Movin' On Up

Once in a while, I make these corny...I guess you could call them "dream boards," though I'd rather not. I get out the crayons and markers, and I draw pictures of all the stuff I want to manifest. I hang it on the fridge, and after a little while, I see that all that stuff has come true. So I take it down and make another one. 

The last one I made was around the holidays. We were living in our little closet near the beach, and I was longing for space, though I couldn't stomach leaving our Santa Monica 'hood. I drew a "one-bedroom near the beach" on my little manifest-it-yourself fridge art. Well, here I am, my friends, writing you from my 1-bedroom apartment near the beach. If you build it, they will come. Or something like that.

We've been moving in this week, on top of working, yoga teacher training, writing for blogs, and attempting to stay sane. (That's why you haven't seen me.) We're still not totally moved in, but already I am shocked at how much of a difference the little things can make. A door that closes. Wow! One person can sleep and one person can be awake at the same time! What a concept. A garbage disposal. No more stinky sink! And the sinks are so deep! And the bathroom is a normal-sized bathroom that two people can comfortably chat in while brushing their teeth! Oh my goodness: is that a paper-towel holder attached to the cabinet!? You mean I don't have to get my paper towels wet  by just sitting them near the sink? Wait--what's that? There is room for our kitchen table so we don't have to eat on the floor!? And windows? Who came up with the concept of windows that let light in? This is amazing. 

Even better, our apartment comes with fresh neighbors who are our demographic: near our age, cool, and want to hang out and have bonfires weekly. I am beside myself with glee. Our last neighbors were geezers who banged on the wall anytime we put music on, or called us all the time to water the plants and then got mad when we weren't home. This. Is. Amazing.

And we can still walk to the beach in ten minutes. I am so lucky. 

Since we're going to be here at least a year, we decided to paint the wall to remind ourselves daily to appreciate this and all the other great things in our lives. Here's our wall, an ode to OM. You can't help but be happy when you're in our living room.

Home is where the OM is.

Savasana

It occurs to me: a few times a week, I lie on the floor with my eyes closed in silence with a bunch of strangers.

Photo by Gigi Yogini.

Put that way, it sounds a little weird.

It's intimate, silence is, whether you're alone or with others. But it's necessary.

Look at me, drunk on life. I am one who often likes it loud; but there must be balance.

Savasana means "corpse pose." You say "Creepy!" But you must die to be reborn, and I die to the world during a nice long savasana, my muscles melting, my palms up in surrender, my eyes closed, my mind empty, everything recharging. It may look like adult naptime or the aftermath of the Heaven's Gate kool-aid incident, but it's not like sleep, where your dreams dance willy-nilly. I am not afraid or worried or planning my meals. I am at peace with my un-being. I do not exist, and yet I am taking up space. I'm barely breathing. It's a beautiful phenomenon.

And then, when it's time to come back to my body, I inhale the life from around me, and I roll over into a sweet fetal position, because that's where life begins. When I am once again upright, I am once again alive.

Pantless Wonders

Has it become passé to cover your bum in public? I don't know if it's just L.A., or if it's some Lady Gaga-inspired trend or what, but yesterday alone, my friends, I counted four different people in public who were NOT WEARING PANTS! I wish I had pictures, but all I have is words. Let me recap for you. 


1. Yoga Cooch: First off, I went to a yoga class. A lovely young girl arrived and put her mat behind mine, and, lo, she was only wearing a leotard. Now, I don't know, maybe she is a dancer and is new to yoga; maybe she doesn't know that usually people wear pants (however tight) in a yoga class. I mean, there are poses where you literally lie on your back and spread your legs. Do you really want your leotard wedgie to be exposing your  sensitive bits during a time you should be relaxing? I'm not judging, I'm just suggesting, for your own comfort. 


2. Undie Run: As I was walking home from yoga on this sunny Friday, a runner jogged by. A middle-aged lady in a hat, sunglasses, a long-sleeved shirt...and NO PANTS! I speak the truth; she wore only tight little bikini bottoms, and it was not a "tight little" booty that was jigglin' by. I was not offended, but I did think it an odd sight.


