The walk of shame

I’m not talking about treading barefoot, holding a pair of ragged heels by a broken strap in one hand and the edge of your blouse clasping it shut with the other as you make your way out of the man of the hour’s room and out of the house free in the clear.

We’ve all been there, there is no point in denying the fact that they happen. It does, if you are a lady and have roommates, guys go through the exact same thing. And if you are one of the very few that this has not happened to, I would love to steal your thunder and a particle of your halo!

No, this would be the walk of shame that falls when opening the doors to a court room. The shame.

I got a ticket. Amazingly not for speeding but for the most moronic reasons possible. Reasons that clearly make me feel like a ditz.

Strike One: My latest insurance cards were not printed out and I completely forgot when the plan was renewed to replace the old ones.

Strike Two: My license plates were not registered within the state and they were still holding my dear old plates and tabs from 2007.
I’m thinking the same thing, how completely irresponsible to first not have updated insurance cards within reach (hello…) then to top that off and have expired plates.

Let’s just put a placard out that says, this gal is stupid. And deserves to be pulled over in rush hour traffic.

I have bypassed the law numerous times, casually talking with cops and having a firefighter emblem on the car doesn’t hurt. They’re both basically ‘Get out of jail free’ passes. This is nothing new to get out of a ticket. I don’t have breasts like Dolly Parton nor would I ever push them forward so it’s either bust out the jesus eyes or drop the voice an octave or two.

A few years ago I was dating a cop. We were hotter than hot, and then he got really creepy and immediately the temperature dropped well below zero and he was kicked to the curb. The reason he’s brought up is because he would make these random comments about if he couldn’t get a hold of me by mobile he’d track me down by my car.

Say what?

Crazy, the man was crazy. I didn’t mind the handcuffs but when conversations turn possessive, it’s time to go. So right about the time that my tabs were due, I refused to have ‘big brother’ aka Badge Number 4482, watch over me. Which eventually turned into a couple of years, that turned into a move out of state, and then another move clear mid country. Mind you, and this is the most ironic part, I had an appointment with the DMV to get the plates registered over that very weekend, three days before the incident of getting pulled over.

But as luck would have it, bright flashing lights and a fairly decent officer decided enough was enough. I fought the law, and the law won.

Which brings me to yesterday, a morning visit to the courthouse. The officer that pulled me over laughed with me at the time because of my utter stupidity (he did not get the entire story) and told me to register, contest and there’d be no charge but there would be a court date.

I have never had to go to court, ever. I’d like to think that under my devil horns there is a hint of an angelic presence. Probably not, but there’s still wishful thinking. I started getting nervous after my name was called, my dress getting tight where the belt rested below my chest. Finally after all of five minutes of waiting it was my turn with the judge and what happens.

I forgot the insurance forms. What an idiot. Who does this? Someone who is completely unprepared. Not the case, I had everything except the forms that were missing from my car that day. I have to go back, make the walk of shame through the courthouse and sit amongst the other offenders because that’s exactly what I am.

A clueless offender.

What makes this an even better story, on my way into work I got soaked from a massive rain storm that ruined my umbrella and drenched my entire body. I walked into work, doing my own walk of shame and the damn sky was laughing at me.

I’m laughing back at it and smiling because this is so typical and would only happen at that exact moment.

Taking a vacation...from myself

A much needed rest from my thoughts and paper were needed this week. Not only that but time has slipped away and days are getting filled. After reading up on memes and different forms of writing this post is a little unusual, its more poetic than just word to paper. And a total bitch fest in typical Morgan fashion.

Lyrical, with a generosity for bending the rules of structured technique.

I never thought that I would have taken simple, silly, damning words to heart. But as one conversation seeped into another I have found myself frustrated with people. Loved ones. Family.

People I love and know love me in return but with a small price attached that is unspoken yet as loud as day.

As I'm piecing these thoughts together, I am struggling in remaining composed and true to the person I am. True to the woman I have grown into that is undoubtedly confident in stride as well as a physical basis. This shake in confidence befuddles me because there is a pride within that keeps me erect, and for those close, who cannot see but hear of this woman I am, it seems they disagree.

