Practicing a little vocabulary expansion, one cock at a time

What is it about writer’s blocks that can get us down? Is it because we have so much going on in our day-to-day activities? Maybe I’d rather sit on the couch watching New Girl or the ladies from the OC than actually make my brain function by creating properly formed sentences. Whatever it is, it’s a serious force to be reckoned with.

This fiery beast weaseled its way into my creative mind and curdled all thoughts for months, it wouldn’t hurt that there was a whole lot going on, but even so works got put on hold.

Could there be a better way to get out of this little ‘hurdle’ than to push the limits on something. A while back I wrote a short story for a very near and dear friend of mine. That story that was originally only meant to be seen by few has been seen by many. It’s currently getting published in an arena I never thought it would, but it is. It cracked the door of possibility, for a genre that was I was never really concerned about venturing in before as a writer.

Like a girl who broke the seal after the first drink at a bar, that bitch got broken fast.

To knock out this little writer’s block I dusted off the laptop--forgot it in the back of my car on numerous occasions, and started outlining. The first story for my friend was carefully constructed and thought out to fit her perfectly. But I have my own fantasy too dammit! A phrase that was repressed during this little block; writing lost its edge and after an anonymous email from a reader that was filled with encouragement, thanks and of course the endless request for more. It was never intended to write anything more for that series, only because it was a gift for a friend. If anything I could write a fresh stand-alone story. The guilty conscience kicked in. I started writing a follow-up story. This one surely could break through the writer’s block.

For an entire weekend, I holed myself up and re-mapped an outline. I am one of those annoying writers who makes an outline for everything. Even for a grocery list. Creates characters and outlines their lives, the city, the sub-plot…it’s repetitious but it’s how I work to keep a constant flow that is somewhat seamless and real.

By the end of the weekend the outline was completed as well as fifty pages already in the bag. It was strange and like an out of body experience, my hands were possessed and a plot came together. For the following week, work was secondary until I finished that story. It seemed all too important, much too necessary. By that Friday I sent an email to my editor and gave him the heads up. A new story was coming, get ready. Sunday rolled around and as the edits went out, I sighed with relief just before cracking the bottle of prosecco open. The writer’s block was officially kicked to the curb. The first draft of a novel I started was half-way written and could get picked up for an early summer push date should it get through editing on time. It could happen. Confidence fully restored….

Until the edits came back for the short. After reading through the first sections, I agreed with the changes and made the necessary revisions. When I got to a chapter where the two leads come together and get it on … ooh … there was a misstep. They were so not gettin’ it on. Reading through the edits and my own writing, I sat back from the computer and laughed so hard until I cried.

Placing her palm against his neck, Hadley looked into Marcus’ eyes as he started to lose control. It was When he his cock hit her hard, did they fluttered shut. Wailing out to him, “Marcus!”., she came so hard she nearly fainted.

My poor, poor editor for this short. He is used and abused but knows I love him so. There was a dirty, nasty little coupling of words. One of them, I love more than the F word itself, but cannot ever write it in professional works. It’s like saying ‘bitch’ aloud or outside of a bedroom. It.Will.Never.Happen. Never say never, it really can (and does) happen but not in that context. I immediately emailed him, and what did I get in return: ‘I could tell you were laboring….”

Yikes! Laboring is right…so you push ‘cock’ into my vocabulary to stir up the pot? Go figure, because it worked. Somewhere in that laughing haze and going over the first draft, something inside snapped. So I re-read, re-grouped and re-sexed that story the hell back into shape. It’s completed and getting published chapter by chapter. The editor … approves. Halle-fucking-lujah. Something learned from all of this was even during a dry spell or a ‘writer’s block’, getting back into the full swing of things takes time. You can’t rush yourself, otherwise you appear rushed and frenzied.

My writing, is none of the above. It’s skilled and planned. This story, and God love him--my Editor, reminded me that I may move or type fast, but writing and actual stories take time to mature.

So it’s back to San Antonio we go. I’m over this writer’s block and fully set to finish the ‘Summons’ novel, and get it out the door. I have been talking to more than enough people, so the support is there to get it off of the ground and up and running. Who knew that in order to break through this annoying hurdle, was an itsy bitsy word that is no stranger from my mouth. All it took was a little cock.

Scorned much

Never one am I to sit and bawl my eyes out for an extended amount of time. Given the specific occasion and amount of Xanax, it’s all under control… I cry, mull whatever needs to be mulled over and move on for bigger and better things. The talk of men is a constant topic of conversation because I am single and mingle more than I care to admit. Dating is a natural part of my life right now. It may get run to the ground or laughed to high hell in conversations, but the stories of so many jackass (s) guys are others’ way of living through my embarrassment. Or laughter … we don’t have to put it down too harshly today!

As much as we want to not open up about things in fear of a jinx, it happened; I started talking with someone. We had been talking for a while as friends and right in the middle of phone calls and ongoing text messages, a little bit of warmth cradled my icy heart. Not so much icy, but more of a detoxed and oh-so-chilled heart indeed. With the way things were progressing with this person, it was easy to get ahead of myself. I mean, for someone who is calling you on Christmas, throughout your day, calling at an ungodly hour because they feel like hell and just want to hear you talk. How could you not?

I got ahead of myself. A phrase in the back of my mind that always stays there regardless of the optimism, ‘He’s just not that into you’ was silenced with this one. Despite his annoying antics of going missing for a few days, a week or whatever without a peep. Excuses flew out of my mouth with those absences, defending his time as busy. I got ahead of myself big-time. This guy had gone on the typical ‘hectic week, so you won’t hear from me’ lapses. I called, nothing. Text; again with the no responses. It seemed odd because before he would pick up quickly, but something wasn’t right for those attempts. When I saw a random picture and posting on Facebook, I knew that he was at least alive so I decided enough was enough. I’d give the guy a month, a month of me doing absolutely nothing to reach out to him in order to know where I stood and then delete him from everything if I didn’t hear a sound. Maybelline says I’m worth it, so it must be true.

A few drinks later and a surge of liquid confidence fueling me, I cracked a few weeks in, calling him and got nowhere yet again. Pushing aside that I can typically take the hint of when to let go, but with him it was different—or so I thought. Finally after coming to grips that this was all for nothing and a waste of time, I deleted every form of contact with him, bawled my eyes out and sent a final text before removing his phone number for good. We all need some kind of closure, I mean, I may have gotten ahead of myself yes; with him it was easy to do. It wasn’t some pining and crazy message, but more of a simple way to saying goodbye. It’s the girl in me and the good soul who hates doing wrong by someone even if I didn’t do anything at all.

Come to find out that on the day of romance, Valentine’s Day of all days … I was duped. Played by the master manipulator.