3. Beach Bum: Later yesterday, I went to catch some sun and sand. I was sitting on the shore near Malibu. The sky was so clear, you could see the moon above, even in the daytime! And another moon was in view as well. Frolicking in the surf was an older, round-bellied Mexican gentleman. He was having himself the best time, bending over, splashing water around. He was wearing a long green t-shirt and...that's all! It was like a sleep shirt, so you couldn't see anything, but still. It was a funny sight. 


4. Thighs on Parade: My yoga teacher training ended around 9pm. It was Friday, after all, so the Promenade was crawling with various and sundry figures out to get their weekend party on. What should I see when I first step out the door but a very curvy young lady with her three friends, walking toward Yankee Doodle's. She had on lovely red patent leather pumps, a nice shirt, and some booty shorts that ended before her legs began. She didn't seem deterred by the fact that she had no pants on. She was simply walking along as if this was completely acceptable. 


Honestly, I am truly happy for these amazing people with no body image issues whatsoever. It makes me laugh to see this, as I could never muster the necessary confidence to fathom walking around with no pants outside my own home. But, hey, I guess each couple of decades has an en vogue skin show. The midriff had its day, the decolletage rarely goes out of style...but maybe this is the year of the butt-hangin'-out.  

People Make Me Sick

...No, literally! It's been a long time since I've spent all my time around ever-oscillating groups of people, and what do I have to show for it? A cough, a head full of snot, and a brain that's lagging behind a few steps.

That's not to say I'm not enjoying my new adventures in Not Being Lazy. I enjoy my Monday through Thursday helping eight different classes with vocabulary and grammar at the SMC. (And the regular paycheck wonderful.) I absolutely love hugging and chanting and headstanding with the beautiful yoga teacher trainees every Friday, Saturday, and Sunday, and sweating it out six hours a week in vinyasa classes. I adore spending whole evenings writing and recording songs with my multi-talented artist-producer buddy (though I could do without driving to the valley to do so). I am super excited every time I get to cover a celebrity event for PressPassLA (though, with the driving, the schmoozing, and the writing, we are talkin' a whole day's work). I love going to my friends' get-togethers and celebrations, wherever they may be (Malibu? Venice? Hollywood? Take your pick). And it's interesting rationing out the leftover time for pleasure, self-care, hangin' with the husband, auditioning, and other enterprises (for example, writing this blog).

In fact, I am proud of myself for adjusting as well as I have. I am patting myself on the back as we speak. It's funny, but the more you do, the more you're able to do. The momentum builds and the inertia kicks in and there you are, cramming in more than you ever thought you could. I think back to my life a couple months ago. There were certain weeks when I couldn't even get a gig. I was stuck at home on bad days, loathing my unproductive self, and because of that self-loathing, I couldn't drag myself to accomplish even the slightest task. Why should I try when I will obviously  fail? I'd wrongly think. My mojo would get squashed. Why should I share my ideas or make art when I have nothing of note to share? I'd lament.

The pendulum swings, the patterns of our lives shift, our paradigms rearrange themselves, and we adapt. Now, if only I could get rid of this cold.

DTMFA

"A relationship is a lot of work." 

Why is this statement so common in America? Once you hear something enough, you start to believe it's true; it's a universally held belief, after all. But the misconception that relationships, whether marriage, friendships, or courtships should be "a lot of work" is so far off it's sad. 

I think we should change the statement to, "unhealthy relationships are a lot of work." 

If you stick around, I'm not going to feel sorry for ya.

If you have to "work" at loving someone, then please, for the sake of your own health and happiness, quit that job! If being around a certain person is difficult because he or she is controlling, abusive, jealous, annoying, a bad listener, a liar, a megalomaniac, a psychopath, or just not your type, then for goodness' sake, STOP being around the person! Ditch the friend that just invites you for drinks so she can vent all her problems without caring about yours. Drop the boyfriend who hit you and isn't sorry (Rihanna, you MORON). Divorce the husband who won't let you pursue anything that brings you joy. 

You're better off alone!

You, in turn, will become a better person, because you won't walk around being passive-agressive, or fighting, or any of that other bad-energy stuff that "a lot of work" brings. 

