Happy Birthday Dad

Today is my father's 56th Birthday. Well, I don't think you age in heaven, so I think it's safe to say that today "would have been" his 56th Birthday. In honor of my father, who's passion for my writing was almost greater than my own, I am posting the poem that I wrote years ago that he said was his favorite--I read this very same poem at his funeral to honor him.

*The Butterfly*

Every creature has a story
With a beginning, middle, and end
Every creature has a journey
A battle to contend

He started off as a caterpillar
So small, so plain, so meek
Learning and experiencing very little
Dirty roads week by week

The most he could do was glance
At the beautiful and open sky
So many opportunities up there
He envied the birds flying by

Until one day he started to change
Out of sight from all the rest
In his cocoon he started working
It seemed he had a quest

His time in the cocoon seemed long
Hard work he thought went to waste
All he wanted was to grow and change
Of the sky he wanted a taste

And then one day it hap pend
Right before everyone's eyes
Out of the cocoon came not a caterpillar
But a beautiful butterfly

His wings, they dazzled many
His colors sparkled in the sun
It was his time to venture into the sky
Another journey had just begun

Indeed every creature has a story
Not every ending is what it seems
Not it's his time to be a butterfly
And begin to start living his dreams

The Lies WE Tell

This past weekend I was reading one of my various magazines that come to my house each month (Glamour, Cosmopolitan, Marie Claire, Vogue, LittleGus has a Fashion Magazine addiction, etc) and I came across an article that I found very interesting, and a bit entertaining. It was entitled "The Lies Men Tell"--and it was written by a man. As I read more, I found it hilarious. It was written with such a matter-of-fact nature, like it's normal or even acceptable that these common lies pour out of men's mouth like verbal diarrhea. This article got me thinking about the lies that come out of women's mouths as well. There are things we indeed lie to our significant others about in order to spare their feelings, save a conversation from getting too intense, or...just because we have a little bit of verbal outpouring of our own. So, to the men out there-- here are the lies WE tell.

1. "Size doesn't matter." Trust me, it does. The term "it's not the size that counts but how you use it" was most likely coined by a man who was probably ashamed of his very small parts. Gentleman...yes, size matters. Be logical.

2. "I LOVE your mom"! Odds are, we don't. We can sense that she will never think we are good enough for you, and we can also sense that we'll never quite measure up to her in your eyes. We may like her, but we have a sense that she's constantly "judging".

3. "You're the best I've ever had!" Strictly speaking in regards to actual number of orgasms, you may not be ranked numero uno. But who counts anyway?

4. "I've only slept with ______ amount of people." Add a few numbers to that list. Then, if we really love you, you should add a few more.

5. "Oh I've never done that!" Odds are we have done it at least once, or we've thought about doing it.

6. "I've never felt this way about anybody before"... We have. We've probably said that to each guy we've ever "fell" for. Everything feels the same in the beginning of a relationship.

7. "I've never (kissed, done this, gone home with) a stranger before!" Sure we have, we just don't want you to think we're a slut.

8. "I'm not looking for a relationship". We are. We either don't think you are good enough, or we think you don't want one and we don't want to appear needy.

9. "I got them on sale". No we didn't. We spent half our rent money on them, but we just don't want you to know that.

So, women tell little white lies as well. Just like men, we have a certain way we'd like to look and be portrayed, and certain facts from our lives just don't paint that picture. As for the important stuff---if we love you, and I mean really love you-- you'll know what's truth and what's not. And if there's love, it shouldn't matter anyway. Believe me?

Tis' the Season

I was always told about this "season". I was told it would approach in my mid-twenties (which, despite my incredibly young boyfriend, I am currently in) and that it would hit like a freight train. Yes, the joys of the long awaited wedding season.

I was told that each friend would start dropping like flies and falling victim to this beloved sacrament. Wait, don't get me wrong, marriage seems like an amazing thing and I can't wait to do it one day---but, do they all have to plan these things around the same time?

This past weekend, two very good friends from high school got engaged. I am so happy for them! Overjoyed! Ecstatic!

However, it starts to sink in that they will probably be just two of many, and this means not only dresses and gifts-- but flights back East. And I'm sure they'll all plan these weddings close enough to where I'll go bankrupt, and far enough apart to where I'll have to plan separate trips to CT.

I should have started saving when I was a young girl, when the first wise person told me it would all start happening like this. I should have set aside a "friends wedding" fund so that I would be prepared. But, I didn't. Now, it's panic time.

However, maybe after they read this blog I won't have to worry about it, because my invitation will get mysteriously "lost" in the mail....

I'm really over the moon for both of you, I swear. Hugs and Kisses, and I wish you a lifetime of happiness.

Death to Cupid

OK, so this title seems harsh. But I've been thinking about how this little diapered devil has screwed me over so many times--- and now, I'm fighting back. Mr. Cupid has decided to play various jokes on me in the past, like making me fall for commitment phobes, mama's boys, alcoholics, and the occasional "man without a soul". But this time, he's gone too far--he's made me fall for someone who's perfect.
Cupid took his bow and arrow and decided to have a little bit more fun with poor Little Gus. He fired that deadly weapon in the direction of not only Mr. Perfect, but Mr. 5 years my junior, and Mr. "Leaving for the Navy".

