travels

I was THIS close, to doing THIS today.

If I have anything to do with it. I will not be stepping foot into an airport in a LONG time



(excuse the duetsch, it's the only one i could find)

winter

I was sitting in my parents living room tonight, minding my own business as Jay Leno and his guests played their part as background noise.

Then the musical guests came on, and caught my ear (as opposed to catching my eye). I got all choked up and started crying. I'm such an emotional lady lately. I don't know what my deal is. Anyhow it's kind of a pretty song. I'm usually not into chick music but it's quite nice... And I the video is very cute :)

question

Is it cheating when, going into something, you know you're possibly doing it because it will be something to write about later? Even though it may ruin, or steer you in the wrong direction. I dont know. I dont know if I've done it, or do it. But sometimes I think that if I'm making a wrong choice, I think "Hey, It'll be one for the books."

December 21st

Arts, Crafts, Mazzy Star, and good company

It's a good sunday :)

something old

pretty bird fly free.
so high, you won't see me
you ain't stuck in that tree
no more
you're sore
so, go soar

let go

sing at the sun's rise
sail with the waves tides.
protrude your chest aside your future's pride.

pretty bird fly free
you've no place in that broken tree
build your nest
no smoke and mirrors,
no magic tricks
apply only what's real
just twigs and sticks


it's you and you're wings
mingle with the stars
immerse the sunset on your nape
acquaint to the cracks in your beak


hand in hand with all fears
the tears
the pain
drowned out by the rain

it's you and your wings
await beautiful things.

you'll grow, just fly free.
'til you can't see me.

twenty three

I've been writing a lot lately. It's just for the books, not the blog. So someday some of you may read it. maybe not. Not ready to share with the random folks of the "blogesphere" yet.

I'll be back though.

City of Roses

Dear Portland,

My dear old flame. Here we are, we play that ol' game. At a distance, your beautiful, glorified, and nostalgic. I talk you up, yet you bring me down. When skies are grey, they're grey. You make me happy when far away, you'll only know dear, how much I love you as long as I stay so far far away.

You're the scar on my shin, writer's bump on my finger, my unimaginable love of rain. You're part of me. You're my past. With many that I love residing in the city, I'm sure to be back.

Despite such a gloomy aura, you remind me of the sun - the longer I stare, the more it hurts. The longer I'm there, the more I hurt.

you're my first love. You'll always mean something to me. But I know in my heart, we will never live happily ever after.

I lay my head, one last night, hoping this trip marks our last fight.

take care of my heart, for many pieces remain here.

maybe things will be different next year.

happy holidays and to all a good night.

bookworm

Books. Books. Books.

all I ever want lately is books.

Dear Santa,

If anything, this year I want books.

Quinoa

I just enjoyed my dinner so much I thought I'd share.





Quinoa, is the bee's knees. (no, not literally, we all know I dont eat anything that would have knees)

I was introduced to it a while back on a job, the photographer's wife made the most delicious meal, and I think I had about four servings of this stuff. I went on to learn that it's the richest in protein than any other grain in the land, and has a super high iron content. You can prepare it however you'd like. And put it on whatever you'd like.

go ahead. try some.

let's face It

Sometimes I complain about how I think my job is lame, and I'd rather be doing something more stimulating with my life. Especially as of late.

But yesterday, I faced the fact that- although I claim to have a functioning brain I'd like to put to use. I actually really really love my job some days.

Yesterday, I had a shoot for allure, and it was about Spa's and facials ( you know the little spa directory things they have in there.) So, I Show up at the spa in a completely pessimistic frame of mind, thinking It was going to be a phony situation, where I have to wear make up and pretend to be getting the royal treatment.

I walk in, and am told to take of my shoes, and put on these socks- which possibly were created from the softest puff clouds in heaven- and wait in the waiting area, turn off my phone and relax.

"Wait, no I'm here from the shoot"

yes, and I will be the one giving you your facial.

"Oh, I didn't think I was actually going to be receiving an actual facial"

well, we have to make it look real, and the easiest way to do that, is to actually give you one!

"hmh!? Well I'll be.."