And for this disagreement it creates a forced and slightly invisible step in a backward direction. Something that is unnatural and unwelcome since we are propelled to move forward.

It started during phone calls ages ago, small words about fleeing to do something different. I would always correct that and remind whoever the statement was made by that I am simply living and listening to the call of my soul, my heart is pulling me and I must follow it regardless of direction. Whether it be north or south, five miles to twenty five hundred. Working or saving up to take time off. Everything shy of the norm. It is the freebird nestled in my chest and is the major difference between us.

They do not understand how I can pick up and leave quickly. How I remain outside of a carefully constructed picture of what 'perfect' is. I respect and admire their fundamental and societal values and lifestyle, and know that had I not followed my heart I would be no different. I know someday I will create but today is filled with pieces yet to be connected. They do not see that the box I live in has its flaps pulled back leaving all openings exposed for alternative options. Gaping holes exposing little loops for escape routes.

For the most part all that is said is taken with a grain of salt. Nevermind the cravings of xanax and an overstuffed robe to numb the pain that is involuntarily thrust out. But this time I feel a different need that is neither anything that I know but is something unknown. And it is driving me crazy.

The culprit to this jumble of emotions, a few words that can mean nothing and damage everything.

'You will understand when you are at the same level, You're not there, someday you'll reconnect when you're the same.'

A bearer of unwanted words that sting and draw blood from the driest of bones. This is what is said on a casual basis, during calls of worry, panic and frustration. When things do not go as planned, it is said when we are confused and voice our concerns to people as we should for support. These words are the exact opposite of supportive and yet are said when others try to comfort.

What is one person's perfect is another's hell. Through these distasteful rounds of hurtful punches, I can't help but find a few of them staying behind and clinging in the darkest recesses of my mind. Expanding like warmed oats. Poking, because I am not following a path clearly paved for those close. Will I ever get there? Does it even matter?

Why can't they see me?

I love my family and am thankful we can rely on each other but have become self conscious with their visions. Those words burn, and I secretly cursed them for accusing that a return to visit would never happen during many of these recent calls. I had been planning a trip out to spend time with my sister while she is still pregnant. To see the house she is filling with her growing family. As I'm sipping coffee and feeling the release from morning stretches I have to think maybe they do see through me. I have no desire to visit any of them when such words are being said without thought. Not while those words are sizzling like burning ambers.

What does that mean, where did these levels form? We are all people. We are all growing in this lifetime, there may be varieties in growth but there should never be forms of segregation.

Is this feeling a sense of withdrawal? A reasoning for establishing higher boundaries? Brewing anger?

There are so many questions that I feel should be asked but am unsure if I want to hear the answer. Deep down I feel maybe the answer is already in place and it is only a matter of time before it goes acknowledged. Blood is blood and regardless of words I could never turn my back, because I believe in karma. But I won't be a doormat or a dusting of lint on a well constructed jacket.

At the end of the day the real question is why does this bother me so?

Because after hearing that statement repeatedly it became a fixture. It is familiar. Believable, which is the root of the shake up.

Some part of me feels as though I should take a 'break' or 'vacation' from myself to try going about the day through the eyes of someone else. Someone who has relayed the message I am taking to an utmost personal level. The rebel in me says no, that would be living as someone else therefore losing my own essence.

When do we stop listening, or is there a way to filter out just these types of comments. We know we are better than those words but it doesn't change the fact that like scotch, it burns all the way down.

For now, I sit on the porch managing the value of personal happiness on a daily basis. Reading the morning paper and getting lost in a sea of topics and piping hot coffee not thinking about anything.

Sitting freely taking each passing second for what it is and moving through the rest of the day exactly as directed.

Heart first.

Because that is how I'm made. If some, even if they are my closest, don't agree that choice is theirs. We are all on the same level of life if there even is one, the difference is our perception.

Never one to hold a grudge or remain angry with anyone, getting past this will be a rough road to travel with plenty of traffic. Ill always love every one around but for right now I'm pulling off the heels and slipping into flip flops to figure a course of action with ease and comfort.