Being the eager little adventurer that I am, I decided to have a little "fling" with this gentleman at first. He was younger than me after all, so I figured all the balls would be in my court (literally). The sense of power consumed me, and I loved the fact that maybe, after being in the passenger seat during all my past relationships, I would finally be the one driving. I figured we'd have nothing in common but a physical attraction, and then he'd leave for boot camp and we'd miss nothing about each other but an occasional drunken romp, and our lives would move on separately.

However, in comes that little diapered bastard with his cleaver sense of humor and apparent hatred towards me. Cupid said to himself, "hehe, not only will I make them attracted to each other, but their relationship become so much more than either of them ever thought it would, and then he'll have to leave her."

And, that's just what he did.

This "graduate-esque" relationship ended up turning into something so special, I never could have predicted it. Quick phone texts turned into hour long phone conversations, random get-togethers turned into almost every day togetherness, routine trips to the store with him turned into laughter fests that I never wanted to end, and a seemingly simple physical relationship turned into complete companionship, mentally and physically.

And then, last night, he had to leave for boot camp in Chicago for 8 weeks, then Pensacola Florida for 16 weeks. (For those of you who don't know it, I live neither in Chicago or Pensacola).

Thanks Cupid. He gives me everything I have ever wanted in a man, but wraps him up in a youngin' (which lets many people say very colorful words about me, I'm sure) and someone who is starting off his life, many miles away. I guess maybe the worst part about it is that he reciprocates these feelings, and wants to be with me. He thinks there is no one more wonderful than me (neurosis and all) and says he's more than willing to put in the difficult hours now, in order to reap the benefits later.

Now I'm guessing those "cup is half full" type people will tell me that I should be thanking Cupid--- that I am lucky that I've met someone wonderful, and that not everything is easy in life and I should just take a "leap of faith" (as my young Seaman tells me to do). Should I take that route? My gut instinct is telling me that I should, but I can't help but feel a little bit of animosity and skepticism towards the whole situation.

I'd be open to any sort of advice out there (except from you, Cupid) on what I should do. Not that I'll listen to anyone but myself in the end, but I'd love to know what someone else would do in this situation. Is it really logical in the year 2008 to "follow your heart" and trust the man with the diaper, bow and arrow, and wings? Can things really work out sometimes, despite the level of difficulty? Or, do I tell Cupid to go to hell and point that arrow elsewhere, and get myself as far away from this situation as possible?

At least I can say, without any hesitation, that life is never boring.

Pain at the Pump

It's happened. I can't believe it's actually happened. The talk about gas hitting the "4 Dollar Mark" has been going on for quite some time now, but in a futuristic sense just like spaceships and flying cars. But it's actually finally happened. I was on my way to work this morning when I spotted it, and I felt like rubbing my eyes a few times just to make sure I wasn't dreaming. Thrifty Station in Fountain Valley read $4.25 for regular... Regular gas!--Not even the good gas that makes your car do all those wonderful things that I don't know about because I'm a cheap ass regular girl. No, for Premium they require a down payment and your first born son. I felt like a senior when I started reminiscing about the days when I first got my drivers license and gas was 99 cents. The Golden Days where I could fill up my gas tank for $15 and still have enough money left over to actually have a life. What is going to happen to all of us? Are we all going to be broke? Are we all going to leave our cars in the driveway and walk to work, even if it takes us five hours and we are ridden with filth and sweat by the time we get there? Should I move? Change jobs? Stage a protest?
I'm thinking I should come up with an alternative source for fuel. Any suggestions? Right now I've got some useless items on the list that don't do much good now, such as Decaf Coffee, Designer Impostor Perfumes, SPF 0 Tanning Oil, and Fruity Vodkas. Loan me your car so I can experiment.

Tossing Stones

God informed us that "he among us without sin should be the first to condemn another, or the first to throw a stone"... How often does anyone follow that statement? If that were true, no one would ever say anything bad about anyone else-- and that we know isn't true. People on a daily basis critique everything about everyone else-- they presume to understand, are quick to judge, and discuss another's life choices just as often and as quickly as they pick out what clothes to wear in the morning. There is no one person out there who is without sin---who doesn't make mistakes themselves. Granted, there are some of us who are better at making them and make them more frequently, but we are not alone. However, maybe it isn't other people whose critiques and judgements are undoubtedly harsh. I'm wondering if it's ourselves who throw the stones the hardest.
If we are perfectly confident and loving of ourselves, it shouldn't matter what others think of us, correct? Maybe we as a human race put way too much pressure on ourselves on a day to day basis and when we attain less than perfection, we toss the stone. We let others dictate what our level of perfection should be, and if we fail to achieve it, we feel like we've let ourselves down.

Today, I'm putting down the stone. I've got welts on my body the size of golf balls.

Why Drink?

As I sit here, staring at the computer, wondering why the walls feel like they are caving in and wondering why my surroundings are spinning, I can't help but ask myself why.. Why drink?

Last night's happy hour which went from one cocktail to four has evolved into this mornings hangover and I am desperately trying not to curl up into a ball under my desk and go to sleep. I dine on a very healthy breakfast of diet Dr. Pepper and Sour Cream and Onion Pringles, and hope that my antics last night did not a.) embarrass myself or b.) end with my phone number permanently stored in any strange man's cell.

The "morning after" is most definitely a hell on earth that we voluntarily put ourselves in when we decide to have too many cocktails. That three hours of giddiness comes at the expense of an entire day of dry heaving, diet soda, salty food, dizziness, random flashbacks, and frequent trips to the lavatory.

