imagine it is

To truly love someone else

I l-o-v-e love

A long walk into endless conversation

A slow fall into a soft bed

Or someone's arms

Whispered voices under soft sheets

Warm limbs and lips

That is as close as I get to heaven

I love love

More than it loves me

The Love Project

*Writer's Note: Full disclosure, I love this month. Generally, I always enjoy February. You've got Black History, unlimited chocolates, and I can wear red lipstick every day; but this year February feels even more special. Look at that month. All the days perfectly aligned and full. There's even a Friday the 13th in there for good measure. And because I'm so enamoured with this particular month, I'll be writing one "love" poem a day. Now L-O-V-E can mean lots of different things so I'll be exploring all of it. In honor of the Superbowl (and my Patriots being in it) my first poem is going to be about patriotism. 

Sisterhood ... Everlasting.

*Yesterday I began and finished Sisterhood Everlasting by Ann Brashares. It's the follow-up to her best-selling series Sisterhood of the Travelling Pants and fast-forwards to these girls (now women) at the age of 29 as they deal with where their lives have taken them as well as *spoiler* the death of one of their sisters. If you, like myself, grow attached to fictional characters let's just say I would not recommend reading this book in public. A bottle of red wine while reading in bed is highly recommended and you might want to grab a box of tissues too. Either way, I was inspired to write to (and about) my own sisterhood. I hope I can capture what they mean to me. 

I would say I came to the bonds of sisterhood late. I grew up a middle child. Not in the factual sense of the word. I was an only child for many years but I had one cousin who was older than me and one who was younger. They were my sisters for all intents and purposes. Quiana was the beautiful one, I was the smart one and Denise was the youngest who followed after the both of us. We didn't have a lot of other friends who were girls and I was often jealous of the friends they did have. In my head we were sisters. They were friends. It was not the same.

As we grew older, we grew apart. I went off to boarding school and suddenly I was surrounded by other girls. I had lots of friends, male and female. Then in our 11th grade year I discovered that I had more than friends. I'd found new sisters. That year was a roller-coaster of triumphs and tragedies and firsts and adventures. I found that my friends and I fit together like puzzle pieces. Even today, I mark myself by them. Not competitively but as a sign that things have really happened. Sheena, who came to every performance I had in high school, still cheers me on and I think moreso than myself she can enumerate all of my talents better than I can. Sometimes I wish she could do every job interview for me because I sound immensely better from Sheena's point of view than I do from my own. I'll never know if I'm on time unless Stephanie's late. Whenever we're together we fall into the same patterns. Steph is late and I sigh and complain but I never show up later than the time we agreed upon. One day she'll be there exactly when we said. Jadele is our moral compass, our spiritual leader. She creates from some deep place and reminds us that the rest of us were born to create as well. Nekia is the bitch and I mean that in every possible positive way I can think of. She keeps us in check. She tells us the truth. But she'd also give you her last and be by your side if you called her there. And I am the organizer, the gatherer. I drive everyone crazy with my plans. I live for romanticized grand plans and I make all of us sit in rooms together and badger everyone until they do what I want. These are my sisters. Forged through tears and laughs when we were just 16. I have the right to make us sit in rooms together. 

It's not to say that I haven't had other close friends. Other people that I consider part of my family. When I went to college I sought to replicate what I had at boarding school. And I found an amazing group of women who I love deeply. Luckily, and somewhat astonishingly, I've managed to move across the country from my sisters and find a great support system and people who have welcomed me into their lives. I guess more than anything I'm lucky that my sisters left me with two things: the ability to form a family wherever I go and a piece of themselves that I carry every day. Often, I find that I'm always a few minutes late. And I like to push and drive the creative spirit of those around me. I revel in all of my friend's accomplishments and life changing moments as if they were my own. I speak the truth even when it hurts. And my heart is always open. I'm always accepting more sisters. 

Come Take a Walk With Me

Long overdue, I know but I wanted to continue my Montreal fangirl crush.

What I loved most about Montreal was that it's a city that accessible. You can walk, take the Metro, the bus or ride a bike.

