Spam Comments

If you're a blogger you know that the majority of comments coming in are spammers. While so annoying, the stuff these people say also make me giggle.  I just got this comment on the post "My Exploding Breasts":

Woodrow Gerber's "In the Beginning"

A music vid I filmed a few months back for my good friend Woodrow came out this week; check it!

Some Peoples' Children

Okay, can I just tell you guys that the last few days have been filled with the most interestingly inappropriate interactions with strangers EVER?  It's left me wondering what constellation is in what moon house (clearly I don't understand astrology).  Here are just three of my favorite encounters:

Dopey The Model

That's me on the far right pretending to be a model.

So last week I get a message from my friend Flo of Flopi Wear telling me she's having some last minute fashion show and would I be one of her models.  Now. I'm a teensy tiny short little thing with about zero experience walking a catwalk (unless you count strutting my hallway, but I don't think they do), so I don't get calls like this, oh, ever.  Uh, let me think, YES, yes I will.  About 10 seconds after I obligated myself I started freaking out about that whole lack of experience thing.

I've been around fashion by way of photo shoots and runway shows a tad more than the average Joe as I've had my hand at wardrobe styling.  This is actually where I met Flo.  After I set down my phone I figured she must be calling me to style the show or help out in some other backstage way and the word "model" was a total accident.  So I picked my phone right back up to double check.  Nope, no misunderstanding.

After closing all of my doors and windows I immediately switched on Hulu to marathon some America's Next Top Model and strut around my house.  Then I felt like a giant douche, told myself I could never do it, and resolved to let Flo down gently.

Over the next few days I beat myself up a bit for being such a chicken that I couldn't do something so many chicks (including myself) dream of doing.  Granted, this show was far from the tents of Mercedes Fashion Week...but there was still a runway, with a shit ton of strangers staring at me as I strut in heels portraying the confidence that I think I'm the bee's knees.  Folks who know me IRL know it is typically physically impossible to get me in front of a crowd.  I just won't do it.  Well, I guess I can eventually get up there but not before puking and everyone asking why that small chick is crying.  I'm awkward.  The point is, I didn't want to miss a chance to cross something off that bucket list (did I really just use that expression? Gross!) because I'm a pansy ass.

The fiance is a photographer and he was actually shooting the show, so we showed up together.  Resolved to let my pansy side win I plonked myself down backstage and told myself I wasn't moving all night.  That is, until Flo said "get over here and put this on" and I jumped up with excitement and started getting ready.  My resolve clearly isn't that strong.

Back when the fiance had a clothing line and would have fashion shows I always felt so left out not walking the stage.  I mean, I'm super short so I get it, but I'm also built like a hanger so I figured nepotism could take over and he could throw me in the show.  I styled and directed every one of his shows, though, and it would have been physically impossible to do both.  But I did always feel...lesser than?  Not pretty enough...?  Not cool enough...?  All of the above...?

On Saturday night the show was over super quick.  All in all it felt no different than doing a lap around a party, in all honesty.  It was so fast I didn't have time to get self conscious that People. Were. Looking. At. Me. OMG. I don't know what that says about my attitude while walking around parties...hmmm In the grand scheme I was floating Flo a solid by helping her out of a bind, and not the other way around.  But.  That shit totally boosted my confidence yo, I'm not gonna lie.  It was awesome and fun and radical.  And because I had to act too cool for school then (no smiles please. only pouts), I can finally relax and giggle and gush and be real now: Loved it!  Recommend it!

The Birth of a Phobia

Last weekend I was reviewing my list of "Verisimilitude" stories trying to feel out which one I felt like writing about first.  Going through a bit of a writer's block I texted some folks who have been a part of my life long enough to know my stories.  One texted me back suggesting I write about a white-water rafting accident I had when I was 15.  I immediately dismissed it saying "I need things that had lasting effects on my life."  But the more I thought about it over the following few days the more I realized how much of a lasting effect this incident really did have on my life.

Growing up I was pretty damn "prissy".  I was a ballerina and a pageant girl.  I preferred patent leather shoes and dresses to sneakers and denim.  Whenever I attempted something athletic I failed miserably, or just felt a fish out of water.  So when I fell hard crush in love with white-water rafting and kayaking at 14, I was totally shocked.

Aside from the giddy thrill of navigating tough runs, I found a love and connection for the outdoors previously unknown.  I'm from a very small town in the Rocky Mountains that has a perfect rafting river with awesome rapids running through it.  This allowed me to get out on the river nearly every day.  I'd go after school and on weekends I could run down it three times a day.  The fussy little girl who could never even jump in a pool for fear of getting her hair wet was suddenly laughing with intense joy every time the river would drench me through a rapid.

Living high up in the Rockies, our river was entirely snow runoff from the mountains.  As soon as the snow would start to melt in mid-April our river would begin to surge.  One day, when the river was practically overflowing with runoff, we decided to take a raft out after school.  The river was running so fast that no one was on it.  This should have been an indication for us, but we relished in the openness of it.  This particular day we were training a new guide how to steer the raft.  High water? Newbie guide?  F*ck it, let's get on the river already!  Warning signs be damned, we launched the raft and were on our way.

Only about 15 minutes into the adventure, we came to "Main Street Bridge".  The river was pulling to the left, so we gave instruction to the guide to navigate through the middle of section of the river.  At the very last minute his ego got the best of him and he decided to take the far right section, but the river wasn't having any of that action.  Our raft hit the pillar at an ungodly speed, causing it to flip and get pinned vertically to the pillar by the rushing water.  Us, and all of our equipment, was immediately thrown from the raft into the water.