I literally laid on the bed for about an hour, as I got a facial, and shoulder massage as some dude took pictures of me. I didn't even have to open me eye balls.

I'm used to having my big feet being shoved into small shoes, standing uncomfortably and holding it for an even more uncomfortable amount of time, and having chemically charged beauty products swarm my skull. And (!) My skin is really sensitive, and frequently break outs after jobs when the makeup artist ever so kindly PILES on the makeup, it wreaks total havoc on my mug. But, this is the first time I've woken up the morning after, and my skin has IMPROVED from a job.


And next time you see a picture in a magazine where the girl getting a massage, or facial treatment, and has a little smirk on her face; There's nothing phony about it, She really is getting an authentic massage, therefore, the authenticity of that smirk on her face, is 100%, because it's almost silly to even accept the fact the someone says "Hey can I pay YOU to relax, listen to serene music and better your overall well being?"

I have rekindled a love for my job.

........ at least until I have to make like Cinderalla's step sister, and slip into something not-so- comfortable.

sometimes i just sit down and think "I'm grumpy"

oh bloody hell.

I've been a vegetarian for 5 years now.

a proud, but not pushy veggie. I wont try and convert anyone over to my lifestyle, but I stand by my word. None of the silly "I'm a vegetarian, and I eat fish." business, or "sometimes I eat chicken". All of you crazy cats that claim vegetarianism need to do a little research, if it's ever had a face, it doesn't belong in yours ( if you claim to be a veg).

However, I had an interesting conversation at a shoot on Wednesday...

Myself and the other female model both are "vegetarians" (although she eats fish...but I'm not judging). And she was talking about how her whole family went vegetarian for a while. But her mom was always sick and felt tired a lot. Later on her mom found out about "eating right for your blood type". And after studying up her mom (being blood type O) found out that her blood type must eat a high protein diet, and encourages meat consumption. While the model, who was another blood type which encourages vegetarianism.

*DING DING DING*

my heart kind of sunk to my toes.

I am ALWAYS sick. ALWAYS tired. And can't figure out why the hell I'm physically always down and out.

I am blood type O.

This has left my mind in a crazy tailspin. Would I throw the last 5 years out the window for the sake of my health? Would I even be able to get myself to eat meat? I don't know.

What I do know is that little conversation was a bit of a light bulb moment for me. Now I just don't know whether to pay attention to that light bulb, or disregard it. I will talk to me doctor and see what my deal is.

(HERE IS WHAT I FOUND ON WIKIPEDIA ABOUT THE BLOOD TYPE DIET)

Blood group O is believed by D'Adamo to be the hunter, the earliest human blood group. The diet recommends that this blood group eat a higher protein diet.

Blood group A is called the cultivator by D'Adamo, who believes it to be a more recently evolved blood type, dating back from the dawn of agriculture. The diet recommends that individuals of blood group A eat a diet emphasizing vegetables and free of red meat, a more vegetarian food intake.

Blood group B is, according to D'Adamo, the nomad, associated with a strong immune system and a flexible digestive system. The blood type diet claims that people of blood type B are the only ones who can thrive on dairy products.

Blood group AB, per D'Adamo, the enigma, the most recently evolved type. In terms of dietary needs, his blood type diet treats this group as an intermediate between blood types A and B.

clubbin'

i want to start a club. come join.

we will sit around and spout out old man Puns and smoke cigars.

first, i must scout the perfect location. and muster up the perfect handshake code to get in.

also, in order to get in; you need to shower me with presents upon acceptance. I don't want any silly garbage, only treasures. an old trinket you find at a thrift store, or your grandpa's cool sweater is ideal.

I'm contemplating moving back to Oregon- knocking on the door of my childhood home, and offering up a lumpsome of change on a monthly basis to get my old clubhouse back.

except this time, I won't be sent to the principals office for holding exclusive club meetings, and discussing hot topics around "non-members". Yes, this will be 2 kool 4 skool.


currently brainstorming: dress code and moral code

Laughter

When I was in San Francisco, Jenn, her roomates, and I were walking home from brunch. Shootin' the shit. I believe it was the mention Of Jack Pigeon, a bird we had come across, and I had compared to Jack Sparrow who works on Hollywood Blvd, that I see almost daily. We talked about how living in Hollywood, walking down the street, you come across Jack Sparrow, Batman, Tinkerbell, a midget in a Chucky outfit... In San Francisco, you come across birds and normal pleasant civilians.