The universe, ever so amusing, sends the hangover in waves---so just when you think you've been cured, it comes back, disguised as something else. First, there's the initial wake up-- everything hurts, everything wants to come back up through the route it came in, and you have no idea what you've ever done in your life to deserve that amount of discomfort. You take some pain meds, sleep some more, maybe drink something carbonated and eat something to coat your stomach. An hour later, you start to feel better. You get out of bed, maybe even start to make something of your day. Then suddenly, it comes back. This will go on all day.

Seriously...Why drink?

Thinking

Thinking



I sat down one afternoon

And reflected upon my years

I thought about how much I've seen

I thought about all the tears


I thought about my weakened heart

How love has been so unkind

I thought about men I've loved and lost

And the times I've been left behind


I thought about how I've been betrayed

How lies caused so much confusion

I thought about how I've come to believe

That trust is just an illusion


I thought about my family

How much pain and hardship we've beared

I thought about how much they've meant to me

No one else has ever compared


I thought about times I've gone without

And tried even harder to gain

I thought about how I wanted sun

But often times just got rain


Then I thought about all the people

Who bared all of this with me

I thought about the kindness of strangers

And how what will be will be


Then I thought about smiling

When I realized I've been so strong

I thought about how through every trial

Strength kept me happy all along


Then I thought about thinking

And how the sadness had clouded my brain

I thought to myself, Count your blessings

And never once again thought of pain

Becoming Your Parent's "Parent"

I have felt this coming on for quite some time now...Ever since my Dad got sick and life got "really" hard.... I had started feeling like my mother's "parent"... And as of last night, I realized that is exactly what I am.

I'm not saying it's right or wrong for me to feel this way or act this way... I do feel that someone out there needs to take care of her, since she has no husband or parents to look out for her. But it is a very strange feeling. I'll give some examples.

I don't want ANY harm to come to her. That is a normal thing to feel for anyone you love, but it's deeper than that. I feel the need to protect her from "the world"... She's been in this bubble for such a long time and I feel as though she doesn't really know the way things work. I don't want her to experience any more sadness, pain, or uncertainty. I get angry when someone is mean to her. I try to teach her things each day-- like how to use a cell phone, how to turn on and off the television using the complicated remote control, and how to use a necklace to accessorize an outfit. If she's hungry, I want to make sure there is something for her to eat. If she's cold, I want to make sure she has a blanket. I want her to have the perfect job-- one that makes her feel good inside and keeps her busy. I send out her resume places and call her when she has an interview. I make sure she's taking the right medication and at the right times. How did this happen?

There are times when I might be feeling particularly low... and I come to her to find solace and comfort, the way a child seeks out his or her parent to make things "better"... although when I come to her as her child, I see that she is upset... and I end up comforting her. She becomes the child--sad, feeling lost, and needing her hand held. I tell her of the ways of the world, pull an example from my life, say that everything will be all right, chin up, etc etc. She drifts off to sleep like a child, and I, the grown-up, the parent, solve my problem alone.

It really hit me last night when I went to go pick her up from work--- me, picking her up from work. I watched her inside the store. She works at a clothing store, and the store had closed so the employees were cleaning up. I sat in the parking lot, thinking. I didn't like that she was working so late... She's going to be tired in the morning, I thought. Her feet must hurt, I thought. Don't they know she's too smart to sweep, I thought. I didn't like that it was after 9 PM and she was still working, even though she was supposed to get off at 9. I wanted to go in there and say "Excuse me, she's done" and take her home so she could get some rest.

I'm wondering how I went from being a young girl in her 20's to an old woman. I'm wondering if sometime soon I'll get those missed years back. Until then, I play the role that is needed of me, for now.

Noisy Neighbors

I lit my candles, took out a book, and snuggled into bed around 10 PM. It had been a busy day at work, and I was looking forward to a good night's sleep. I read for a bit, then blew out the candles and closed my eyes. Just as I was drifting away, it started. The loud squawking, the conversation.. it was piercing to the ear. I wrapped my blanket around my head in hopes that the friction would drown out the noise. Nope. As it neared midnight, enough was enough. But what do you do when your noisy neighbors are.... birds. Yes, birds. F-ing Nocturnal birds.

What on earth are they doing up all night? Since when do birds come out when it's cold and stay up all night talking? Had they flown back from their winter vacation already? Were the parent birds out of the nest for the night, so the teenager birds had a party? I have no idea.. All I know is that it didn't stop. The clock went from midnight, to 1, to 2, to 3 AM... and still the squawking. I grew extremely frustrated. Birds in Connecticut did not stay up all night. They tucked in their baby birds as the sun went down, and kept their beaks closed until the human world began to stir again. But no, not Cali birds.

I started to move from room to room to see if the noise grew fainter. The noise was just as prominent downstairs on all of the couches. I tried the couch, another couch, and secretly wished I lived in a house that did not believe in gun control. By this time it was nearing 4 am, and just when I was about to turn on the tube and drown my sleepless woes in infomercials, I remembered... you couldn't hear anything from my mothers room. The soothing lullaby of her window fan drowned out any noises from the outside world. Score! I opened the door, crept in, and listened for a moment. No birds.

I pulled down the covers and got into bed, and just as my brain started visualizing sugar plums, I heard another noise, and remembered. The rumbling, grumbling, earth shattering snores that came from the woman next to me--Ohhhhh yes... I had almost forgotten. Infomercials it is. Maybe I'll see the one with the foot pad that turns brown.