That guy, had been talking to multiple ladies—and I was one of them. Some unknown devil prodded me, and I can’t believe I’m admitting to looking at his profile, but I did. Shameful, I know—it was not my finest hour. As it turns out, another scorned lady pulled a Glenn Close on him and posted something that resonated deep. The same words I considered saying in a cryptic text, but am far too nice to say aloud. Surprise, surprise right? Deep down another bad boy that tried to appear as one of the good ones. Oddly, I’m not even bothered. What goes around comes around ten-fold. I know and believe this with every ounce of my body. He was another unwanted pick in the litter and is going straight to the trash. And that is okay.

So then where does this take me? Back to the drawing board, and on to the prospect of meeting someone new. It’s a highly laughable situation, and God only knows why I keep putting myself through some of these dating triangles, but with utmost certainty—this guy completely pulled me in and I, like many, fell for the kill. Despite all of the bullshit whether it be good or insane we go through with the excitement, the lust and definitely the heartache… it’s still a battlefield to tread lightly over until you’ve found a good and very safe ground. Tired of meddling, but still living each day with a take no prisoners mentality … this was merely one more experience to take in. One more guy to avoid. So until the next one rolls around, I’m dabbing on the glittery eye shadow and keeping on … keeping on.

Love is a battlefield, I certainly guess so. Thanks Pat Benatar for reminding me!

Leaving on a jet plane...or not, please smack me!

This morning I went out to drop off a piece of mail, overheard the low rumblings of a plane and cringed. My eyes rolled and I grumbled all of the way to Starbucks praying to God that someone would either pinch me, I’d find some kind of courage to quit my ‘job’ or hop on a plane myself.

It’s Fashion Week in New York, so the big question is, where are you? Stuck at home … me too. For the past week I have avoided Facebook because over the next couple of days I know it will be flooded. Dammit, I broke down and checked it. It’s beginning to blow up.

{Courtesy of...}

I got invited to spend a couple of days taking in the high fashions, view gorgeous and intricately made garments and see all of it glide down a runway. And I sit in Chicago…waiting for text messages, pictures, anything as if it were the damn Grammys. Who says no to that!?! Tonight a talented man who is probably one of the more humble people you will meet is having his works showcased. If you are not aware of Raul Penaranda, you are missing out. He is amazingly gifted, hopeful of his fashions and sense of elegant style and a true beauty with Latin charm.

In all fairness, I did not say no at first and basically said ‘I will MAKE it work.’ The tickets had just about been purchased for the flights to get to New York, but I hesitated. When in the hell do I ever hesitate? Something in the back of my mind said double check with work. The adult speaking. There was a conflict, someone needed coverage…. I could not go. My heart breaks for missing this opportunity, but everything happens for a reason. For the next several hours I’m living vicariously through everyone who is there, thanking them as the texts roll in and the updates go up. Sorry Facebook...but I am going to be 'liking' a lot of pictures today!

All in all, it’s really me being stubborn and saying—you should have just walked out of your job to go. But the far more responsible (and annoyingly sensible) adult in me says it is okay. There will be another season and another invite to go. So for this morning, I’ll save face. Truthfully I am taking a break from my desk during the lunch hour to down a perfectly cheap bottle of chardonnay, chase it with Trident and getting on craiglist to either sell my soul or get some additional freelance work so there is no worry over additional 'work coverage'! The next trip will not get put off.

Okay, maybe not craigslist!

Ways to catch up with Raul:

Official website; Facebook; Twitter

Spreading a little love….

...one heart at a time. A day early, but seeing as it will be a busy week, I will keep this one quiet where a picture can say more than words spoken aloud.

{Courtesy of...}

Happy Valentine’s Day to you and yours

A splash of ass and bit of sass

With spring right around the corner, you can almost smell it in the air. That shift in pressure, the soil softening…the trees budding for new growth. To say that fall and winter were dull, would be an understatement. There have been get togethers, wine nights, shopping excursions, dates and detoxes, trips to unknown cities and a little bit of writing in between. That time fell together into a slight blur, but a miniature and very powerful message behind everything got forgotten.

A little bit of sass and a fresh dab of lip gloss needed to be taken out on the town. In more ways than one. No, that’s not just in terms of men. I’d like to think that, at this point, I’m living a free life and whatever happens--happens. Not just men at all. Hibernation mode fully kicked in this year; something that generally creeps up and finds a wonderful perch somewhere from October through January. Rather than ice skating around a park in the city, I sat bar-side sipping martinis with friends in town. Shopping in the city for flowers was turned to a local merchant around the corner from work. The all too familiar outgoing and go-to mentality was lessened and quieted.

Admitting this need to get out and blame only being cooped up would be a false statement. After trying to get over someone, we all do this. Vent to our friends, delete every message and every number. Cry our eyes out, avoid food because it took too much effort to eat, and then go out. We take an extra hour to get ready, blasting club hits while drinking bubbly champagne. Slap on the all too high heels that make us wobble, but make our legs look damn good. We go out, to get out. To get out and get back to feeling like our confident selves. Or maybe that’s just me.

Several friends were away for a weekend, or busy with their families. I figured, there was a rut and I needed to get out of it. So I dipped into the closet and looked at the oh-so-typical dresses to wear, and stumbled on something I forgot was even hanging in the sea of fabric. A knitted dress that had been purchased to wear--if and when I needed a splash of sass. Always thinking proactively.

That night called for more than a splash of sass; it required a wealthy vodka drink and a whole lot of tanned skin to get the job done. A job that is highly laughable now, but was needed to snap a smile in place and bring the ever present laugh back into my throat.

What started at one bar and a simple drink, turned into a full night out of networking and letting loose. At the first bar, a bartender and I talked about his girlfriend and my manly woes. Out of nowhere, or maybe it was the liquid haze, I bit the bullet and went to another place and that’s when it all happened. Put me next to someone, we will talk. It’s a given. Every wallflower must sing at some point in their lifetime. Fortunately, I am not a wallflower and just sing. In this case, talk to a group of people who are within a given industry that I am pursuing.

Random happening or magnetic pull? Nobody will ever know, nor do I want to analyze it. Turned out that one of the many groups I ended up talking with, in between sipping sparkling champagne, was indeed part of a marketing firm. For a local magazine. I had been sitting at the bar and overheard publishing and honed in. Awful, terrible; but in all seriousness who does not eaves drop? I turned and introduced myself casually, not mentioning anything about writing. I was merely someone meeting a group at a bar. After an hour of talking, we ended up chatting about writing, publishing, marketing; the works. By bar close, one of the men I had been talking to walked me out to my car several blocks away. He was sweet and nice, it was late.

As I drove home and the next morning, and even now I still shake my head at things. All it took was a snappy dress and a shift in my mind to get back to me and where does that lead? To writing. Here I thought that night was going to be a confidence booster over fully letting go of a guy, but it was so much more than that. It was a confidence booster in following exactly what everyone including a psychic has been saying for months and I have been shying away for unknown reasons.