A Tale of Two Weekends

Memorial Day weekend and the weekend before marked two big events in my life. The first was the series finale of LOST. For most not exactly a milestone but for this viewer it was the culmination of six years of watching, reading, listening, philosophizing and mostly importantly, it was a moment where I fully immersed myself in a community I hadn't even realized I was a part of. I was lucky enough to go to L.A. for the Lost series finale party organized by Jay and Jack. I got to see a genuine Dharma van and listen to Michael Emerson wax rhapsodic about any and every thing. Listening to that man speak was one of the highlights of my life and seriously made me regret not pursuing acting. He's just a genius.

Surrealism

Saturday night I spent an hour in the presence of a living legend. Since then I've probably recounted the story a million times so I won't do that here. Here is the place where I want to meditate on what the experience meant.

Tell 'Em Why You Mad, Son

One of my absolute favorite phrases. And in it you can hear the spirit of NY. That indignant anger. That need to spit. To let people know just how you're feeling. That inability to hold back.

I'm sitting in a restaurant at JFK downing Bellinis and already missing NY. Despite what some might consider a frantic pace, there's something about this city that rejuvenates me. When I'm here I feel bad if I stay at home. This time around I was up and out most nights til 4 am and probably broke my all-time record with one party that lasted til 7 am.

Most of all, I enjoyed myself. I saw my family and friends (although it's not the same as living here). And I just walked the streets and rode the train. Simple pleasures. As usual, I probably spent too much money and brought too much back but as I've said before, who can resist? It's New fucking York for godsakes. And most importantly when I'm here I never feel like I have to hold back.

I get a lot of shit in Cali for being too "harsh" or "blunt" or _____ (insert opposite of "passive-aggressive" adjective here) but in actuality, I'm just telling you why I'm mad.

Things That Make Me Happy

I'm a simple person for the most part and I try to take pleasure in life's simple offerings. Here's a few things that are currently making me happy.

This video:


For some reason I start to tear up at the "Somebody to Love" section.

My godsister:

Just about the cutest thing ever. And she's planned a whole evening of us playing with her toys. She cracks me up.






My iPod Touch:

My mom spent way too much on me for Christmas but if I had to, I could give everything back but this iPod. I've been on the web and downloading apps non-stop. It's my absolute new favorite thing.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #100

#100: Celebration!

I can't believe this but here it is. Not only did I reach 100 posts but I also reached a much deserved break. And the reason I'm getting to this post the day after my deadline is because I spent last night drinking margaritas and eating tacos at Lake Chalet (Taco Tuesdays!).

I've thought a bit about finishing this goal and what's next. I considered setting a new goal, but I think for right now, it's better to let myself come to blog; something that should be considerably easier now that I've done this. And I also thought about creating a theme. Obviously, television and films are my passion and I could wax on about that for days. But I also like having a place where I can write about anything; life, frustrations, sex (when I'm having it or not) and work. So picking just one theme seemed disingenuous to who I am. Like I said, I'm a jack of all trades master of none and that's an identity that I cannot seem to escape.

So ultimately what I came up with was a name change. Originally the name ...Makes You Do the Wacky, was based on a quote from Buffy, the Vampire Slayer, one of my all time favorite television shows. I still believe in the spirit of that title. That "love makes you do the wacky". We do the craziest things in the name of love. But the new title is something that reflects more of me and how I see life.

The new name is Deliciously Ambiguous. As I've said again and again, I don't know where I'm going and my life is pretty up and down. But (for the most part), I'm enjoying the ride and I'll take the uncertainty for those delicious moments of clarity.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #98

#98: Inspirations

“If you become frightened, instead become inspired."

I've always looked for inspiration in the world. And I have lots of ambition. I also have lots of interests. And I think I sometimes let my interests and ambitions overwhelm me until I become static.

So I'm going to look at it a different way. I'm going to think of what frightens me the most and use that to inspire me. Instead of letting the fear of not accomplishing the multitude of things I want to do immobilize me, I'm going to take the one thing that frightens me the most and have it become my focus.