Maybe the birds were up all night complaining about their noisy neighbor.

When One or the Other just 'Aint Enough

I've always known I wanted to be a mother. Most little girls play with dolls, but as I played with mine, I knew that part of my life's calling one day would be to have real ones-- to grow up, meet a man, have babies, and screw them up in my own, unique way. And here I am, almost 26 years old, and am no closer to having that real family than I was 20 years ago when I was playing with plastic. Friends, family members, and co-workers joke about my "baby fever" when in fact I believe that my yearning is only natural. I am not upset about my lack of babies, because I have other, very full-filling obligations, such as my career. However, when realizing that a job is full-filling my baby void, a whole new set of questions arise that I, being the ever-so-slightly over analyzer that I am, need answered.

I am finding that girls my age in the year 2008 have decided on either one priority-- the job, or the babies. Most young female executives I know are in no rush for babies, but are excited about moving up in their company and in the world. I also find that the reverse is true. I find that women my age who are on the verge of a family or are in hopes of a family are not very enthusiastic about what they do for a living. My question is, what do you do when one or the other just 'aint enough? Why can't I be a 26 year old woman who loves her career, who wants to excel in the business/journalistic world and who has greater things on her horizon--- but who also is on pins and needles waiting for that family that she so greatly desires. Why can't I love babies AND business journals? Why can't I be excited about a networking event AND a future with a wonderful man?

More and more women are entering the workforce as we speak, and I find that wonderful. There are so many cookies out there to be eaten up, and I definitely plan on taking my fair share of them. However, why should it make me any less ambitious if I want to have babies, and take time off from work to raise them? And why should it make me any less "nuturing" or "maternal" if I also want to kick butt in the publishing world and meet as many professionals as I can? I'm wondering when it got to be silly that a woman in almost her late 20's is excited about holding a baby and having one in the future?

I hope that one day, 20-somethings will be allowed to desire both-- But for now, I remain that freak who loves her career, and also can't wait for the little mini-gus' to be running around in the future.

Sex and Everyone's City

Unless you've been living in a cave on a remote island since 1998, I'm guessing you are aware of a little 21st century phenomenon called "Sex and the City." A show about the lives of four women living in Manhattan did more for our gender than promote the tasty "Cosmopolitan". I truly believe this show is brilliantly written, and if watched closely, can really mold and change the life of the single woman, anywhere in the world between the ages of 20-99. This show not only teaches woman that it's quite all right to be sexually liberated, but that certain things women have been feeling for centuries is finally politically correct to be spoken about. Every time I watch this show I learn something new about myself. These four identifiable characters have a little bit of every woman in them...and every woman has a little bit of all four characters inside themselves. I shall explain...

Inside every woman, there is a "Carrie Bradshaw"--- a part of you who analyzes every issue until it barely exists anymore. A woman who has a hard time knowing what kind of man she truly desires, and is the number one confidant of all of her friends. Inside every woman is a long lost love like a Mr. Big, whether he exists in your current life or he left you years ago. Inside every woman is a desire to understand how the world works, how relationships work, and to want to capture every moment of it. Inside every woman is a desire to have designer bags and shoes in their possession, and not work for them.

Inside every woman, there is a "Miranda Hobbs"--- a part of you who has been beaten down by how hard the world has been. A woman who is bitter and sarcastic, and thinks that all fairy tales are complete crap. Inside every woman is a desire to make a life for themselves, and to not let a man define her, no matter how much she loves him. Inside every woman is a realist, someone who thinks that maybe, just maybe, dreaming is a waste of time.

Inside every woman, there is a "Samantha Jones"--- a part of you who loves sex, and desires no emotional attachment sometimes. A woman who is afraid to get too close to someone, so she stays on the surface with purely physical relationships. Inside every woman there is a fear of getting older and not seeming attractive anymore. Inside every woman there is a need to be sexual, desirable, and free.

Inside every woman, there is a "Charlotte York"--- a part of you who wants to settle down and have a family. A woman who wants to belong to someone and feel important. A woman who thinks manners and the way you carry yourself are crucial, and who desperately wants to be a mother. A woman who insists on people being educated, polite, and polished. A woman who blushes when people talk about their sex life or bodily functions in public.

I can find a piece of myself in each of these characters, and have learned so much about being a single woman from this show. I've learned that it's all right to over-analyze, to be bitter, to be sexy, and to have standards. Over-analyzing doesn't make you crazy, being bitter doesn't make you an un-happy person, enjoying sex does not make you a slut, and having proper standards does not make you a snob. What an amazing self-realization that can come from one simple show!

How To Snag A Date for the Dodger Game in Two Weeks or Less...

This post, modeled slightly after "How To Lose A Guy in 10 Days" is about a real woman's quest (mine!) to find a normal, sports-minded, not easily intimidated, and dare I say..somewhat good-looking... date for the Dodger/Angels game in May. Now as much as I love the dates I've had for my past venues out here in CA... the guy who argued with me about everything, the guy who said I "made him nervous", the guy who my friends and I think might be gay, and the guy who was addicted to drugs and fell off the face of the planet... I definitely feel that they were definitely not up to caliber and since these are going to be great seats to a fantastic game, I'd like to find a person who is at least one step up from the disasters I've met out here so far. It's not every day that I get to see my hero, Joe Torre, up close and personal, so I must go through a pretty extensive screening process and I only have two weeks or so in which to weed out the bad from the good. Presently, I have the following options:

1. Bars. Happy Hours which host a nice beer special and have big screens in all areas of sight playing either the NBA playoffs or a baseball game. I know if I just open my mouth, I can find someone there.