We can run and hide from things for a short while, but in the end—everything always comes back to us. For this, it took an unexpected night out to restore that missed feeling. So with that, I am working on getting back into the swing of this blog that is way out of touch. It is a place where I can free-write the whatever (s) of a day or week. I’m wrapping a short story for a website and finalizing a publishing deal that isn’t much, but it is something.

I have started writing and publishing on the ups and downs of relationships, the single life of a thirty-something. God knows I’ve experienced enough of this, but will keep experiencing it because it’s life. Who knew all it took was stepping out and flashing a little ass to admit things are okay where they are and go with it. Documenting it all along the way.

So it's another round, only this one should be leading in a fun direction; and to that I say...I am ready, are you?

Cheers

There are times when all it takes is faith

With all of the commotion in the greater United States and mostly within the National Football League about faith, the subject matter is bound to creep up into your mind. Consider the formalities and the justifications of all of the actions that we as people go through. Not normally am I one to sit down with a cup of coffee and begin a conversation regarding politics or religion. This is a topic that has been quite absent for this space and for the most part I would like to keep it that way. It’s not that I do not pay close attention to politics, but there is a time and a place; and this is not that place.

However, there are grey areas to every single situation. Every argument, every celebration. Many choose to rant about having an open and optimistic view on faith; while others curse it and say that it is entirely just a fad for close attention. When I think about the latter, it only makes me wonder about what is going on with that individual to say such a comment.

Having faith is something that lies within every single person. Whether you like it or not, there is an ounce or a pound of it somewhere in the depth of your being. In times of dire need or desperation, many people close their eyes and wish for something great and wonderful to help them out. They have faith in the form of a positive outlook that something is coming their way. That something could come their way if they were susceptible.

I was talking with a friend the other day and she was so hopeful about an instance in her life, once someone else posed a statement questioning her belief; her confidence dissipated. It was as if the light faded and her hopes and excitement washed away in the chilled river rush. Almost carrying her wants and desire out to sea. My heart went out to her because we have all had those moments where we lose sight of that ‘faith,’ so to speak in those times.

Not only thinking about her, but it brought that natural urge deep down in my own body to keep the faith about many things that are potentially breaking through. Despite the raging economy, and the fact that I am constantly frustrated over work that is underrated—it is merely a small piece to the puzzle in the grander scale of life. If keeping the faith about the hopes and wants gives us a little gratification or independent support that we need to get by, where is the harm?

There is no harm, and that is the whole point. By showing your allegiance, it proves that you believe that you can achieve something. You can achieve whatever it is you are seeking in that moment or day, week, year, etc. All because you know deep down, by believing in yourself and the people around you—there will always be a sort of reward. Whether it be in the form of a thank you or a new house, that falls into what it is you are thinking about. There is no category to directly link each label into.

While this all started out with more never ending ramblings that are a constant within me, it’s really just about keeping the faith that I will eventually get out of this hell hole that I am currently stuck in. Which, sooner rather than later would be much appreciated. But in all seriousness, I am keeping true to my own inner beliefs and staying positive to what good can come of this day. A phone call from the planetarium in the city possibly? An email from an agent in regards to a potential contract? Or maybe, just maybe another gorgeous snowfall that reminds me to appreciate every single morning-day-and night.

Only time will tell. Even so, between now and forever, I choose to still keep the faith.

The break-up plan

With resolutions flying out of everyone’s mouth like the F word, it is almost inevitable to make a few changes. Why not start at the start of a calendar year and work your way onward. Day by day. Month by month. Or let’s face it, hour by hour.

Because honestly, if someone said give up text messaging--that alone would be on an hourly timeframe. Sadly I’ve hit that point where the phone is somewhat connected and calendars are filling. It’s a busy time.

Instead of creating these crazy lists about having to lose such and such amount of poundage and strut this body like Giselle. Or better yet, aim to save one million pennies for a down payment—or installment on property taxes. Pushing the holiday bulge and the budget aside, I’m mixing it up a bit this year.

A resolution (s) in the form of a break-up plan.

It’s easy. Painless. Completely guilt free. Hopefully.

We all have good habits and also bad habits that we tend to mull over more. This isn’t about mulling, or swearing to do something and letting it all fall to the backburner because the rebel in us says forget about it.

Resolutions tend to bug me in general because it strikes a red flag that somewhere in my mind gets short circuited and rather than saying, ‘Okay, we aren’t going to do that right?’ It’s says, ‘Forget that, that promise is moot-pass the wine.’

But I must digress that statement because that is just me. Some people are great with resolutions and that is fabulous.

For right now, because it’s not really a resolution it’s just a statement….I am breaking up with a few things because it needs to happen. It’s for a better day, a happier person. Or maybe it’s out of boredom because the morning is quiet and the sun is keeping me cheery. In any case, er goes.

DIET COKE – you are a bastard and god only knows how you have made it into my diet over the past few weeks. The sugary duds are bidding farewell.

JEANS – This is debatable. As much as I don’t wear you unless it’s a day for loafing, it’s time to keep to the leggings and dresses.

SNACKY TREATS – It’s about to get orange in here. Carrots are getting back on the plan. Cookies you are OUT.

WORK – I’m breaking up with YOU…as soon as a certain group has an offer--which is in the forecast.

BLACKBERRY – iphone or bust.

INNER-NOMAD – Building roots is far more important than moving on the fly. Please brain stop sending mixed visions of Manhattan and Toronto. Thanks much.

DRUNKEN CALL/TEXTS – I seriously doubt he thinks they are fun. Interesting, but not fun at 3am. And why do I answer them when they come my way? Either way—they are out.

….leaving the biggest for last

GIRLY BEHAVIOR [aka self-doubt] – This is being pitched on so many different levels. I am breaking up with eyeing of the telephone waiting for that message to come through. Texting him when he should be the one texting me. Forget that, I wouldn’t do that with a friend so I’m breaking up with that on edge feeling. He will call, as if we didn’t already know that. It's the behavior that I loathe most and cannot believe it has taken up shop in the recesses of my mind. But, as I am a woman--it was bound to happen at some point.

And so that is where it all lays out for now. A master plan that isn’t really a plan at all. It’s merely a statement of letting go. Letting go of a carbolicious drink that seriously needed the boot in the first place to set a reminder in my planner for messaging someone for getting the ball rolling with that job. Simple, silly little things that creep up and we don’t realize are a part of our daily routines. For now, it’s time to get on that detour curbing any inclinations to fall back to these habits and get on with it.

As I sit in jeans and riding boots. Hmm, fashion forward.

Cheers to a new year!

Happiness is a journey not a destination

With the year rapidly approaching an end and a new set of months filled with unknown possibilities is about to begin, it comes the time to sit back and sort of take in everything that has happened over the past three hundred and sixty five days. It’s almost when you say it out loud that you realize that is a lot of days of change, of happiness, sadness, excitement, frustration, advancement, travel….