Lately I've been thinking about what I fear and one thing keeps popping up: love. I realized that I don't have the best examples for love. The adult men in my life either started off unreliable or turned out to be that way. I don't have many friends who are in love and even amongst those who are they seem to have severe relationship deficiencies or they're entirely too happy for it to seem real to me. That last assessment shows how twisted I am. In my world, if a couple is too happy clearly they can't be truly in love.

I'm trying to suss this all out. How do I use my fear to inspire my actions? How do I push myself to the next phase of my life? Because I'm feeling restless and I need change. And with change comes more fear. Of failure, and finances and making a bad move. It seems never-ending and insurmountable.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #59

#59: Happenstance

Today when I was waiting for the bus a woman came up to me and asked me for a cigarette. She looked a bit degenerate but I pulled out my iPod headphones and informed her that I didn't smoke. She then asked me if I had prayed to Jesus Christ and confessed my sins. I told her I hadn't. She asked me if I read the Bible. At this point I was amused. I said no (even though I have). She then told me that she prayed that I would not end in Hell and walked away.

Now aside from the fact that this interaction started with her asking me for a cigarette and that I'm almost certain she lives on the streets, what right does this woman have to judge my spiritual choices? One of the primary problems I have with religion is the judgment. It's not that I don't believe there's a higher power, I just don't believe that because you adhere to that you automatically get the right to speculate on what that higher power would think.

I believe in love. I believe that miracles can happen. I believe Santa Claus makes miracles happen at Christmas. I believe that some things are just coincidence and other things are fated. I believe in love at first sight. And at the end of the day, I believe in treating people how you want to be treated. That's what's going to gt me far in the world.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #49

#49: Love Unconditional

Other than my mother and brother, these are the two people I love the most in the world; my great-grandmother and my grandfather. My great-grandmother died about 5 years ago. My grandfather lives in a home in North Carolina now. Ever since I've moved out to Cali, I haven't been able to see him because when I go to the East Coast, I don't have the time or money to go to NC. His birthday was October 2nd. I've always said that if I were to kill someone, my granddad would help me hide the body, no questions.

Some of my favorite memories are of the little, green house in Hertford, North Carolina. They say you can never go home, but I go home all the time. The place I can't go is back there because my grandma and granddad aren't there anymore. I wrote this poem the first time I went back to that house after my great-grandfather (Granddaddy Bud) died.

The Color Green

A lifetime of staring out of that small bathroom window
Sinking my feet into the grass to stop the perpetual motion of the white swing
Fresh-painted shutters and trim that never seemed to change
Laying in the old dented mattress
Hard footstes across a tender floor in the early morning
Perception and belief molded through stained glass
Scrapes, bruises, cuts and stains
White crested waves slapping the shore
Swimming in the warm folded shirts
The sunsets on the little green house
Where the dusk meets the earth

100 Issues for 100 Days: #48

#48: Dreaming of You

I'm a dreamer. I always have been. I spend a lot of time daydreaming and that's what I spent all day doing.

Most often than not, I dream about love. I create stories in my mind. Some times I insert myself into my favorite stories or tv shows or movies. Other times I create stories out of thin air. Occasionally, I write it all down.

I wonder if my daydreams are harmful. If living in that world makes this world not good enough. If it's immobilizing. But I can't give up my dreams. They're too much fun :)

100 Issues for 100 Days: #45

#45: Atonement

I'm searching for atonement
I'm looking for someone to tell me it's ok
To watch a child being beaten for having
Light-skin and long hair

I'm hoping someone will tell me
It's not my fault that I didn't jump in
And save the day
That I haven't seen the day
When I am afraid of children

I'm asking for forgiveness

For every time I fell short and
Let my short fuse lead a child astray
For the days I lost my patience
Because sometimes I'm scared
I'll end up a patient in a mental hospital
Screaming about back in the day
When things were cool
And the kids knew their place

I'm looking for empathy
For someone to tell me that
I wasn't wrong when I let that curse slip by
Or turned up the music in my headphones
Cause each curse word was like a knife wound
And I was tired of getting stabbed
Just riding the bus