..and the more I see the less I grow, the fewer the seeds the more I sow

The other morning I woke to find it still remotely dark outside and only an hour had passed since I'd laid my head down. Something was troubling my mind as sleep eluded me. Trying to put a mental block on the little pieces of nothingness that crinkle like crisp leaves on a cool late autumn morning a thought registered that was forgotten until now.

Its funny how something, anything and everything can stir something that once lay dormant. The very first week when I moved back to San Francisco a community garden perched in the middle of houses and out of plain sight was exactly where my eyes could see. How this garden was found remains a mystery but some small trickle of the unknown that it was a sign still holds true to my inner workings.

Plots filled the small space that over looked the 101 and the bay bridge. Birds of paradise bloomed in a corner while cucumbers and garden gnomes dominated another. I wandered through the narrow paths feeling like I was walking alongside a mass of raw history. A sea of hard work. A sewn root system.

I sat on an old creaky wooden bench taking in the scents and the fresh blooms knowing in my heart of hearts this is exactly how simple life can be.

To grow into a short lived piece of beauty that will forever leave a mark of rebirth.

The wait list to claim a plot was several people deep and almost a decade worth of waiting. I signed up without hesitation believing the light salted fog banks and the smooth lining of traffic would have been as much a part of the future as the sun rising each morning.

That familiar itch for something of an extremity, out of the ordinary and predicted pulled tight before a year had passed, pulling into a new path few and far between and the wait list was long but never forgotten.

Within the drive into my new workplace there is another community garden. I have driven passed this park and open space countless times and felt that same feeling that occurred during the wake up spell. Something seemed off.

While passing the plot with my mind completely stilled it hit me to the point of breaking. The car was maneuvered into the gravel of the plots and that is when it became clear.

In light of everything, all of this time there has been battles within, between family members, between friends. Moves have generated disconnect and intense needs for closeness at the same time. Though some relationships remain strained it is because there is a purpose that isn't quite understood on all levels quite yet. And while I sat staring into the sectioned off acreage I realized what that purpose was. I had formed roots. Roots that are solid and roped like a seamless grapevine.

Searching to build something, to wait for years only to hope that a foundation manifested but wouldn't get a solid feeling is terrifying. Seeking to the point of overlooking what is right in front of you happens all too often.

Staring at me for months, this garden is everything. It holds my secrets and joys, the fears that will get blown away as the seasons pass and the sheer excitement of new growth beckons.

It is exactly what I have been dreaming about but afraid on a subconscious level to admit to. I have created a base. A foundation that is safe, comforting, loved and welcome. A foundation that isn't about location but about the importance of where your heart lies emotionally. A basis that is harmonious and has always been, but hidden behind like time, was easily slipped from a good perspective. Hidden in the deep recesses of my mind and body but to never go ignored or un-acknowledged.

Something that can be called nothing but what is the obvious. Permanence.


Title Lyrics courtesy of Nelly Furtado; Try

Just when you thought it was safe to get back into the water. Or kitchen.

There are several blogs I follow, an eclectic mix that is equally as mixed together as a bag of party nuts or better yet, my ipod.

From fellow writers and people in mourning, ever faithful foodies and critics to daily life of anything and everything that is different from my own, the spectrum really is vast. I love this because at times when I should be curled up on a chair engrossing my mind in paper glory, I'm getting lost in a sea of well written and day to day stories, real life. It is still reading, but fits my reading ADD.

And because I'm that horrible person that reads the last 30 pages of a book somewhere before getting through the first 100 because, well I don't really have an answer for that.

Right, there is meaning behind this mish mash. I have a slight obsession with food.

We are best friends. My lady jigs (aka love handles) most assuredly can attest to this.

I love to cook, it’s therapeutic and can be challenging. Somewhere along the road I began collecting cookbooks and typically work my way through every single recipe even if it is a semi jelly bit that includes god awful ingredients that make your house smell like hell, make you vow to never repeat what those ingredients are to your guests and yet turns into a savory dish that you skillfully put together.