This has been one of those years where sitting here now it is easy to look at life as anything but a journey. Each day filled with anything and everything that can only add to the beauty that is where a day can take us. There has been such stress on certain things that looking back now, is completely laughable. It created time wasted, weeks and even months filled with worry of personal upset or confused about how to move forward. Life and chance opportunities were masked in that worry. Some of the concern and hours of lost sleep turned into unexpected meetings with people, conversations of a lifetime and even a glance at how perfectly fitting and precious every single moment is.

Rather than being a time of reflection, it has been months of enlightenment. It’s funny how you know deep within your bones when something goes right. Every ounce of you tells you that once you have made a step in that direction, everything will work out.

So much is going on around that it is hard sometimes to take a step back and breathe. Taking a moment to soak in that breath of fresh air that fills your lungs with such joy and fulfillment. That is where today is. That is where I am right now. Which feels like a phrase that has been run to the ground, but it is the truth.

This year has been everything and then some. There have been so many ups and downs, but it is through each that a positive doubly outweighs the negatives. And there aren’t really any negatives at all, for they have all been part of the process. They may have been roadblocks at the time, but have done nothing but add depth to that day, to that moment. They have added a sense or level of character that is unmistakable.

As the days are passing, they do not seem like days anymore. They are merely parts to a puzzle that I am anxious to piece together when the time is right. For now, the pieces are all blending together on the carpet in front of a fireplace fully lit (yet still ornamental) like a sea of notes. They are the notes of a lifetime.

So from surviving a snowstorm that got a booty shakin’, listening to a calling and following the gut with a natural gift, to letting go and being free of any personal limitations; this has truly been a year. A year that wouldn’t get traded for anything. Sure there were days where I have to laugh and say, ‘what the fuck was I thinking?’ But in the end, it’s simple and easy. I was thinking…

‘it was pretty fucking hilarious at the time, so why the hell not?’

Cheers to your life, where you have gone and where you continue to go and grow within. Own what you do and where you are.

Sexy Sundays….

For love of rumpled sheets….

It’s a quiet Sunday, one where all you want to do is curl back up into the duvee. So many things can be said for something so very simple to make this absolutely enticing. However, for this particular day; I will leave that up to the imagination.

Ch-ch-ch-changes….

As much as I would love to start singing to my ever constant girl-crush of David Bowie, this is not that time. Nor is this the place for my voice to break any windows in the vicinity. For the first time in probably my whole life, the need to flee, runaway…move--is not pressing in. Usually every few months the urge to jet set and get away or start fresh begins to creep up my neck. It starts with the little notices in magazines or in television shows, my eyes pinpoint a destination and I crave to go. That craving turns to yearning, which turns into the impulse to get out of town. And move.

Why this happens, I honestly do not know. Maybe it stems from wanting to explore the world, maybe it’s a fear of staying in one place to actually build roots? Either way, this particular urge hasn’t hit me but others that lead up to it have. In one of the many daily reads, I came across an incredible article about how someone’s life changes drastically once they have made a serious life ‘alteration.’ I couldn’t help but see the truth in this statement. Since dropping everything and moving east, it has forced me to really break out and live according to the day. The moment.

After an incident the other night, something happened that felt like a splash of cold water in my face, waking me up from a deep haze I apparently had fallen into. Forcing me to really see someone. That spontaneous person who always challenged herself; the one who decided to bartend only because she wanted to learn how to make one specific cocktail. The same lady who gave up early education as a major and chose Cinema—just because.

I need a change. That rich trait is something that is so comforting, so near and dear to my soul. With the weather shifting into the winter months, there certainly can be no time wasted by sitting on my rump and baking cookies—despite how delicious they are. Well, that is an understatement. Baking cookies for a cookie exchange—well now that is completely okay in my books.

Yesterday, I called out of work. This is something I rarely ever do. Not because I was sick, but because I wanted to take the day and plan. Evaluate and Tackle. Music got turned on, the medusa wave didn’t get straightened, lululemon and I were best friends. As I was putting a picture away, crumpled up in the corner of a box was a sheet of paper that I had filled out years ago. On it was a running list of all the things I had been wanting to do. A wishlist.

I curled up on the floor next to my bed and skimmed through it and immediately started crying. -Buy Flowers weekly (done) -Send cards out to friends regularly (done) -Train for a marathon (done) -Move to Chicago or NYC (done) -Buy a flat in Paris (still wishing) -Get a Kitchenaid (done)

With the exception of about three (out of more than one hundred) everything was something that over the course of four years was accomplished. I stared in disbelief, shock and awe.

Where did that woman go? Who was always rushing to do something wild and crazy? She got drunk. But in all seriousness, reading that sheet of paper brought back that warm feeling that this lady needs a list. And that list is not getting crumpled up and tossed into a box like a time capsule. No, it’s going straight onto the calendar, or is being turned around into registration forms for classes on god only knows what.

Here I was slowly beginning to get nervous about the winter months and turning into a hermit, but that is not the case. These changes are coming hard and they’re coming fast, the days are getting filled with yoga and floral arrangement courses. Classes on how to do facial make-up so we don’t look like hot tranny messes to others that coach you through ‘Doing him, Dumping Him or Dating Him.’ Secretly, openly here, I’m excited for this one.

So in the light of Mr. Bowie, even though that song doesn’t even come close to meaning the same thing….I’m making some changes and getting some fun out of life.

Sexy Sundays....

While us ladies are dawdling with our freshly manicured nails, there’s the other sex to think about. This one goes out to the fellas. I can’t even begin to comment on how many men I have dated that spend more time in the washroom getting ready for going out than myself or women I know, so who knows, maybe a mani and pedi may have been equally as satisfying. But not for today. Today is yet another simple feat that when worn, makes a dressed up look seem so casual and vice versa. It’s easy, simple and a crowd pleaser for yourself and for whoever you are walking toward.

The un-tucked dress-shirt

There are so many reasons that this look is an instant winner for sex appeal. The shirt appears classy regardless of it being wrinkle-clad—or just hanging out over a leather belt. It’s versatile. Whether it’s to wear a shirt with jeans or with dress pants, it works either way. Hands down, this is the most common look that I have experienced on dates and with partners. Some guys stay clear of fashions while others watch it closely. While most of the men I have gone out with are not glued to Project Runway, one must assume they are wearing the clothes for a specific reason. And to each of them it was always the same thing, they felt good in it. Granted, only one of the guys has ever actually said that out loud, the majority shrug off any questions and sit confidently snug in their chairs or walked with a clean stride. Body language indicator, regardless of the wrinkled mess from a shirt that was found at the bottom of a hamper. Clean or dirty—we don’t really want to know.

Unless you are David Beckham, I seriously suggest veering away from the half-tucked shirt because we can forgive him for any potential faux pas. It rarely comes across as stylish and more-so tired and lazy. With shirts of this kind, it’s either in or out. The un-tucked is widely acceptable, which honestly isn’t all forms of clothes acceptable. They’re material covering your skin, and to be blunt-this isn’t a fashion blog. This is merely stating the obvious. Confidence. A man who can wear his clothes with confidence wins that round.