2. Finally let my friend set me up with her friend she's been bragging about. Even though I'm not a fan of blind-dates or set-ups, maybe the stars will be in line and the gods in my favor that fateful day.

3. Wear a sign. I had thought of crafting up a very colorful, maybe even delightfully written and polite sign that I could wear while I stand on the side of the street with a bell. Better yet, I can wear nothing underneath that sign. If that's the case, I could probably ditch the bell.

4. Personal Ads. Craigslist, Yahoo, you name it. SWF seeks SWM with at least half a brain and baseball knowledge to attend Dodger/Angel game. No intelligent conversation necessary.

5. Hit up all the tattoo parlors in HB. Lord knows these places are crawling with men, since it is very unlikely to see a man walking down Main Street without at least a full sleeve.

6. Ask an ex-boyfriend from hell to come out for the evening. He will most likely complain about every aspect of the trip, but I think if I buy an extra-large case of heavy duty duct tape, we should be OK.

7. Call the guy who argued with me about everything, the guy who said I made him "nervous", the guy who we all think is gay, or the druggie who fell off the face of the earth. Guy #1 would just boo for every player I liked; Guy #2 would crawl into the fetal position and cry every time I spoke; Guy #3 would hold my hand but all the while be checking out Napoli's package; Guy #4 would get up to go to the bathroom and never return. Hey, more space in the car on the way home.

8. GO ALONE. I could possibly do this. That way, I could go crazy every time Joe Torre showed his face, eat as many hot dogs as my heart desires, use the extra seat for storage, and sing "take me out to the ball game" as loud as I can, horrible voice and all.


I will keep everyone updated on this quest. In the meantime, go Dodgers ;-)

Innocent..Naive...or just plain Stupid?

I'd like to think that I was raised by a moral family who taught me the ways of the world in the correct fashion. However, as I keep branching myself out into different areas of the world and experiencing different aspects of life, a question has peaked my interests and I've spend the whole weekend trying to find the answer. Here, listen up to this... maybe you can help me.

I'd like to think that throughout all that I've been through in life, I've maintained a strong sense of "innocence" that is either endearing to some, or stupid to others. Even at this ripe age of 25 and a half years old, I still believe that deep down people are good. I believe that people have a choice whether or not to hurt someone. I believe that it is still possible to find a man who won't cheat, and love his partner with all of his being. I still think it's possible to work your tail off at work and receive the right amount of credit for it one day. I believe that if you are good to others, someone will eventually be good to you in return. I believe that you should be nice to people, even if they don't deserve it. I believe in loving someone with all of your heart, even if they are going to rip out that heart. I believe that there are people who don't lie, cheat, or steal, no matter what opportunity is put in front of them. I believe that money doesn't buy happiness. I believe that having people's respect is winning half the battle. I believe in prayer, charity, and that no one will truly love you until you love yourself. I believe you can change the world, one small act of kindness at a time. I believe in living a simple life. I believe that even though you are not with the person you once loved, that doesn't mean you weren't his everything. I believe that not everyone whispers behind your back, and not all mistakes make your fate. I believe I am a cool person just because my nieces and nephews think I am. I believe---that in the end, everything will work itself out, no matter what.

So back to the question that I brought up in the beginning. The question that has been on my mind all weekend. Am I innocent, naive, or just plain stupid?

The Babes of BBQue

There are several tell-tale signs of getting older. You spot a grey hair, you need new eyeglasses, things on your body start to sag, and you start noticing that every place you go to is playing their music just a little too loud for your taste. These things haven't really started to happen to me yet, but one thing has. Something that is my sign that life is starting to take a different turn on me. When I was a young girl, I was really into the "bad boys." I liked the trouble-maker members of the boy bands, the actors that slept around and swore a lot, and even the boys in school who always got in trouble. In my teens and early twenties it was the clean cut boys--brad pitt look-a-likes, lead singers of bands, baseball players. Now, my heart goes pitter patter for... yes, brace yourselves... the sexy men of The Food Network.

Jamie, Bobby, Tyler, oh my! I find myself tuning in to watch these handsome men cook up a wonderful meal in 30 minutes flat, chop up onions with excellent precision, and know the difference between cilantro and basil. My mouth ends up watering not only for the dish being prepared, but for the tasty dish whose hands prepared it. What happened to the days of sexy actors and motorcycle riding bad boys? Am I now so far gone that it's these babes of bbque that turn me on? I'm wondering if this fasination and innocent (ha, right) crushes on these men will hinder my future relationships forever. Will I wake up one day, look at my significant other while he's scrambling me some eggs and think, he doesn't do it for me like Jamie Oliver does.... ?????

Fun Fashion Accessory... Or Medieval Torture Device?

I have been a fan of shoes for as long as I can remember. In fact, I'm pretty sure that I came out of the womb and wondered in baby language where the nurse had gotten those great pumps. There are so many different varieties, and thinking about all of them gives me warm fuzzy feelings inside. Heels, stilettos, flats, flip-flops, sandals, espadrilles...the list goes on. What men see as "the strappy ones" or "the black ones" I see as "last season's midnight Prada stiletto's." However, as I have started working in an office, the clothes I wear (which will get a post devoted to their wonderfulness soon) require that I wear professional shoes. Since I am a mere midget, professional shoes are "anything that makes me taller and not look like a 12 year old." I graze the hallways feeling like a proud and powerful women with grown-up height to match my grown-up job. But I have to admit... at the end of the day... I want to cut off my feet at the ankles. Those beautiful fashion pieces south of my knees have made me ask the question... "What am I doing to myself?"