Baking, I shudder at the thought. Following instructions and exact measurements makes me automatically want to rebel. A couple of years ago I broke down and bought a kitchenaid. There were months where I would wander through out a department store and gaze at the equipment. Touch the price tag and walk away. The merchants at kitchen stores and chef warehouses became familiar with me and answering my 20,000 questions, always asking but never purchasing until something snapped and I caved to the splurge. It was a silent plea to becoming someone who could do both: cook and bake. With extravagance.

Duncan Hines ain’t got nothin' on me.

I stumbled onto a one foodie blog, that was carbolicious and something that not only grabbed my attention but made me appreciate baking from a different perspective. Rather than seeing just a picture and a recipe that followed, I was able to actually hear the tribe and tribulation of piecing the final product, figuring whether butter cream could hold something together or by the grace of vodka could an order be completed. Enter the Cakeologist and a blog that I tend to follow and turn to when, and now, in the mood for braving the dark waters of the kitchenaid.

I fell hard with her photos and how far she takes a cake on different levels of the extreme. Whether it be a sheet cake or structured out. She has a skill with baked concoctions, a craft that is something to be mentioned. And then recently she did the unmentionable.

She made cake pops, something I have been dying to do but for some reason steered clear of. After reading through both of her renditions I figured it was time.

Time to get back into the kitchen (as if I ever left, I did make a gorgeous vegetable platter but who's counting, this IS technically about baking) and finally attempt the cake pop.

With an upcoming get together with friends, I figured bite sized bits would be perfect so for that I whipped up Red Velvet batter and also the Barefoot Contessa's coconut cake and turned it into a pop. Oh holy jesus. My mouth and eyes had an orgasm just at the sight of my refrigerator.

It was filled with cake pans of sugared bliss, all of which I will refrain from eating because:

A. Just say NO, I’m veering from the sweets right now (or at least I’m telling myself I’m not eating starchy foods)

B. I’m not big on overly sweet treats, this includes candy coatings and would much rather give them out as little gifts…or indulge in a glass of wine instead

C. Baking Extraordinaire, hardly but I’ll walk away with the nickname of goddess instead! I’m always nervous about when someone takes that first bite of whatever it is I’ve made (and we all know I’ve ground up glass and sprinkled it on top with the oreos…one too many glasses of wine while baking)

Despite these little insecurities (because they’re cute as a button) I feel like a proud mama hen, they turned out magnificently. To be a little more adventurous, this is the last week for the designers (see last post-SYWBAD)so I've put together a bouquet of assorted cake pops and other goodies (5hr energy drinks, fresh fruit)for them because they're going to need some sugar to get through the next 50 sum odd hours of their final competition. And who DOESN’T want a little sugary love?

It felt good to spend that time getting caught up in a new cookbook, venturing out of my comfort zone. Though I will openly admit that the molds scare the hell out of me. All I can do is say thanks to a one Cakeologist (thank you!) who put the motion back into a wheel that had gone slack. My personal favorite was the coconut boas because of their frilly appearance but the red velvet don't look too bad themselves!

With that, here’s a hazy [mobile junk] picture of the mixed platter of cake pop treats.

Simple white cake w/crumbled oreos, Red Velvet with chocolate swirls and Coconut Boas

Voila!


If you haven't already jetted along to the baking blog of the Cakeologist, please do to see what it's all about and where the inspiration for these baked goodies came from. Happy wandering!

Daring to believe and follow a dream

Disclaimer: This is not a typical post, but more of a note for someone.

If you were to sit down and come up with a single word that drives your thoughts into motion, how could you answer? What truly inspires you to chase your dreams, whether it be working a standard office job, strapping on a red cape to be Superman-or She-Ra, a twelve hour shift at the shopping center or be a stay at home parent?

An answer that comes to mind was recently voiced by a ridiculously gifted and incredibly genuine designer that was part of So You Wanna be a Designer.

Everything.

She said it so casually, almost wistfully, and yet you knew it could never be overturned. Something right in front of you or something so small you would overlook, everything that is out for our eyes to see is inspiring.

This is such an amazing way to think creatively, but even as a non creative, its a wonderful staple for life.

With model for a 'timeless' piece - Courtesy of Kenmore

Latonya Williams has been let go from the show. I was heartbroken, as was everyone around. From day one her drive and determination was so clear and contagious, there was no way, tears were ready to fall. She pushed and pulled from deep within to create pieces that pulled her creativity on all levels and broke past a comfort level of designing only to craft a realization.