So this now becomes a game to play, how many guys do you often see walking around that aren’t wearing jeans and an Iowa t-shirt tucked into the tops of the pants? Sorry, the Iowa t-shirt--all I can say is well welcome to the the locale of the greater mid-west. If anything it’ll be a fun game nonetheless.

I do partially blame the current writings for these little sunday missives. It's through them that certain characters are being crafted, so bear with me.

Steamy sex and nano what?

November is quickly approaching and with that string of thirty days, comes a project that seems impossible yet completely capable. Nanowrimo.

November is the National Writing Month and what better than to have someone create a sort of push of sorts to see if one can pen out an entire first draft to a novel in that time period. Anyone who knows, this can be done, but is slightly difficult due to the many phases for writing. You’re dealing with: outlines, research, editing and simply finding the time to sit your ass down and actually write.

I am partaking in this madness for a couple of reasons. The first one being that I am currently half-way through a project that is taking longer than expected and is going for publication so most of my time is focused on that right now. Writing sexy kisses is not easy, no matter what someone tells you. The second project (intended for Nano) is a follow-up story that has been requested on numerous accounts and is itching to get penned out. Work has been unusually slow, and nightlife—well that is a whole other animal that won’t get tackled right now. Lately it feels like I’m racing in along the autobahn and there’s no offramps. It’s crazy, time is flying by, important dates are getting passed…and yet there’s always time for sitting down and getting a few things straight.

So far from what I gather, you have to get a synopsis up and running on the nano website and submit mini submissions throughout the entire month. This is something I have yet to do and thankfully there are 5 days left to complete. Eventually each submission get clumped together and wham, you’ve got (figuring the base amount of words) a completed by day thirty. All you need to do is get it to your beta or editor and you’re good to go. Easy, right?

Easy. Being busy is what gets me motivated, gets me all excited about finishing a project. Something I have faith and belief in. Did I mention what I have faith in? Oh, it involves kissing and a few naughty scenes. That-if done correctly, are not so naughty and more swoon-worthy. Which is exactly what I’m going for. I’m not a balls-to-the wall type of woman. No thank and you. I firmly take hold of the girly parts of me and like all things romantic. Flowers, holding a door open…making an apology in the pouring down rain.

Which brings up Nano. While I’m aiming to finish the ‘Summons’ novel by mid-December, it doesn’t qualify for this project. It’s a manuscript that is currently in progress and halfway done. Nor would I want to be rushed on this story because the characters and plots are flowing beautifully right now. I wanted something that could keep the momentum of writing up-regardless of either project.

That something which makes sleeping feel like a distant thought, and coffee a burning liquid pulsing through my veins as opposed to a glorious liquid that fuels the morning. So I’m writing for the free publication site and keeping the nerves pulsing for an entire month.

Officially embracing my inner ‘geek’ badge for this project, something that is few and far between but still…embraced.

Why do I think that the month is going to drag or I’m going to be reverting back to old tendencies and pulling men rather than waiting for substance? Because of the damn dirty side of things.

Sexy Sunday....

Taking in a Sunday has always been part of some of life’s more decadent things. Things that don’t really get done when you’re fussing about during the working week, escorting kids from school to sports or dance, arranging meetups with girlfriends that you haven’t seen in four days…

It’s the little things that for a few short minutes, take us away and make us feel ultimately sexy. I love this. I am first to admit, Sundays are bonafide ‘Days of Luxury.’ This is no secret, so to devote a posting each week in response to this day, well it seems pretty damn fitting. To begin this, I thought really hard about some of the things that I do to primp and prune. Spruce to sexify, all to add a little extra bounce in a typically upbeat strut. So many ideas came to mind and for this week, it’s an obvious.

Manis and Pedis

How can anyone deny the time it takes to have your nails doted on to perfectly vanished perfection? It’s a hard one to debate. Imagine going into a nail salon for a pedicure, you walk in and are served champagne, ushered to a giant massaging chair and a bath of warm water that has floating petals. For that short period of time you can let loose and just relax. Forget about remembering to transfer funds from one account to the next covering the mortgage. Nope, not there. The atmosphere doesn’t allow it, the massaging of your calves won’t even suggest a glimmer of a thought of anything but silence.

What is it about having freshly painted toenails, whether it be the darker hues of the winter months or the neon (s) and bright pink (s) for the heated summertime? The first time I went and had a pedicure, I about died. I was that nervous nelly that looked like a deer in headlights. You want to dip my feet in what? Why are you massaging my back when my gnarly toes need a touch up?

Oh, but I would like another glass of champagne though. Oh that color looks good with my eyes, you think matching sets for my fingernails too?

Hook. Lined. Sunk.

{HAND JOB, San Francisco, CA}

Now, I am more of a pedi type of a lady and will always be the one shooting out text messages for a ladies day get together at a nail salon. It’s basically like meeting up with friends at a bar or getting coffee, only you’re being pampered in a different sort of way. Rather than indulging on the caffeine or that extra cocktail for the week-the budget gets forgone and you leave a salon feeling like a million dollars. A very sexy million dollars.

My latest obsession is Shellac. It’s an incredible process that allows the polish to last for several weeks. Imagine that! While your toes are rubbing in the boots (because lets state the obvious-it’s now boot season) the polish is staying nice and shiny. Perfectly un-touched. Slinking away for a manicure and pedicure is an instant mood booster, de-stressor and automatic given for making you feel a little more confident about what’s going on inside of the socks.

Staying in or going out, Sundays are a day for anything. And for this lady, it means to head out for an appointment in a couple of hours. With the cooler air, the deep purples with a touch of shattered glass are in the forecast.

Are you craving an appointment yet?

Who needs blush?

Yesterday, as I was at the market picking up odds and ends and fully noticed that my lacy dress was completely transparent in the chest (and the fact that nobody had said a single word ALL day) got me thinking about when to spice things up, and when to shut them down. The last post got me thinking about certain things that get you feeling good about yourself, things that add a little bounce to your step.

Those little nothings that make you bring your very own sexy back.

For some it could be dancing to Katy Perry in the front room, wearing a pair of red stilettos—by themselves, or adding a little extra curl to a rather straight bob.

The other day I got a text message from a good friend asking what would look good with jeans. Laughing, I text back and said bra and panties. This of course turned into a serious texting match, eventually ending in a phone call and an outfit that ultimately got it in for a night. The lady was ecstatic. All over the small things that she never thought about that made her feel good.

So of course, then I started thinking about all of the things that I love that just add one more punch to the day. A pair of bobby pins, snowflake pink nail vanish, tanned skin….the list goes on and on. Looking at yesterday and that silly dress, I’m almost glad I didn’t remember that the lace trailed down a little more than expected. By wearing that dress, the red belt got brought out, which caused for a little extra glitter to be added to the eyeshadow and crafted a whole range of delectableness.