I have always been a firm believer in fashion over comfort. Who cares how it feels, as long as it looks cute, right? I don't know anymore. I have begin to wonder--- ladies, what are we doing to ourselves? What are we sacrificing in the name of fashion? And, most importantly, is it worth it?

I experimented by bringing in a pair of flip-flops to wear only during my lunch break. At 12 PM I took off the heels, placed them under my desk, and replaced them with flip-flops, bringing me back down to the ground. In that hour, I felt more unprofessional and sloppy than I've ever felt here at work. Those extra three inches closer to the floor had indeed made me feel like a child. At 1 PM sharp, I put my heels back on, and was transformed back into strong, beautiful, fashionable and professional woman. So, is the pain at the end of the day worth it? I believe so.

The weekend, however, is an entirely different story.

Hey Buddy--Crack Kills...

I have to take this time to vent about a new phenomenon that seems to be sweeping the Orange County nation. It seems to be everywhere I turn my head, and I've realized that this phenomenon bothers me a tremendous amount.

I am a huge fan of all things "male"... I love the way they smell, the way they try and fix things, even the way they look when they wake up in the morning and their hair is doing a funny "alfalfa" thing in the back. However... and this however might definitely be a deal breaker... Crack Kills.

It is common that men wear their pants low on their waists. So do women now, for that matter. It has become normal to see a man's boxer shorts sticking out of the top of his pants when he raises his arms. But recently, I have been noticing a growing number of men (and boys!) who are still wearing the pants very low, still raising their arms up high... and failing to have that strip of boxer shorts covering the nether-region. In the past week, I have seen about a dozen "cracks" put out there by the male species--at the baseball stadium, riding their bikes around the neighborhood, and at the car wash. I'm not sure if I'm crossing the line here by writing about this, but it seriously bothers me to a point where I had to say something. Is it laziness? Are they just forgetful? Do they need a belt to hold the pants up? Whatever it is, unless they are in the plumbing profession, it needs to stop.

To the men out there--I will always love the way you smell, the way you try to fix things, and the way your hair does that funny "alfalfa" thing... But for heavens sake, pull up your pants, or at least put something under them.

Soul Mate Detox

Nowadays, I'm not sure if I believe in the term "Soul mate" and all that comes with it. I don't believe there's one person meant to be your soul mate. I do believe that maybe a soul mate can be a variety of people, who come into your life to teach you something, or give you something. Whether it's love, a lesson about yourself, or to make you stronger than you were before--something along those lines--they are supposed to enrich your life in some way, change it and mold it. Some soul mates stay, and some leave you.

Let me tell you a story about why....

There's a man that has been in my life sporadically but strongly over the past seven years. And I truly did believe he was my soul mate--the love of my life. It was so very "Carrie and Big" or "Ross and Rachel" in the fact that we just couldn't make it work even though the love was there, but I believed that in the end, we'd finally make it--because we were soul mates, after all.

This past year he came back into my life, and I figured this was it-- it was finally our time to make things work. We were both adults now and had grown in our convictions, and this was the time of our lives to be together. However...just like all tortured love stories....this past Christmas, we decided to end things, again, and this time I believe was the last time---the final goodbye.


My problem now, is the detox. How do I rid my body of one soul mate, to prepare for the next? What is the best and safest way to do it? How do you get to the point where you don't need him anymore?--Where you don't think about him, you don't tear up when you look at a pint of Ben & Jerry's because of all the special memories attached to it?--You don't see a commercial or read a joke and think, woah, he really would have liked this....
What's the best way to do it? Do you cut yourself off, cold turkey, from all things him? Do you throw yourself back into the dating pool and date losers who have no chance of ever meaning to you what he did, just to say your "putting yourself out there?" Do you stay away from sad movies about soulmates, love songs, and never mention his name? Or.... do you think about him often, wish him love and best wishes, and then let it pass? Do you look at the pint of Ben & Jerry's fondly, remembering the time you looked out your dorm room window and saw him running towards you, pint in hand? Do you listen to the songs you loved together, smile, and be thankful that such a special person was in your life, faults and all. I mean, like Garth Brooks says, "I could have missed the pain, but I'd of had to miss the dance.." Do you continue on with your life, knowing that if you were lucky enough to have one soulmate come into your life, the odds of being able to accept another are that much greater?

I think I'll choose the latter, it sounds so much more "zen".

Unhealthy Addiction

I feel the need to stand up, in front of a crowd of people that I don't know, and state, firmly and surely-- Hello, my name is Megan, and I am a style tv show-product-CVS-fashion magazine-aholic.

I don't know when the problem started, and I really don't see an end in sight. Maybe it started with my own car, and the discovery of CVS. Maybe it started with a girl and a dream, and her first designer purchase. Maybe it's in my DNA and I can just blame my parents. Who knows. All I know, is that I have a major addiction, to all things beauty, fashion, and products.