The truth is I cry on the inside
When I hear ignorance
But sometimes I let it slip by
Cause I'm tired

I'm diving for absolution
I want to come up from the depths of my despair
Holding it like pearls
A buried treasure
That I've buried forever because the truth is that I'm afraid

Sometimes I am scared of the youth
And that outweighs my fear for the youth
The truth is that sometimes I'm a coward
And sometimes my bad days slip over into the good
So my hope floats away and I just want to
Turn up the music in my headphones and make it go away

Cause I ain't birthed no babies
And sometimes I'm tired of being a parent
To children who don't realize they don't have one

So I fumble for grace
A space where I can glory in the successes and not dwell
On the failures
But then the guilt rises like tides within me
Ebbing and flowing
Cause I can't let go of the hard cases
Those hard heads that have so much potential
Like torrential downpours
I cry tears and ask for clemency
A chance to demonstrate to me,
Myself and I
That I deserve the reprieve

Cause in the end
No one can forgive me
But me

100 Issues for 100 Days: #39

#39: To Be Continued ...

Due to illness and the fact that I have to be at work at 8 am, I'll update about Grey's Anatomy tomorrow.

UPDATED: There are five stages of grief ...

1. Denial
I remember when I first began to question Grey's Anatomy. After Denny died, I wailed and cried but I told myself it was in service of the story and after a story like that one, I would follow Shonda Rhimes and the other writers wherever they would go ... and then they made George cheat on Callie with Izzie. I didn't know what to think but I was still on the ride. I was in denial.

2. Anger
Somewhere along the road I became angry. I was still there but I wasn't happy. And I found myself disliking some of my favorite characters. And then the stories came out. The backstage fighting, the tension and I thought, how can a bunch of people who are producing amazing television let petty fights get in their way? It was unfathomable.

3. Bargaining
I remember thinking at times, I'll still watch if they make Meredith and Derek get back together. Or I'll still watch if they bring Denny back. It became a trade-off. One thing for another, tit for tat.

4. Depression
Then there were the dark times. When I watched but I wasn't happy. When I lamented how the case of the week was the only storyline that brought me any feeling of connection. I felt isolated from characters that once made me feel.

5. Acceptance
And then I watched this season's premiere and I've accepted. I've accepted that this is where we are. That some of those misguided storylines and poorly constructed characters have brought us to this point. The point where I can watch two hours of a show and be completely engaged. The point where I can watch Chandra Wilson, without her saying a word and know what her character is thinking ... and those thoughts made me weep. Every time the camera panned to her face I heard her words from season 3, when George's dad died, "My son is named after his son". More than anyone else Chandra Wilson owned last night's performance and I think she had the fewest lines.

So I'm here at acceptance. And I'm ready to move on ... and stop grieving.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #32

#32: Love Jones

Since I've been reminiscing all week I would be remiss not to mention Love Jones. Love Jones is one of those movies that I think defined what "love" is supposed to look like for people, as evidenced by the amounts of "Love Jones" blogs I found when searching for this picture.

For me, just the words evoke a certain feeling. It reminds me of the feeling of laying on the couch and reading a good book on a rainy Sunday. Or listening to jazz while laying in bed. Or a hot, restless night (like tonight) when you feel lazy and energized all at once.

But most of all Love Jones taught me what NOT to do in a relationship. It's one of those frustrations that make great love stories, the characters do everything wrong. While I learned not to play games and not to hold back when it counts, would the story have seemed so great if they didn't have to suffer a bit to get there?

I've been rewatching old clips of General Hospital and in particular, my favorite couple Jason and Sam. There's something cathartic about watching couples get together, get torn apart and reunite. Even if that love ends tragically and the reunion is something you only imagine. Ultimately, when you think of a love story, you don't remember the tragedy, you remember the warm nights, the laughs and the kisses. And that's why the stories endure.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #23

#23: You Must Know ...