Everyone has their own preferences for what makes them feel good, and let me first say that lounging in a pair of yoga pants and a cardigan is way up there on my list. But even so, when it comes to making the cheeks a little rosier than usual or sleeping a little longer. Sexy is as sexy does.

There’s been a few ‘Themed’ blog topics but this one, I’m sticking to my guns and actually going to pursue. Because who doesn’t want to add a little spice to their step?

So with that, every Sunday I’ll be posting a bit of this or that on something that can add to this sexiness. God knows that by writing this novel, it is only fueling the need to cure a little bug that is biting me. Whatever the case may be, this will be fun. Exciting, and who knows maybe even a little informative!

I’m off to do a little research because lord knows, the first post has got to be good. I may have been slacking in posting which is natural when times get busy, but I’m motivated and excited to try something different. Who needs blush when you’ve got something else that will add a little color to your cheeks.

I’m sexy and I know it…or at least with heels and lipstick I can be

It’s October, and the detox is officially over with a capital O. For the past several weeks I have been going back in forth between spending more time away from my house and out with friends or just clearing the mind and trying not to sulk. Or to be completely frank--wasting the night away sipping one too many cocktails and forgetting my own personality. Because it was about regrouping and finding something out of your comfort zone (s). And that personality, is me, but she was hurting and needed to get drunk and scream. And eat lots of gelato that is now making crunches so much fun.

It’s over, and god only knows I never thought these words would ever come out of my mouth. EVER. Everything is good, every day is filled and that is a sweet deal. Granted, this little period of getting back to ‘who you are’ felt like a refresher course for Calculus 405 in college, but still. It was needed for everything to be washed out of my confused mind. Which is the always present and never now ending theme.

And yet, here it is. The simple truths that are blinded behind everything and everyone around. They’re over, forgotten and forgiven.

Maybe it’s the fresh color on the hair, the tanned skin, or the red stilettos that seem to be attached to me right now because they scream ‘outrageousness is here.’ Whatever it is, it’s fully embraced and it’s about god damned time.

…or it could possibly be the writing that is amping everything up and building the excitement about potential freelancing. About penning someone else’s story which makes me not think and allows me to just go with the flow each and every single day. The chance of being able to quit a job that I do not enjoy and do something that feels right in my bones and makes my skin sing. I’m leaning toward the writing setting everything on fire. There’s no shame.

The other morning I went out for the day. Put on a cute dress, slapped on the purple heels and just went with it. Every day for the past few months, I’d been eyeing that dress, rolling my eyes at the shoes wondering why in the world it had not been worn in ages. Funk be bygones.

It’s understandable, and it happens. And you know what, you have to get over it. If you sit around and mope about it, time is still getting wasted and a chance at god only knows what could be slipping off in the distance. That dress was like a fire alarm going off inside of my head. This woman, she had partially joined the witness protection program. Though, not really because I’m not socially inverted and actually do go out, but things had been slipping off of the radar that are as much a part of me, as well anything else.

It was time. Time to clean out the wardrobe of clothes that hid a body that needed to shape up just a tad, dye the locks but steer from an emo-clad color and go with something a little on the sultry side. To wear the purple heels.

I feel like it’s been a serious complex of personal issues lately, and it has been because of reasons that will go unannounced on this forum. That’s for Dr. Drew to address and I’m still waiting for an available appointment. It is very hard to see all of the people around you and not judge yourself for your 'shortcomings' or acknowledging your accomplishments. Even so, breathing is easier today. It’s better than it was a year ago. It’s definitely easier than sixty five days ago and because of it, my heart is bigger and I’m saying adios to certain thoughts. Expectations that had quietly become my own. I’m saying goodbye to the lost hours and shouting a big hello to all of the time that lay in front.

So this is my last post on dating. On feeling down and out because honestly, a Kleenex and crappy made for TV movies can help this one. Crying with a box of sour patch kids in my lap and a crystal light stain on my lips. And taking a peripheral vision and turning it into tunnel vision and forgetting about the world that exists all around. A world that I am part of and am no longer missing out on.

Amen, to that.

Do you think romance is dead....

It’s officially begun, the road of staying the course and putting everything on the line in a professional manner. The race to get published is on. Last week, a very good friend of mine forwarded a link to a writing competition. She had come across an article about a woman who had always been interested in writing and decided to enter a specific publisher’s contest in all hopes of potentially winning the Grand Prize. To get her work published.

When she saw the article, I am more than touched that she automatically thought of me. But, let’s take that one back for a second. Who in the hell else is writing a romance piece? Still completely gracious, always, to have someone looking out for our interests.

The contest is simple. You and the likes of several other writers are competing with a total of three chapters assuming that you get through the first round. It's not always unusual to see this type of competition from a publisher, but the fact that she saw the article at just the right time, is how the universe works sometimes. The publisher has opened it's arms to up and coming writers alike for what is being called 'New Voices.' I previously mentioned completing a short story for a girlfriend, that story sparked something inside of me that has been dormant for far too long. It sparked a love affair with the written word, with the endless ideas that go crazy in my muddled brain; it sparked a way to keep envisioning the way things could be within my hopelessly romantic heart. I am a new voice, and this voice is itching to be heard.

I entered the competition.

What better time than now to really push myself and follow a gut instinct? I know how I get the minute I have made a life decision. Determination fuels me, I become driven by an unknown force and ultimately have never failed. I’m not saying that roadblocks have not been a very uncomfortable friend all along the way, but certainly the minute I start to focus on one particular accomplishment or multiple projects-they move seamlessly and success typically follows.

This is not a bragging room, but was a reminder that we really can do whatever we want. There are no limitations, everything is within our grasps. Everything. Reading through the other submissions, it’s clear that the competition will be go either way but I’m honestly not bothered. It took a huge amount of courage to post on a publisher’s website, reach out to friends, family, and unknown people through social mediums to ask for support.

To support not just myself, but all of the writers. At the end of the day, this is not about winning a competition. It’s about understanding that you can do anything you set your mind to, regardless of the situation. I’m excited to see where the first chapter goes, and if it even takes off. Of course, I’m going to be stalking the mess out of the Mills & Boon website tracking the progress, but also sending out words of encouragement to all of the other writers.

Because that is what I would want. To be supported on one of the passions that we all share. To write, to share a story that was not meant to be published for monetary reasons. It was only meant to be written for others to take into their homes and enjoy.

So with that, if there is free time to spare and someone is craving a bunch of starts to stories—or rather the start to a certain one in particular….Please follow the link to the Mills & Boon site by clicking on the title 'Summoning Mr. Right' and rock the vote.

Summoning Mr. Right

Synopsis

With seventy-five cents to her name and no way to pay the bill should her date bail, Emmerson Nichols has hit rock bottom. With a wasted degree and a slew of temp jobs she finds luck in filling her bank account but not in her life.