That was when we named Jack Pigeon (nickname coined by Jenn: J. Pidge.).

Hollywood has Jack Sparrow. SF has Jack Pigeon.

We all burst out laughing at the words that were spewing out of our mouths (okay, maybe my words were just spew, theirs were more legit)).

Anyhow, crossing the street- mid laughter- a man in his dapper sunday outfit, smiled and said "It's so great to see people laughing" he smiled, and kept on walking.

It's true.

Laughter is one of the only contagious things to come out of mouths that is a pleasure to catch, and/or give for that matter!

I think if someone asked me "Whats your favorite thing in the world?"

I'd answer: Laughter.

To do it, hear it, see it. Even just for a moment, has this insane sensation of liberation. You don't give a shit if about a damn thing in the world. Your emotion, bursts out of your heart and through your face, as all of the muscles in your face explode, and if its really good, your body turns to a noodle, and you double over to the floor.

like peanut butter is to jelly, I'd say friendship is to laughter. You build memories while laughing, and those memories are always there waiting for you to look back on a have a good laugh. Everyday I appreciate the friendships that I do have. Life is short, and when I die I want to go with a gang of crows feet (wrinkle) around my eyes from laughing so hard. And I invite anyone else to join me in doing so.

Wherever I go when I do die, I want to take a looksy into the yesteryears say; "Damn. that was funny".

Interstate

inhale
melancholy lyrics dance off her lips amidst exhale
raindrops acquaint her pale skin.
old friends. picking up where they left off
cap atop her crown.
shoulders hibernate in flannel
I'm home, she thinks.
my state of mind.
my home state.

speakers blown.
hair blown
mind blown.

cruise control
lose control

it's me and you.
she engages with her eyes
highway glistening
windows a blur
haunting breeze
handsome trees
the ironic beauty of the pessimistic gray skies.

it's not goodbye
why cry
for thank you.
me, myself and i
we finally see eye to eye.

me, my car, and our well being

A few weeks back; En route from point B to point C for the day's schedule. My car started acting up. Not running so smoothly. I don't blame it. I've down right neglected my poor car in every which way.

The Oil. Oh! The oil.

How do I even check it? fill it? fix it?

I run in and ask the gas station attendant to help me. I purchase a jug of oil.

Senor gas man pours it in. Dips in the dipstick. The oil still doesn't even show on the damn dipstick. ( I'm going to write dipstick as many times as I can, because really?- how often can you actually use the word dipstick in its appropriate manor?)

I buy another jug.

finally it starts to show on the dipstick. But not enough.

ALMOST THREE JUGS OF OIL later, my oil is up to Parr (on the dipstick).
Can you imagine how my poor car was feeling?

I thought it was all fixed up.

then..

Roughly, a week later, I was driving home from a Fashion show, gnarly makeup, hair slicked back. Lookin' like I'd been hookin'. Not a look I want to be seen in off of the runway ( I mean, can I say- not even on the runway.) So I'm trying to just get home and take a shower, so I dont look like an effing dipstick!

But of course, my car starts flipping out.

Lights flashing, beeps beeping, smoke smokin'. The whole nine yards.

The Water. Oh! The water.

[I get out in my spooky hair and makeup, a sight for all to see.]
hot damn, it smells like a bomb went off under my hood.

....Same song. second verse....

Gas attendant. Emptier than empty water pump-thing. searching for something to fill it up.

Gallllllons upon Gallllons later, my car is in O.K. shape to drive.
I take it home, and upon my arrival, it starts smoking again.

Whats funny. Is- I secretly think that my car and I have a secret connection.

While My "oil" and "water" don't have flashing lights or beeping signals; I've got pimples Galore, and flu like symptoms that have been lingering around for almost 3 weeks. Anxiety, sleepless nights. Pretty much my body's way to signal the red flags, that my engine, is burnt out. I am about done for.