Another true statement is "good relationships are a lot of fun." 

I am an expert on good relationships because I have one. We do not fight, nor do we carry around grudges. If we disagree, we make that known, and then we work out a solution and move on. But most the time we don't disagree, because we are just vibin' on the same frequency. We don't spend our time wallowing in jealousy. We give each other time and space to breathe. They say "you will know" when a relationship feels right, and you will. Because you aren't thinking about the future, planning out your kids' names and thinking "we will be happy when we get to that next level..." NO! You don't have time for those neurotic thoughts because you are too busy being happy now. Watching movies, cooking, eating, drinking, riding bikes, exercising, talking, playing games together. You'd rather be together than apart, even if he's playing video games and you're reading gossip rags. 

Aim for that. Either that or being alone, because, as Carrie Bradshaw wisely said, "the most exciting, challenging, and significant relationship of all is the one you have with yourself."

Sweet Imperfection

Sometimes perfection is not all it's cracked up to be. The rest of the world will treat you the way you treat yourself, so if you take yourself too seriously, so will everyone else; consequently, your life will be no fun. If, however, you can laugh at yourself, the whole world will laugh with you. I prefer to go whole hog and make fun of myself. 

One of my favorite things about me is that I don't feel the need to be perfect. Perfect is so boring. A lot of people don't understand my self-depricating humor, my willingness to be who I actually am in front of others. A lot of people would never say, "I didn't feel like taking a shower today," or "I actually liked that Paris Hilton song." They would lock those secrets away as if they were important, and spend their time pretending to be the opposite of that. They're wasting a lot of valuable energy to be who they're not, instead of just trusting that who they are is good enough (and actually better most the time). Think of what they could do if they directed that energy somewhere else! 

Nobody cares. Do your thing. That's why people say "Honesty is refreshing." 

The More You Know...

I used the word "malevolent" in casual conversation the other day and the gentleman I was talking with was astonished. I was doing a peon sort of job to make some money that day, you see, and people in that position do not normally use four-syllable words. The guy I was chatting with said that in our city, most people have no interest in education. I could see his point. Though I have many engaging conversations every day, lots of people in L.A. are high school dropouts who are hellbent on "making it big" in the industry and just getting the money, and they don't think about the fact that communicating efficiently, or knowing things, will help them on their journey.

The way I see it, anything you can stuff into your little head will help you someday. You don't have to be a doctor of letters; all you have to do is PAY ATTENTION to your surroundings. Move out of the way before the bike is right behind you. Learn where all the best sushi restaurants are. I don't care: know the theme song to The Jeffersons, and who sang "Flagpole Sitta," and it is bound to get you far in life. Why? Because you can talk to anybody if you have a touchstone in common with them. You will surprise people, because maybe you don't look like the type of person who would be knowledgable about street art or neo-soul music. You are automatically engaging, you never feel wholly out of place, and you are never at a loss for conversation.

If you aren't paying attention to anything, that means you aren't interested in anything, therefore, that means you are not interesting to anyone.

Bonus: You will never be bored if you're always learning something new. And you can't run out of things to learn, because there is new information being invented daily.

You can choose what goes into your head. You don't have to take a class---though that's nice. You could also just listen to music you've never heard before, or read a new book or three. You could go someplace you've never been; it could be a different country, or it could just be the new restaurant down the street. Eat something you've never tried. Try a new physical activity. Read the news, or the gossip blogs. Meet someone new and find out what's in her head. Even watching movies counts: you're listening to someone else's ideas.

Learning brings me so much joy. They had to drag me away from academia kicking and screaming, and next week I get to go back for my new job in the English department at Santa Monica College. Being affiliated with an institute of higher learning is comforting in itself. You get to have low-stakes, intense conversations daily, and it is also life-affirming to feel "smart," which is difficult when you make your income doing catering or extra work, and people look at you like that's what you were born to do. And, I'm enjoying this mini-renaissance of education: I'm learning so much in my yoga teacher training, about philosophy, about anatomy, about the history, and the poses, and the people in my class.

But the more I know, the more I realize I don't know.