Despite his booming career, Derek Westcott can’t warm the city officials with his broad shoulders and sexy grin. Not by a longshot. When fate plays with a woman trying to find herself and a man trying to hold his business together, who will win?

How I met your husband….

I am in a dating detox. For another forty five days I am getting back to the basics by listening and taking action in contrast to my heart. From one Romeo to the next, it has been a tumultuous ride over the course of almost ten months. And in that amount of time—it has become a period to shun your eyes, drink a bottle of wine and take a long hot bath. Or laugh and thank god you are living a life different from this.

I met a man, this man was outrageously funny and enthusiastic. He was cute, but also only available at certain times that always seemed to be the same. Strike the Red Flag immediately. It turned out, and I found out almost two months in of talking and going out, that he was married. We were ‘flinging.’

As in fully married, probably father of year and oh so very attached.

How does this happen?

One would think this was the Maury Povich year up in my neck of the woods, but honest to god I did not expect him to be, let alone think I could ever partake in such a predicament.

Well I did, and it happened. It was an affair and so because of that, I am in a dating detox.

At first I was only going to take thirty days to clear my mind, body and soul but realized that this one—like a shot of Jack Daniels, burned all of the way down. I still hurt from the betrayal of someone I was beginning to like, and so for that I decided on taking a full sixty days to recoup. To relax and get my groove back.

Of course, this is when I start to pay extra close attention to what has been lacking over the past few months. From workouts to dressing up I have been taking it way too easy lately, because I was excited that for a change someone was thinking about me. Calling to check in and see how my day was, coming over. I felt attached, how silly and obtuse as that notion may be now, considering the fact that the guy was already attached--but that is all changing. I’ve been re-reading books to gain lost confidence, meditating in order to clear the clutter in my mind and working out to sweat off the softer parts of my body that could be trimmed down.

What is it about the dating process that is so difficult to some, and so easy for others. I have covered this topic one too many times over, but it seems to be reoccurring which makes me believe the problem lies within me. Am I trying too hard in capturing this one guy out there? Have I romanticized too much, or is it really possible?

It’s possible, so I’m taking the time to kick back and find the beauty deep down my single woman’s body. I was talking to multiple friends over the past several days who all keep quiet but say the words that they think I want to hear. Words that I don’t want to hear because it’s repetitive and I’m simply tired of hearing them one day after the next.

For the next forty five days, it’s my turn to be a selfish bitch. To shop when I want to shop. Read Cosmo or Jane Austen, whatever my brain is craving.To detox my body and kick the angst out through kickboxing and circuit training. To drink all the coffee I want and slink away into the city for as many hours of my liking for whatever reason. To plan unnecessary trips just to get away, because I can.

In the first set of the detox, I cleaned up my telephone, email and threw out little notes that had been left behind. I re-started saying three things I am most thankful for at the end of each day, and also envisioned ways of changing a day around in my mind had anything gone differently as expected. A workout regime was re-activated and a health plan was put back into place. The next stage is inner and outer beauty-for this I’m working on the entire forty five days on. From my approach to people and personal demeanor to changing up a wardrobe and sprucing up to accent not only my body but my personality. Enter new dresses and platform heels, flip flops to the back.

The detox is about reclaiming what we lose, when we are in that search for the Prince Charming (s) of the world. That endless and silly search. But no more, this time I am serious about it taking the time and letting go. I’m not saying the search is over for a lifetime but for now, it’s not about a search but about connecting with myself on a higher level and letting all of the other business move to the side.

Well that was to be expected.

Coming back from a weeklong trip out visiting with family can go two ways.

Considering I had already cried like a baby the minute I saw my sister, her house, the baby and just about everything else I figured my body was pretty much cried out. The need to strangle anything or turn to the bottle never crossed my mind.

Sometimes it takes a trip like that to make you see the real you. A real understanding of yourself as a person, a woman (or man), lover, partner, etc. I am not a large crying person, unless I’ve bashed my foot in or knocked the knee out when running through the prairies pretending I can still run, but being there and with so much emotion, I swear I cried for more than a lifetime.

Apparently that must mean I am growing as a person, because it made me realize that certain emotions had been dried up for so long that it felt like Niagara Falls for a few nights. Thank god for the privacy of personal rooms, but it was more than laughable to realize that it felt good to let everything out.

On the flight back, I was talking to the couple next to me on the flight and as the woman started to fall asleep during the flight something occurred to me.
There are introverts and extroverts all over. Type A and Type B. Hands down, I am an extrovert. Unafraid to talk randomly to people, will put myself out there in any given situation which can lead to good experiences and crazy ones. Strange happenings have always popped up in my life, hence the full meaning of this blog:

Living in that blonde moment

My life is one big blonde moment, for which I embrace fully. Whether it be a slip to the floor, crying in public over some stupid advert or simply experiencing something out of the typical and monotonous day.

On a flight that had been delayed, we’d been stuck on the tarmac for about a half an hour, I was exhausted. The week was emotionally draining, my body was beat, but I still needed to get to my car. Flying is a fun and simple process, and the only real part that I get anxious about is parking my car. Normally I would have hired a car service or call for a cab, but with this particular trip the flight times were all over the place and I hate to even ask anyone about doing a favor for me. I’m the ‘get in, get it done’ type of traveler.

My car was parked in the long-term side of the airport and while I just made it outside of the doors from the baggage claim, luck reigned down and a shuttle was right there waiting. Thank god! Seamless so far, apart from the many bathroom trips from the people sitting next to me and the long tarmac wait.

Excited to be one inch closer to the car, my eyelids started to droop and before I knew it the bus was parked outside of a garage. I did not remember parking in a garage. Where was the driver. Where the hell was I?

Not good.

The driver came back onto the bus after he had taken a break—and completely left me there. What an idiot I am for closing my eyes for a second. Turns out, there are multiple routes for the long-term parking. One for each section, which seems completely ridiculous to me but who am I to judge. After talking it over with the driver, I in fact was in the wrong bus, and was going to be driven back to the airport.

What a shame, so much for getting home at a decent hour. Instead of getting angry or frustrated I laughed it off. The driver laughed right with me, this would only happen to me.

The first time I rode public transportation-I caught the wrong bus and ended up on the wrong side of Seattle.

The first time on the freeway, I exited too early and drove in a neighborhood that I will never return to. Scary.

Just that week, I was at the market buying fresh flowers and talked with the vendor—after a few laughs he gave me a bunch of extra stems.

While we were laughing, he asked where I was parked so of course I told him. Before I knew what was happening he was pulling the bus to a stop and we were right outside of my car. Door to door service.

A surprise right before your eyes. I expressed my huge graciousness to the man as I got off of the bus and loaded up my car. I couldn’t believe it, could you honestly expect anything less?

No. At least, that is what I thought and when I told other people—what they thought as well. But it got me thinking not only about the emotions and growing, but had I been a raging tired bitch-he would have made me walk. But I laughed it off, talked with the man and sure enough got first class service.