Amelia Earhart has always been an uninspiring figure for me. She's never really rated on any scale for me as an icon or a feminist, but today on Jezebel there was an interesting article about her in which they quoted a letter she gave to her husband on their wedding day:

You must know again my reluctance to marry, my feeling that I shatter thereby chances in work which means so much to me. . . . In our life together I shall not hold you to any medieval code of faithfulness to me, nor shall I consider myself bound to you similarly. . . . I may have to keep some place where I can go to be myself now and then, for I cannot guarantee to endure at all the confinements of even an attractive cage. I must extract a cruel promise, and that is you will let me go in a year if we find no happiness together.*

(*emphasis mine)

In the past few days, I've had two friends get engaged, and even more in the past few months. It made me wonder, what parts of myself am I willing (or unwilling) to give up in a marriage? What would my letter look like? I think it would be something like this:

You must know again my reluctance to marry. I've seen this end in spite and sorrow. And I've seen it tear down the self-esteem of everyone involved. In our life together, I hope that you can be honest, because I value that above all other virtues. I consider myself bound to you but if breaking bonds helps us both to live than do not hesitate to cut the cord. I am not your cage and you are not mine. I may have to keep some things for myself to be myself but everything else I wish to share. I must extract a promise and that is that you will let me go when holding on becomes too much. If we end, I hope to end in love.

Although I don't count Earhart as one of my personal heroes, I have a lot of respect for her entering a marriage with a clear vision and a clear intention of what she wanted and didn't want. Too often women are caught up in the dream rather than the reality beyond the wedding. I hope when I get married, I'm not planning for a day but instead for a lifetime.

100 Issues for 100 Days: #18

#18: Flashback

I just finished reading, Bridget Jones: The Edge of Reason*. After hearing about the possibility that a third film was in the works, some people had suggested reading the second book, which is apparently far better than the film. While I agree that the book is superior, reading it as a woman in her mid-twenties definitely brought a new perspective.

(If you can keep your head when all about you
Are losing theirs ...)

Although the Bridget-isms were charming (though a bit dated as it was pubished in 1999) and I do love a British chick-lit novel, Bridget's raging insecurities were hard to deal with. The conceit of the novel is that Bridget is addicted to self-help novels and friends' advice, so much so that she is completely immobilized by it. Because everything that she reads and hears is contradicted by what she should actually be doing, she never gains any traction in her relationship. At one point, she goes to throw out her self-help books and even the listing of the titles (The Rules, Ignoring the Rules, How to Seek and Find the Love You Want, How to Find the Love You Want Without Seeking It) illustrate just how bogged down her logic is.

(If you can trust yourself when all men doubt you, But make allowance for their doubting too)

As the reader, you're hoping that Bridget's insights about "Singletons" and "Smug Marrieds" will lead her to some epiphany about life and love but sadly the heroine of this novel finds herself continually bogged down in wondering what her would-be lover is thinking rather than speaking to him. Funny enough, Bridget's mom, who is daft for the majority of the story, in one lucid moment says the most wise of things, "What's the point ... if you don't know what you think about things?"

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

Although I personally can't relate to Bridget (I can't relate to any literary character who basically works their way into debt and magically finds a wonderfully rich man), reading this book did give me a lot of understanding into where I am now. First of all, I am not living in a chick-lit novel. If I was the aforementioned wonderfully rich guy would be making his entrance about now. Luckily, I am also not surrounded by Smug Marrieds. I am a Singleton but not searching for spirituality in self-help novels in manner of "If Buddha Dated". What I am is somewhat content, usually horny (but who isn't in this heat?) and continuing to figure out my career. And I'll admit, I'm hoping I won't be still typing those words ten years from now.


(If you can dream - and not make dreams your master; If you can think - and not make thoughts your aim)

The best thing about reading this book (beside it making me wildly happy about my own level o self-esteem) was the discovery of the poem If by Rudyard Kipling. I don't think Bridget fully understands the gem she's come upon when she reads this poem but she does use it to draw strength from while she's in a Thai prison. And I'll definitely hold the words with me.

(If you can meet with Triumph and Disaster, And treat those two imposters just the same)



*I'm currently reading books that have been turned into films. Atonement, Incendiary and Wonder Boys are on the list).