High and Mighty

Here I am, thirty feet up, ten toes over the platform, hips arching forward, reaching for the heavy bar with my right hand. The sun is sinking over the ocean, washing the sky with purples and pinks. From here I can see all the way to Catalina. All that stands between me and flying is my decision to jump.

Not a year ago I'd climb to the third rung of a ladder and my knees would start shaking. "I'm scared of heights," I would say, gently stepping back down, offering the job to someone else.

Strange how long I carried that false fear around, considering I love roller coasters and seek thrills, and once on a ropes course, walked a tightrope forty feet up between trees. Still, if someone would ask me what I'm afraid of, I couldn't think of anything but "heights."

But that fear bores me now; I've decided that starting this year, heights don't scare me anymore. I began by climbing a ten-rung ladder into a loft at one of my jobs, and then a giant ladder onto a balcony during another. Today I'm wearing a harness, and my legs have yet to tremble. That's because I've decided that I'm going to do everything that's expected of me from these buff trapeze teachers.

(Now I'm about to do that cliche thing where I use physical activity as an allegory for life, so I apologize in advance.)

Both hands are on the bar, and I've got that jello feeling coming up through my legs, but instead of thinking, "What could go wrong?" I just breathe in the beauty of the sunset and bend my knees at the sound of "Ready!" and when they say "Hep!" I actually do it: I jump.

I swing all the way out and they say, "knees up!" and I'm using all my strength to get my knees over the bar, but they won't go. Turns out, you don't need to fight to get your knees up--your strength is no good here--all you need is to go with the flow, and the momentum of the swing will make sure you succeed. I try once more (more like, I stop trying) at the apex of the swing, and soon, my knees are locked over the bar.

I swing all the way back to where I started, and they say "let go of the bar." I do, really fast. I whip upside down like a snake out of a trick can of peanuts. "Do it again, more gently," they say. So I grab the bar again, swing back, and then let go again, like a jack-in-the-box popping out. They make me do it three more times until I finally realize that they just want me to let go slowly and let the swing guide me to the spot where I can arch my back and grab onto my catch partner's hands.

I've seen that episode of Sex and the City called "The Catch" where Carrie can't make herself let go of the bar to catch the hot dude's hands. I thought surely I would be prey to the same pitfall. But the first time, I said to myself, "I'm going to do this," and I did. So did Adam.

 

We couldn't get enough. I kept climbing the ladder like the chubby kid at the water park trying to be first in line for the big slide. I even ended my two-hour trapeze lesson with a backflip (not caught on video)!

By the end of our session, and when I watched the footage of what I had done, I couldn't believe it. I have scarcely been so proud of myself, so surprised at what we humans can do when we just throw fear out the window and say, "yes!" As we walked back home, I couldn't stop smiling. I felt like I could do anything. I wanted to climb Everest or cook a three course meal blindfolded or smack a cop on the butt or something. I have to say, this won't be my last flying feat.

Flying through the air I learned, life should be easy. Anyone who tells you otherwise is going against the laws of nature. You trust the net that's under you (and it is under you, even if you can't see it), and you leap. You go with what feels simple, you go where life's swing takes you. Enjoy the view while you do it, and breathe, and congratulate yourself for a job well done. Clawing and muscling your way into some position isn't going to get you any further; it's actually working against you, and it'll end up hurting in the end. (I now know why they call them trapezius muscles. It's because if you do trapeze, they will hurt for three days afterward.)

It's not that I'm really awesome, or some secret trapeze prodigy. It's just that I'm willing to try, willing to fail, and willing to give myself credit when it's due. Anybody in this world who looks like they're all professional or successful has actually just mastered "fake it 'til you make it." If you want to be a writer or an artist, say, "I'm a writer," or "I'm an artist," and nobody will contest the fact as long as you try and write or draw once in a while. You don't have to win the Pulitzer or have a gallery show before you're allowed to call yourself what you are. And then you'll look around one day and see that you are as far along your journey as some of the people you had always put on a pedestal.

You might not ever feel like you've "made it"-- you may always be looking above you to the next level of progress -- but other people will look at you and be very impressed.