Who knows, how these things happen. Or why for that matter, but they do. Living in the moment, or being susceptible. I fully embrace the moments and take them for what they are. Whether it be something fun, exciting or even helpful it couldn’t be any other way.

One down, how many more to go

One year ago today, everything changed. From the land I had grown to know to the people I had grown up with.

One year ago, I made the journey of a lifetime and since that day everything has changed--ten fold.

It almost seems fitting that this time last year I was in Seattle for a very near and dear friend’s wedding. I had just sent all of my belongings off with a mover in San Francisco that could not speak a word of English and flown up to Seattle for a whirlwind weekend. Only to fly back on the only delayed flight and race like made to pack up my car and start the journey east.

Yes, it does seem fitting that this past week I had traveled back to Seattle to see that same friend who had gotten married, now fully pregnant and ready to give birth any day. It did seem fitting to tie up hardened ends with my family and try to put shattered pieces and bruised emotions back together.

This year has been the most challenging I have ever experienced. From moving so far out of my comfort zone, into an area where nobody is around where you can crash on a couch and cry your eyes out over the fact that the job market was still falling. Over the fact that you can’t figure out where a relationship went wrong, or just to pass out from debauchery activities.

While sitting on a creaky wooden bench out along the chilly Canadian waters of the Pacific, I sipped wine and finally took it all in. How these spontaneous moments hit us, still shocks me, but for this understanding it hit as the sun set and the pier lights went on.

This year has been a mean, gnarly, nasty bitch but I wouldn’t have had it either way. When I walked along the sidewalk leading up to Pike Place to get flowers-to then sitting and looking out at the mountains, I realized that life and each day happens regardless of our breakdowns.

Regardless of whether we go out on a Friday night.

Regardless of the fact that you hit the gym and are looking svelte or not.

Regardless of whether you decide to get out of bed to experience the day or not. It is up to you.

The year has taught me in more ways than one, that despite anything you can conquer any given situation. The choice is really yours, and that choice takes action.

This year, I have moved to an area where I knew nobody and now a year later it’s safe to say that I have a family close by. I have been taken in, invited into a whole new area of experiences that had I stayed in bed—would never have gone through with.

Like go to New York on a whim for a weekend. Walk a runway and let a friend dye my platinum blonde locks deep brown, decide to publish a ‘naughty’ story—and turn that idea into a full on career, watch friends grow in ‘reality’ fashion and get a full design perspective of material artwork, make friends that are strictly positive and give back just as much as they take.

I may have hit rock bottom, and it’s been a bitch to claw my way back up, but that’s the main point. Moving up, moving forward. Every day has brought some kind of crazy revelation, that more and more people keep laughing at me because I’m starting to sound like a broken record…but still—they know. I know.

Over the week, a friend had asked. ‘I wonder what it would be like if you stayed in San Francisco?’ I can’t answer that question, because I’ve come so far into just the right element that it would be hindering the step forward.

I don’t know where I would be, but I can guarantee that I sure as hell wouldn’t be living in a foggy apartment, listening to the constant screams of my neighbors above, let alone the planes that flew to SFO every five minutes from the North.

I do also know, that I wouldn’t be me. Right now, today. While waiting to meeting up with this good friend, I was in a bookstore and for some reason I was directed to this one book. It was strange, but I didn’t fight the guide. I walked over and in an hour I finished this book, I related to every part of it. Every thought, every action, every shift in emotion moves us. Of course it was a self improvement book, because lord knows when you’re flying back to see your new nephew and meet up with a pregnant friend….you’re going to get broody and wonder. What the hell happened with me?

The book resonated in every word, life happened with me. A different type of life that may not work for the person next to me, for the person standing across the hallway, but it has come together for me. Sure there are hard times, but those hard times have crafted a better understanding, created another opening and opportunity for something different.

This is a good place to be. This is where I am successful right now, in happiness, in relationships, in life. It’s just right-who knew all that would happen in a year.

When to pitch something or keep adding to the plate

On this new and fierce journey to follow a dream of writing, of publishing works already completed and new works that are in the process and coming along; I have been faced with a question that is jamming like an eighties Clash hit.

Should I stay or should I go?

For the past month I have been busting ass, trying to talk to different people. Find an outlet, whether it be through writers’ sites, social mediums (Twitter/Facebook/Google+, etc); I’ve been introduced and talking to multiple people within the literary field, fellow writers who are published, some that are posting on free sites, some that are just writing and they’ve all said the same thing.

Get a site.

Ugh, I must digress. But this is coming from someone who is new to all of this. I am the most non-tech-savvy person you could possibly meet. I don’t do codes, I don’t do graphics. Don’t is a very repetitive theme. I like things simple, easy, that won’t make me cry at the end of the night—even if it is over something fabulous like a fake advert for Louboutin stilettos. Come December, I will own a pair and not even bat an eyelash at the $800 cost.

Over the past few months I have been terrible about blogging, but part of me believes that is a good thing. I have not needed to vent as much, I am happy, in a good place, have been busy with people around. Who in the hell wants to read about my random daily business of going to the markets-even if I happened to trip? Even so, I write for me, as a place to just let go and free-write. But it is one more thing that I must keep track of.

Which would be the case of a website. To promote. Promote a book that I am in the process of researching to print and put out electronically independently. With this book, comes a glitch. Marketing would be involved.

I am torn on this, mainly because I know I should technically set up a site if I am dead serious (which I am) on moving forward into a publishing capacity, however this is where I have to stop and think.

Do I want to merge this blog with the website? Do I want to completely cut this avenue out, and mainly post updates on the website? Though frankly speaking, I honestly do not need to have my personal thoughts broadcasted on a website for which I am trying to promote, and not have a big vulgur sign screaming out….

{courtesy of google}

On the other hand, the website could have a link to this blog, or to a section for a ‘faux blog’ where I could write much like here, because I’m not here to prove anything to anybody. This is what it is, and I am sticking to it. I am not conforming or following anyone. The purpose of these entries are as an outlet, it is not always warm and fuzzy, it is not always crazy and eclectic—thank god, but I would like to think that should someone read something, or if I were to look back as reference--it is a place that offers something or even solace to any person who is dealing with similar moments in their life.

Like turning thirty and having a nervous breakdown. Like dating 1,560 men and waking up to an empty bed looking like hell--or feeling like hell while dealing with having an affair with a married man unknowingly(a post for a new day). Or simply just getting by in life without wanting to run to your car and scream and cry or laugh and dance along the sandy beach overlooking the sunset.

I’m not too sure about this one or where I fully stand right now, and thankfully have time to consider what could survive knowing my erratic schedule; and work with someone who knows all of the technicals for creating a website (sweet jesus, this penny pincher is going to have to cough up the dough for site design). But for now, all options are being kept open.

Because I am not sure I am ready to give this up, as little as it is. As basic and simple as it is. As comforting of an outlet it has become, I want to hold onto it for now.