She dared to follow, to be what her soul knew all along.

Inspired.

Watching her reaction to the result and then seeing her the next day, this is what makes her a breakout and someone to keep on your radar. It eases the feeling you once thought was heartbreak and turns it into absolute wonder.

She sees the purpose of her gift and wants to share that with people around her. Yes she was part of a contest, but talking with her today she sees.

She already won the contest. It was a contest of getting past GO. For grabbing hold of your hopes and fears, strengths and weaknesses and following the path you know is right.

For now, as she acclimates herself to establishing her fashion line there are no tears to be shed. Life is happening, dreams are being explored and inspiration is ever flowing.

Life and a true calling is beckoning.



I am ever thankful that I have a friend who opened her arms and embraced this show that has become such a part of my Thursday routines I have no clue what will fill that time come the end next week. This friend that extended the designers to her friends and family and that I got an opportunity to see within the past seven weeks what someone is capable of. Fashion is a work of art and that is exactly what I would define the designers that are part of such a raw and cut throat industry. They live, eat and sleep with a needle in their mouth and ideas spewing from their eyes.

Take a moment and be proud of who you are, where you've come from and know you can go anywhere.

Keep an eye out for Elizabeth Smith Fashions and follow Latonya on twitter to see where her journey takes her.

If tears are to be shed its for nothing but excitement and the knowledge of opportunity.

Latonya, you have a heart of gold and are an inspiration to those you have met, and will continue to meet. I told you before and I stand by it. You are falling into greatness that can only be yours. Now is the time. Following you beyond girl because you will make it happen! And I am totally getting one of your dresses the minute it hits Ootra!!

Knowing when to be quiet or scream like a banshee

When it comes to certain things, point of conflict or just plain nonsense I am a rather quiet person. I observe more so than I contribute verbally, only because trust is a luxury.

And because I honestly cannot stand conflict or dusting the bitch claws off. Because one only knows that the minute I do decide to turn into a green ball of rage I'd feel guilty over causing pain to someone.

Worlds biggest pushover; like that wasn't a given.

The other day while sitting with a group of people, a heated topic got brought up. Basically to make a long and convoluted story short, it was about gratitude and never forgetting how and who helped you get through some days or even through it all. And for this discussion one person went above and beyond of being ungrateful and disrespectful.

While the smooth haze of a warm sunset was lining the streets my eyes were aflame with outrage.

Word (s) association of the day: Son of a b (Cursing is bad M...so very un-ladylike).

Sayonara to the sweet natured woman.

I went off, an outburst of words fled from my tongue like rapid fire. While I was pointing out downfalls and points of terrible support that should have been cushioning someone, the group all stared with gaping eyes and mouths at me.

As soon as I caught a breath and regrouped back to my normal amiable self, I asked what was wrong because the table was silent.

Laughter filled the air, followed by statements of 'where did that come from?' All I could say was that when I'm truly heartfelt about something, I can be loud.

The next day I got a message from a friend saying I was hilarious the night before, only to have another conversation to unfold that I said something that made sense but was completely unexpected. Which naturally made me feel extremely self conscious of whether I'd offended or hurt someones feelings.

Repeat: Worlds largest pushover part deux.

Its not as if I don't think my voice won't get heard, its just that nine chances out of ten people are so blinded that they either aren't ready or simply do not want to listen to you. I've learned this over the years and keep my mouth shut unless the dynamic of the conversation is fluid.

That or I'm just pissed off and going to run my mouth. Because let's face it, if you do hear me getting snappy there's a reason. I'm not prattling about to hear my own voice. Its because I care and want to be supportive.

Which this now puts me in a predicament for an upcoming dinner night, an event so typical and yet something I have not had to deal with in a long while. Putting on a game face for a friend that I know the minute any booze is tossed this direction at a table will turn any a conversation into mass destruction.

