Monthly Archives: October 2011

Oct22

Coyote Ugly

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Coyote Ugly

Its a little known fact that I actually am girly.

I try to avoid the “girl” stuff, because, well, it enters into that area of life where emotions run rampant and my little black heart simply cannot deal. But, I have to admit, I enjoy the make-up, the clothes, the flutters I get from various songs, and the “chick flick” genre.

I’m only human. At least once in a while.

Rolling around my brain this week, through an onslaught of songs, several drives in the country, a lot of self-talk, and the hand of fate doing its thing has been the phrase, “What do you do when you realize all your dreams have come true?”

Coyote Ugly. OOOoooooOOOOOOooooooooooOOOOO! (That’s my coyote howl, impressive, right?)

Well, brain, my dreams have NOT come true… yet. But, since you asked, were that to happen, I would probably do the stupidest “Happy Dance” of my life. I would gladly donate my time and pennies to my favorite cause, and make a huge difference in the world. I would buy a round of drinks for everyone in the bar, right after I jump up and sing “One Way or Another.” I would smile and be awesome.

So, to whatever “you” are, opening up before me, I’m gonna get ya. I probably should make up my mind about what you are, so I don’t get confused and settle for whatever happens to just be there, waiting, unless that’s exactly what I do want.

Because that’s worked so well in the past.

I have a bunch of work to catch up on, a block party tonight (heh, lock up your husbands, Stepford!) and a slew of kiddos that demand pumpkins. Time to get movin’.

Oct16

The New Path

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The New Path

In one of those moments of pure brilliance, I took a walk today at a local battlefield, enjoying the sun, the wind and the trees.

Usually, when things are overwhelming, I head out to be with nature. I have a “spot” on the Potomac that I have sat for hours, thinking, screaming, crying, laughing… accepting. Not necessarily in that order. Its actually the only “spot” I’ve found in Stepford. There’s something about the water (note to self: research Potomac River) and the flow and all that jazz.

Today, though, nothing was overwhelming. I had a great weekend, I slept in, and I’ve been riding this buzz of amazing possibilities in all areas of my life for several weeks. Life is good, and even the shitty stuff seems, well, not so shitty. But, nature called (hahahahaha!) and I spent a good hour (heh, no, it was probably less) walking, sitting, thinking, and just being happy.

Back in 2009, during a retreat, I snapped a picture of a path in the woods I was walking. On that path, I had abandoned my original plan for work, and decided to focus on writing. After that, I got back into school, finished my degree, and began, well, writing. That’s worked out pretty well, if I do say so myself. Today, as I was walking back, I was struck with the same metaphorical path. I am not at a crossroads, I see the way, and there’s even a place where the path is joined by another, and it continues ahead.

My Artemis Path, the one I walked over two years ago, was a solitary path, and one I embraced wholeheartedly.

Today’s Path… name TBA, is just as significant. I’m reading into it fully, and I love the message it brings.

Oct10

Wanna Schmooze?

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Wanna Schmooze?

I’m not a terribly social person when it comes to breaking the ice with people. I play with my phone to look disinterested, or stare blankly at my shoes when waiting to pick up children. At the playground, I have a book, a notebook or something with me at all times so that I appear busy. I am busy, mind you, because the voices in my head are incredible company and keep my ever-churning wheels… uh, churning. Hell, even when I blog, I have to wait for something amazing to occur to even communicate with my three-point-eight readers.

Its not social anxiety, I just don’t like to bother people with  my random self-tweets that will likely cause others to flee my general vicinity.

No, wait, that probably is social anxiety.

However, when it comes to things like talking to clients about resolving web woes, I’m a master. I smile, I nod, I suggest ways to stick within a budget, timeline, etc. I mention past experiences with various aspects of what I do, from web content to social media to SEO, and the success I’ve seen, or the obstacles to success. I compliment my clients, or congratulate them, and thank them profusely for their business.

If I actually ran into a client, outside of a meeting, I would have nothing to say.

However, schmoozing is rapidly becoming part of my life, whether I want to, or not. Future business prospects that require schmoozability have me making better wardrobe choices, wearing more make up than I have in an entire decade (hmmm, wonder why that is, fucker) and obsessing over the stress-induced state of my eye luggage and still-traveling teeth.

This week marks my debut for a new adventure, completely based on schmoozing.

After this last week of totally amazing highs and a few shitastic lows, followed by possibly the best news I’ve heard in a long, long time, I’m ready to make this schmoozing gig my bitch.

No offense, of course.

Oct3

Why Hands are Awesome

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Why Hands are Awesome

I think it was back in fifth grade that I read Jacob, Have I Loved, and was immediately gripped by the attention the author paid to the symbolism and beauty of hands. I can remember reading and stopping to really look at my hands, which were pretty much as they are now, just hands. But, as the book proclaims, hands are never “just hands.” Hands are awesome.

That book began my weird obsession with hands. Its actually not one of those things I really divulge, not out of shame or weirdness, its just something I do for my own reasons. On the days when I cannot remember my own mother’s face clearly, I can remember her hands. I remember her nail polish colors, and the mannerisms and gestures that her hands defined. I see her hands in mine, my sister’s hands and in Emo Boy’s, which is strangely comforting. I see myself making some of the same hand motions as my mom, and I laugh… and sometimes cry. Her hands could hurt, too, so its not all roses and butterflies.

If I’ve met you, I’ve sneaked a peek at your hands. Occasionally, I’ve even demanded to see them. I can’t say that I could identify you by just your hands, but hands do mirror the person attached, and sometimes, they can make or break a connection I may feel is there. Look at your hands, what do they say?

The touches, the handshakes, the sweeping away of hair, the nail-biting, the random flutters that show nervousness, the vulnerability of a disguised attempt to hold hands, and the overt, “fuck the process” hand-grabbing, knee squeezing or hand on the small of the back. The communication possible through a caress, high-five or “rock on” sign are all amazing. Seeing those hands, really studying them, even briefly, is like seeing the person naked – with all their beauty and flaws exposed, just as it should be.