Emma I am Not.

Since she became a household name, there is not a day that goes by in this city that someone doesn't compare me to Emma Stone. It's gotten to where I can predict when they're going to say it, even.

I'll be talking to someone I just met, and that person, just into our conversation, will tilt his or her head to the left a little and start looking at me while I gesticulate and guffaw. "Do you know..." they will start to say.

"Emma Stone," I will say.

And they say, "Yeah! It's not just the way you look; it's your mannerisms! You sound just like her, and you're funny."

Me & Emma Stone

My first impulse on this one is to be bummed. "Emma has taken my career!" You see, when I graduated high school at 17, I went to a national talent showcase and was very very popular among the Hollywood agents and managers. A couple of them were all but insisting I move to L.A. immediately. A part of me wanted to, but a bigger part of me wanted to go to college on the scholarship I had just gotten, and just learn and experience as much as possible.

I don't regret it in the least. However, that was the very same year that Emma Stone, a few years younger than me, convinced her parents that she had to move to L.A. and be an actress. I can't help but wonder, would I have been accepting a SAG award yesterday had I come out here ten years ago? 

Instead, I was backstage at the SAG Awards yesterday eating a brownie, when a production guy walked by and saw me.

"Taking a much deserved break?" he asked.

"Yep, just for a few minutes," I said.

"Congratulations," he said.

"Thanks," I said, and then laughed to myself.

Let me reiterate, I have no regrets. In fact, I feel the luckier of the two of us. I have a wonderful adventurous life and husband. Emma, having experienced fame before love, will have a hard time deciphering if any guy she is with really likes her or just her celebrity. Emma didn't get that awesome carefree college experience, and she didn't study abroad twice, and I doubt she has a group of friends so wonderful and close as mine. If all it takes is ten years and a lot of focus, I'm closing in on three. 

And besides, there's plenty of room in the upper ranks for actors who look alike. Consider these examples, from this AMC gallery:

Toby Maguire & Jake Gyllenhaal

Renee Zellweger & Joey Lauren Adams

Amy Adams & Isla Fischer

Natalie Portman & Kiera Knightley

I Hate Long Vowels

Talking is not just a way to convey meaning, it's also a way to convey beauty if you do it right. Mind you, I'm not an expert on speaking, but I do get lots of impromptu compliments on my voice when talking to strangers. And I hate long vowel sounds. I just hate 'em! When there is a choice between pronunciations between a short vowel sound and a long vowel sound, I always choose the short vowel.

[I've decided to blog about my vowel preferences because otherwise I'd just be telling you how I found $20 on the ground at the concert I won tickets to, and how it's 80 degrees and sunny, and I just got a job at the college, and I am being pitched to be on a really awesome tv show, I'm working in the green room at the SAG awards this Sunday, and next week I start my yoga teaching certification class. I am having an amazing 2012, but I don't want to you think mine's any better than yours, SO, on to vowels.]

In case you've forgotten, your long vowel sounds make the same sound as the letter itself.
A as in game
E as in complete
I as in Midas
O as in hope
U as in use

While short vowels are
a as in apple
e as in egg
i as in inundate
o as in octupus
u as in umbrella.

Now, here is what I hate:

• When people say "AppalAchian" mountains. Anyone from Appalachia knows that all the "a" sounds are "apple" sounds, NOT "game" sounds -- and it makes my stomach turn to hear "AppalAYchun" coming out your yankee mouth as if you had the right to talk about 'em anyway. YUCK!
• DATA. Please say it with a short vowel. With the advent of "data plans" on people's phones, I am having to hear this word a lot lately, and most people pronounce it like "dayta." It's not incorrect, but it's just GROSS!
• Equinox. It's so much nicer on the ears when you say "eckwinox" instead of "EEKwinocks," and yet when I use my short-vowel "e" to talk about that really cool gym on second street, people look at me like I'm mispronouncing it. Well, Webster says both are correct, but I say quit with the ugly vowels.
• Apricot. It sounds slightly Britishy when you say apricot instead of "APEricot," but you're still an American, I promise. 

Anyone else have anger issues when it comes to the way people talk?