I think the product addiction really hit the fan when I started dating Dave, and his house was only a block away from CVS. First, it started out as "I need a new lotion, I'm out"... then, it just snowballed. My bathroom closet started to look like the CVS shelves themselves, containing everything from moisturizer, to shimmer moisturizer, to firming moisturizer... bottles would be only less than half full when I figured it was time for a replacement.

My CVS addiction has quieted down some, due to the lack of funds as of late. So, I have focused my addiction to the magazines and style shows on TV. Just like a true addict, I wonder, "if it's not hurting anyone, why should I stop?" The happiness that comes from the "best beauty buys for your buck" or the Cosmo Karma Sutra, to the shallow Celeb-gossip and "how to thrill him between the sheets" is irreplaceable.

The people who live with me used to get an occasional giggle when they saw the montly Marie Claire, Cosmopolitan, Glamour, etc. come through the mail slot each month--all of which containing my name and address on the cover. However now, I see sorrow, pity, and even worry in their eyes when I am as giddy as a school girl at their very presence. The roll of the eyes when the see the style shows on the TV, EVERY time I turn it on, has only gotten worse over the past couple weeks.

The question is, do I try and get help for this? Or, just add it to growing list of faults that people just have to live with, if they decide to love me? I'm still trying to decide. Maybe an answer will come to me in this Month's Cosmo.

How to Socialize-- Sans Beer Belly

I got a couple tips from the “Skinny Chef” about how to avoid gaining weight when you
drink up. I know, this information would have been helpful years ago (Hello, Freshman 15) but I say take what we can get. Summer is prime time for socializing,
and if you’re in a job that requires networking, or if you just enjoy your after-work cocktail hour, here are a couple ways to stay healthy.

*Steer clear of high-calorie fruit drinks. The average candy bar has about 29 grams of sugar. The strawberry daiquiri alone has nearly 40 grams of sugar! Holy
Moley. Add that to an ounce of rum, and you’re looking at a drink that has over 200 calories and 40 grams of sugar. 3 Words for you--- Not Worth It!!! If
you have a sweet tooth when it comes to the good stuff, try flavored vodka with diet soda instead.

*Opt for freshly made margaritas, instead of frozen premixed. If you must have a margarita, avoid the gigantic “I’m in Cancun on spring break” type. Ask the bartender
to serve you up an original. It will save you not only sugar and calories, but that headache and the “what exactly did I say to my client last night” the next morning.

*Watch out for the free-floating bar snacks! Bars give you these salty concoctions to make you thirst for more of their non-healthy booze. I know we all are thinking, hey, it’s free—but they contain hundreds of unnecessary calories.

*Love beer? You’re in luck! Just stay on the light side. Many light beers are 110 calories or less, and contain less than 6 grams of carbs and sugar.

*When all else fails, and you are standing at the counter with a blank stare when the bartender asks what you’ll be having, try old faithful—wine. You can’t go wrong. Not only does both red and white wine contain healthy antioxidants, but at about 120 calories and less than 7 grams of sugar per glass, you’re keeping
on the healthy side as well.


Now, do I always follow these tips? No, but I'm going to start. And treating yourself every now and then never hurt anyone. Remember, everything in moderation-- including moderation.

10 Rules for Men When Dating an Emotional Basket Case

An emotional woman can wreck havoc on almost all of her relationships, if the man she is dating is not fully prepared to deal with her. Along with the negative side of her emotions, comes a fiery spirit and deep sensitivity, which can be an extremely positive thing. With the right manual, which I have so generously provided (along with the help of my ex-boyfriend Chris and my father), any type of man can learn how to tame a basket case, and maybe even fall in love with her in the process.

10. Let Her Cry. Tears are a form of therapy for the emotional person, so my advice to you is let her cry. Even if the shrieks and moans get too piercing for your ears to bear, invest in some ear plugs and just let her finish. A premature ending to a good cry may result in an even bigger disaster.

9. Always admit when you've done something wrong. Even if you really don't think you have, it's always good to show the basket case that you are mature enough to face her and deal with your problems, instead of just telling her what hers are. An emotional basket case always knows what her own problems are. but it's your job to pretend like they don't exist and she is perfect. She'll eventually figure it out.

8. Give her a day to recover from a big arguement. The little things are always the hardest and most dramatic to an emotional woman, so when she blows up at you for something small, let her go and leave her alone for a day. In this day apart, she will have analyzed the situation to death and realized her wrong doings. If you approach her before the day is up, she may not be ready to apologize and you could find yourself in the doghouse.

7. Never say NO and ALWAYS agree. The emotional basket case woman may accuse you of being closed minded if this occurs. Just get used to the fact that it's going to be her way, or the highway. Every idea of hers is great, because much care and thought went into it.

6. Take her out for dinner and a night on the town once a week. If you do not do this, she may accuse you of being cheap or not thinking she is attractive enough for you to show her off. You know you don't feel this way-- you just enjoy your cozy chair and steak dinners at home-- but once she thinks you are cheap or insensitive, it is all over for you.

5. Compliment, Compliment, Compliment. An emotional woman likes nothing more than to hear that her man is pleased with her. Since she believes she works hard at keeping you happy, it is your job to tell her so every chance you get. Tell her of her raging beauty, her sparkling eyes, and how amazing she smells... Take note from the men is soap operas... Their chicks are always putting out.

4. Make sure she is the first person you say hello to when entering a room. When you get home from work, arrive at her house, or at a gathering you both are attending, make sure she is the first person you see and approach. If not, she may accuse you or ignoring her or valuing someone else's company more than her own. If you do not do this, you may end up leaving that party alone or sleeping on the sofa.