100 Issues for 100 Days: #8

#8: Quarter-Life

Yesterday I went to see two movies, (500) Days of Summer and Julie & Julia. I mostly went to see them because I was in the mood for a big-screen version of a Lifetime movie and beause of my long-standing girl crush on Zooey Deschanel (not to mention my regular crush on Joseph Gordon-Levitt). Both movies were entertaining, enlightening and mostly sweet but later as I reflected on the two I realized that both brought up an essential question that people my age grapple with: what do we do when what we thought our lives would be, are anything but?

The main character in (500) Days. Tom, is a guy who always had an idea of what falling in love would be like. Most of it was based on what he saw in the movies. So when he meets Summer, he pretty much ignores all the obvious signs of why they won't work and is devastated when it doesn't, although the audience can see it coming from a mile away.

Similarly, in Julie & Julia, blogger Julie Powell embarks on a mission to cook her way through Julia Child's Mastering the Art of French Cooking in order to prove to herself that her life and her friends, that her life (at 30) has not been a failure.

Basically, these two people, in their late 20s/early 30s, have almost given up hope on love and career. And the reason we are able to go on this journey with them is because for many people my age, we find ourselves in the same place. We wonder what we did wrong or what we're missing that we haven't found love or been able to succeed at our passions. Personally, I'm in both positions. After 26 years of life, I've never been in love. And professionally, I struggle with being able to follow my passion or paying the bills. Lately, I've managed to find a bit of serenity in realizing that when those things do come, they will be epic. And they will be right. I guess right now I just have to trust that everything I'm doing will have to pay off otherwise it'd be pretty damn hard to get through the day.

Confirmed Dead*

Initially, I was going to be coy and not post anything about the results of "The Talk" but since I kind of feel thrown for a loop, I had to get this out. The title of this post comes from an episode of Lost. In the episode, the "freighties" are being assembled for the first time to go to the Island and you see them all hearing that everyone on Oceanic Flight 815 is confirmed dead. The interesting part is that the audience knows that 815 crash-landed on the island and there are a bunch of survivors.

That's how I feel right now. Everything in my head is telling me that this relationship, or whatever it is, is dead. My heart is telling me there are survivors. The crazy thing is (if we want to continue this metaphor to its conclusion) of the freighties who go to the island: two die, one ends up (we think) stuck at sea and two decide to stay. And they all go through a helluva lot before that happens. The odds are not in my favor.

So here's the way the talk went down, after some (very good) sex, we were watching tv and talking and I, oh so casually, asked where he thought we were right now. Basically, I tried to assure him that I wasn't trying to push for things to change but I just wanted to know where we stood now. He said he wasn't ready for a relationship (which I knew) and that he's concerned about being exclusive because that equates a relationship to him (which it doesn't necessarily to me). And then I got the answer that I was not expecting, he's also seeing someone else.

See I had made the assumption (I know when you make an assumption, you make an ass out of 'u' and 'mption'), that like me, he hadn't had the time to cultivate anything else with someone or wasn't looking to. Looking back it's not exactly a surprise. I had some idea when my toothbrush (which he asked me to bring over) moved from the bathroom cabinet to the closet next to the bathroom. And although I'm not angry that he's having sex with someone else (he's incredibly safe so I'm not worried too much about that), I think it would have been courteous to let me know. I mean, we see each other pretty often, and it does make me a bit uncomfortable to know that a partner I sleep with regularly is (probably) regularly seeing and (having sex with) someone else.

But most of all, I'm disappointed. I don't really want what we have to change. I enjoy his company, I enjoy his friendship, I most definitely enjoy the sex but I don't know how I feel about him seeing someone else. And my curiosity is making me want to ask soooo many questions, which is the last thing that he wants.

So what do I want? That's the question that I can't answer right now. I don't know if this thing is confirmed dead or if there are survivors lying around somewhere that just haven't been found yet.

*One of my little quirks is that I know A LOT of television episode titles. I was thinking about making those the titles of my posts. I'm still trying to decide if I should stick with one show or just pull them from various shows as is appropriate.