Mass destruction, meaning that this friend stands against everything I believe in by being a good person and being respectful of thankfulness. Sounds crazy but why be involved when you are not supported? Of course there is a downfall, this friend has been nothing but genuinely nice with me but what I went off about were actions they'd conducted against a mutual friend. Actions I have witnessed and have raised caution for my own friendly protection. Its not as if I am being judgemental because if what was argued comes up I will naturally listen to her side. Safety first, even if that safety is in the form of a self protective layer of negative actions.

God help me I feel like AA will be on my next round of places to meet people because getting through this one night alone should be nothing less than a shot of Jack Daniels chased by either a guinness or damn it all and just grabbing a bottle of tequila.

This really won't be all that bad, people are people with different beliefs. Somehow I've managed to surround myself with some amazingly positive people. Could it be I want to help this one? Even if it drives nails in my eyeballs?

Either way, all I know is to keep trucking and see what other trainwreck pops up on the Real Housewives boat I'm travelling on.

On a completely different side note, thanks are in order to two lovely ladies that have given it up to this space.

Thank you Lala, a gorgeous pregno mama who has a helluva lot goin on right now and Lisa over at This is Something Infinitely Interesting. It means the world to me that you're following this random journey I'm on and can't wait to see where you all go in yours! For my little factoids check this post out.

Until the next. Happy Humpity Hump Day

Grabbing a bull by its horns with a leaking black pen

There are some days where I feel as if I am planning for something more than I am actually doing things. Then there are other days where I am living minute by minute thinking to myself, 'What plan?'

I don't really know what exactly it is, or why I do this but somewhere every couple of weeks, months or yearly I stalk out a park or coffee shop, sit with an ulcer induced cup of potent coffee and start evaluating. Call it boredom, self critiquing, whatever it is, its a distraction.

A pro and con list for major aspects gets written up and from there (and a pot of coffee) a game plan is devised.

The yearlies have always resulted in relocations, which thankfully that itch is nowhere near a place to be scratched. All others fall in the likes of anything else in the means of self improvement and releasing any ties of holding negative thoughts and wishes, I chose to spend a day doing just this.

After several hours in, and mindless writing I stared blankly at the lists and noticed much repetition. There was a common theme, and after snapping out of a caffeine induced coma I breathed in a deep sigh and dug out a fresh piece of paper only to go nowhere.

The theme is bold, and so very typical.

Things are not as they seem, well how can I turn them around so all objectives are beneficial. How can these things be all that they seem and more.

How can I get them done. Its time to get 'er done.

Its finally beginning to feel like Spring in the area so every night after work I'm walking along the river and maybe venturing out to the prairies to jog (run Morgan run...on flat surfaces). Let's get physical...again!

Work is not what it was cracked out to be and settling just isn't going to fly. I want the city so that's what I'm going to get. Let the job search commence yet again.

Self publication is the means for now, and with that means getting passed the worry and actually publish out independently. A personal deadline was created and its really going to happen. Its time to invest in photoshop for graphic design help-shit.

Fitness, cooking, art etc classes are going to be this girls best friend for the next several months until I figure financing a Masters Program. I like the friends I've made thus far but know more are always welcome. And why not learn something along the way.

I want to be courted for a change and with that means I've got to step up and step out more than I already do. The online jag failed epicly by distractions. Emotionally I was miserable and needed to clear the air. That and I was all too focused about turning thirty and being SCH: single, childless and a non-homeowner. All that still looms but is not as strong, I'm going about each day being my normal carefree self and am living without forcing.

I'm tired of waiting and am taking matters into my own hands as it always should have been, always has been but slipped slightly. There's no real plan at all, looking back at previous 'plans' they've all come through almost brilliantly but were too precise. Too methodical, for this its just about keeping busy, keeping away from nagging thoughts and just breathing.

Is it May already?

It's a pretty silent Sunday here, one that has the sun shining (despite the raging meteorologist predictions of rain)and a day to be spent with a head held high and plans in getting things done is well in order.

Keeping this one short and sweet, get out and pick some flowers if you can, buy a bouquet and relax. Because it's Sunday. Because it's May. Because you can.



Happiness is a perfume you cannot pour onto others without getting a few drops on yourself
~Ralph Waldo Emerson

Happy May Day