3. Don't always let her be the first one to say she's sorry. If this occurs more often than not, she may accuse you of being stubborn. You know it's because you firmly believe you've done nothing wrong, but in the interest of wasting another day in a fight, apologize first. Then, she won't feel like the one carrying the heavy weights in the relationship.

2. Inform, but don't tell. An emotional basket case loves to believe she is independent. If you see her doing something wrong, simply suggest a number of different ways to do it, and let her choose which one she thinks is appropriate. If you tell her what to do, she may accuse you of being sexist or making her feel stupid. This creates more of the tears mentioned in rule #10.

1. Always tell her what's on your mind and how you are feeling. Nothing annoys the emotional basket case more than when she always has to guess what you are thinking. If you are angry, sad, in love, in the mood, or scared, just tell her. It is important to the emotional woman to be connected on another level, so in order to keep the peace, just share your thoughts out there.

To the men out there... Good luck, and god speed.




This is a piece I wrote when I was 20, and it was published in my college's Literary Magazine, which is a annual collection of writings. Teachers have to invite you to join. It is mostly sarcastic, but is also mostly true.

The Thrill of a First Kiss

There's nothing like it. So I thought. That rush of feeling that comes over you when his lips touch yours for the first time, wondering if your life will change, will it stay the same, is he the one, will he break your heart... The queasiness in your stomach overcomes you, and you can feel you heart literally beating faster and faster. Your smile stretches from ear to ear when it's finished, and you feel... satisfied. Like nothing in your world could ever go wrong again, because this action has just righted all wrongs. There's nothing like it. So I thought.

With my newfound "stike" against the men of the world, first kisses come few and far between for me now. Well, let's just say first kisses with any kind of passion like that come few and far between. As this stike against dating has turned more into a way of life rather than a phase, the universe, being ever so kind and never losing its' sense of humor, created new ways for me to experience the thrill of a first kiss. When one loses their sight, it is said that their other senses become magnified. I believe this is true. I truly believe that when God closes a door, he opens a window.

When my one-year-old neice crawls into my lap, and smiles at me... when she reaches her hands way out for me to hold her... that thrill is there. The rush, the feeling in the stomach, the thought of life being so wonderful and nothing can go wrong... Just looking into her eyes and seeing her love for me gives me the thrill of that first kiss.

When I accomplish a project at work... one that took me awhile to learn, one that I have finally perfected, on my own... that thrill is there. When I think back to where I was a year ago today, and think ahead to where I will be one year from today, I get chills up my spine. Knowing that I have only tasted a piece of what this world has to offer me, and there's a whole big cookie left to eat... Getting in the car at the end of the work day, knowing I am doing great things with myself there.... That first kiss.

When I spend time by myself.... something I never enjoyed doing in the past.... just being comfortable in my own skin, and having no one else's company but my own, the thrill is there. Knowing that I don't need anyone else to make me happy or comlete me, that the beach is just as beautiful when I'm by myself, the kite flies just as high when I'm by myself, and the movie is just as good when I'm by myself... Ahhhh, that first kiss.

So the thrills are still there, just wearing a different outfit. And maybe once that first kiss actually comes again, I'll need a new feeling for it, because all the other wonderful things have replaced it.

It's a Big World

Little Gus, Big World... that sums up me, in a nutshell.

This is my first "official" blog posting. Since I am trying to break out into the world of writing, maybe even get published one day (College Lit Magazine's are great for bragging, but don't really count) I figured I'd start a blog that everyone can read and comment on. Since I've been known to many people as "Little Gus" for quite some time now, I think I'll stick to that alias. Is anyone going to find what I say important or interesting? My fingers are crossed....

What a big world. I left Connecticut behind almost 8 months ago, because I thought the world was "too small".(Although I am an LA Native, my father moved me and my family to the freezing tundra of Connecticut about 15 years ago, and I just recently moved back). Now, I'm feeling like the world is too big. I'm like the Goldilocks of geography. I've been finding that so many things are beyond my control, and I stress myself out way too much trying to make them be so. That, makes the world big to me. Sometimes you can't control what happens to you, and sometimes there is such a thing as "wrong place wrong time." I'm finding that California has the sunshine and freedom I had been craving, but who knew that this big fish would miss her small pond, and the other big fish who inhabited that pond with her.

It is human nature that you always want what you can't have. If you're here, you'd rather be there, and if you're there, you'd rather be back here again. If your hair is curly, you'd rather it be straight, if you're tall, you wish you were short, and if you're cold, you'd much rather be hot. I guess I'll be totally unoriginal, and say I miss my little pond.

Out here in CA, I've realized that I can't control how many friends I have. I can't make people like me, or explain to people that I'm only slightly neurotic on the surface but there's goodness inside. I can't stop my mom from missing the love of her life. I can't keep my family from fighting with each other. I can't keep myself out of trouble, because it seems to find me. I can't cure my little brother's stress, or raise enough money for him to float through college. I have no control over babies being born to unfit parents, poverty in Africa, or children being mean to each other on the playground. I can't make my Dad come back from the dead simply because I need him to do my taxes or remind me to change the oil in my car.

What's a little gus like me to do? I'd be open to suggestions, as long as they do not involve the words "suck it up" or "make up your mind already". I hope everyone enjoys the blog.