As we were so close to land, everyone was able to swim to shore rather easily.  Everyone, that is, except for me.  When we hit the pillar, I blacked out...with a throw rope tangled around my wrist: I was caught, unconscious, and under a rapid.

My eyes fluttered as I was at long last pulled out of the water by an EMT and revived on shore.  Have you ever seen someone revived via mouth-to-mouth?  The part you don't see on TV is that they 100% of the time throw up all of the water they just inhaled...along with the contents of their stomach.  Drowning aside, I was still a teenager, and immediately horrified that I just ralphed orange-cracker puke all over this super hot dude whose LIPS. Were. Just. On. Mine. OMG just let me float back on down that river please.

The physical recovery was pretty quick.  I slept off the fatigue and I could finally move my fingers and toes about a month later.  I got a touch of giardia from the river (yum!), but that passed with the hypothermia.  After our raft was pulled from the water by cranes, the city put a ban on anyone using the river for a good three weeks after that - which definitely made me the most beloved chick among my kayak buddies - not.

All of my friends told me to get back into the water as quickly as possible, to "get back on the horse" so to speak.  But I just couldn't do it.  Even now - 18 years later - I have an intense fear of getting in any body of water larger than my beloved bathtub.  Even at water parks I have paralyzing panic attacks - and not just from the germs!  Any time I stand at the water's edge and contemplate overcoming my agonizing fear of drowning, my eyes inadvertently focus on the deep scar on my hand from rope burn by the rope that held me under water so many years ago.

I said up at the top that this event had a lasting effect on me, and I don't just mean my water phobia.  Each time tears swell in my eyes when trying to force myself into water, I am reminded how important it is to get control of a fear before it controls you.  I realize that might sound hypocritical considering how much this fear controls me, but it was formed because I refused to get back in that water soon after my accident.  And that's a mistake I certainly won't make again.

Vulnerability

I've been feeling pretty lonely lately.  Though maybe that word isn't accurate because I am actually surrounded by people.  What I've been longing for is a sense of community.  I guess that more accurately describes it.  This feeling isn't necessarily new, it's just been hightened the last little while.  A few weeks back I got the news that the world lost an old friend of mine.  As we are prone to do when this happens, I started trekking down memory lane of the time of my life in which he was a part. 

The truth is that I hadn't seen him in years, actually since I was in college in a small mountain town in Colorado.  This time in my life was richly filled with great friends and gatherings filled with comforting conversations.  We would gather each week for potlucks and just talk and eat and laugh.  And whenever I was feeling anything at all I could be with a good friend in a matter of minutes.

Fast forward to my life now.  The city is rough. Being with friends means long drives made longer with traffic.  Everyone has jam-packed schedules making it near impossible to make time for even a quick lunch of a cup of coffee.  So much of the time when I try to make weekend plans I am told that their week(s) have been so stressful they don't want an "obligation" for the weekend.  Mostly the only opportunities I have to see the people I call friends are at loud clubs watching their bands...but never having the opportunity to talk.

I find it odd considering I've always considered myself completely independent.  I guess I'm learning that "independence" isn't synonymous with "alone".  Maybe after being so sick last year I've discovered a desperate need to surround myself with people I love; to take advantage of every second together.  I'm frustrated and inevitably hurt by the idea that our lives are so busy, so stressful that the idea of seeing friends is found to be an "obligation" and a stressor...rather than a welcomed relief.

The bf and I make plans and hold potlucks to try to initiate community.  The simple fact, and I know this is harsh, but Los Angeles (is it limited to my city?) folks tend to be flaky.  Several times in the past year I've had plans ranging from lunch to a girls' night dinner to a group trip to the drive-in theater only to have people cancel at the very last minute, or simply not show up at all.  Our monthly potlucks turned into me cooking all of the food and most of the guests just seeing how drunk and loud they could get.

Perhaps I'm overly dramatic, or overly sensitive, or just an outright bitch.  Perhaps I'm totally coming off as desperate.  But maybe that really is what I am - desperate.  I am desperate for community.  For people to make plans, and show up for them.  For conversation to occur against a backdrop of good music, and not the other way around.

I'm the first to admit I can be totally awkward.  I'm pretty guarded with new people, and that guard certainly doesn't drop easily.  I'm absolutely open to the idea that these traits are off-putting and far from welcoming.  I know this problem of mine has a two-way street solution.  But just what are the solutions for lonely?

Verisimilitude

Verisimilitude.  It means a slice of life; an event so real it appears to defy reality.

Since I first came across this word years and years ago I have aimed to let that word define me, define the chapters of my life.  I lead a colorful life.  I have a natural curiosity that leads me into sometimes extreme situations.  I travel.  A lot.  And when I do it is typically to places not frequented by tourists because I love experiencing cultures so far from my own that they appear outright alien to me...at first.  This presents my favorite challenge - finding a way to relate to someone who seems completely unrelatable to me.  There are some who call my innate curiosity naivety, and some who call it fearlessness.  I guess I understand both views, but I still go with simple "curiosity".

What does this have to do with "verisimilitude"?  Well, throughout my travels and my colorful little life I've collected a series of stories that, I feel, exemplify this word to it's fullest.  And I plan on writing about them in posts to come, so this is the "intro" so to speak.  It sounds silly, but when I picture this word I see a rainbow with pie-piece-shaped slices removed, and each of these slices is one of my memories; one of my stories.  I'm a very visual person...

What's to follow in these stories of my sometimes surreal life? Here are a few previews:

• That time my guardian angel (or whatever you wanna call it) saved my life;
• That time a mob of Muslim extremists swarmed around me screaming "you will die today";
• That time I met a life-long friend while wandering lost 100 yards out to sea;
• That time I ate some magical mushrooms and demons came out to play.

Stay tuned; I'm excited to share!