I call my dad, in regards to both myself and my car.

I've had it!


He calls his people, and tells me that someone is coming to pick up my car and tow it all the way up I-5 and he will make sure it gets all fixed up to tip top shape. And supposedly it can be done all in all for a hell of a lot less money in Portland- having his "peeps" work on it as opposed to me going to some schmuck in LA, who would ring up a total of a minimum of $2,500.

OK, great. So my car - on its way to health and happiness as it sails away up Interstate 5.

But what about me.

Now, along with all of my red flags and flashing lights my immune system and mental well being has been sending out, I am without a car. FANTASTIC.

Humbled, as I succumb to being "that friend". The one that needs a ride here, a lift there, and "I'll buy you lunch if you take me there". I survive my loathing in Los Angeles for about a week and a half, vehicle-less.

Juggling between when would be a good time to come home for work purposes, and financial purposes, I teeter back and forth about when I will book my one- way ticket to Portland.

FINALLY.

A few days into November, which had already been a handful of days later than I'd hoped to be making it up north, I made it.

I must tell you.
My car is a New Man.
And I am a new Woman.
( I never established that my car was a dude, but here we are. huh.)

Everything that was wrong with my car is fixed. New everything. Even the VW emblem on the front that was stolen, is now replaced.

As far as myself. I've only been here four days. But I'm lighter on my feet. My sickness is slightly better, my pimples... on their way out the door, my sleepless night have been replaced with ample nights of slumber on my nephew's "Lightning McQueen bed. And really, It's not every night you get to sleep in a race car, with a LIFE SIZE Kung-Fu Panda spooning you.



I feel better.
Much much better.
Like all of those sappy suckers say; Home is where the heart is, and It had been six damn months since I'd seen my family. I was in dire need of a reunion with all of my favorite folks in this world.

Tomorrow I will embark on a journey back south on I-5.
Just Me, My Jetta and a stellar soundtrack to come.

But most importantly, I'd like to take a minute mention my "Best Friend Bonanza", which I have just coined as the title of this trip.

Tomorrow morning, I will wake up and indulge in a savory ( both in taste and gossip) breakfast with my best friend Lyndsay.
Following that, approximately 2 hours south; I will stop in Eugene, get coffee, and catch up with my best friend Mallory, and brush up on everything from her new apartment to her love life and neverending school career (sorry mal, but it's like your 6th year ;) ).

Just about eight hours south of that, I will approach Saturday's destination and conclude my evening with my best friend Jenn. I am soo excited I might piss my pants.

Now come on, if that's not chicken soup for the soul, then what is?!

What only will make matters even better, is once I get into LA seeing my best friend Shaleah.

Then I finally will be able to rest my head in my brick- exposed, clothes infested studio apartment in Hollywood.

Can I get a "Hell Yes!" ?!?




Family and friends are the true cure- all to anything and everything.

Oh, and pets... my obese dogs still kiss me and stick their bums in my face when they need a good scratching. It's all out love. They take their time out of their busy schedule of sleeping, eating, and producing flatulents, to spend some Q.T. with little ol' me. And I'll never forget that.

Life Saber

As some may know, I am obsessed with my nephew. He is THE coolest dude on Planet Earth.
He is 3 1/2. And sadly, is going through a stage where he does NOT like to speak on the telephone (similar to yours truly).

The other day, I was having one of those days. Either the blues, or the mean reds (please refer to Breakfast at Tiffany's), so
I called home to speak to my mom, to drown her spirits on my self loathing and pitty.

a little voice answers "Hiiii bwynnnie!"
Hi T!
"Whatcha doin?" he asks
Just hanging out with Mickey and Goofy (since his last visit to California/ Disney he thinks my best friends are Mickey and Co... So I continue to pretend, while he's still got a sponge of an imagination)
"How are your turtles?"
They're doing very well. One is taking a nap and the other is eating some pizza
"Is it Michelangelo, Raphael, or Donatello?"
Well Michelangelo, because he loves pizza, and the other one is Raphael"
(he is being one of them for Halloween and is obsessed, I wouldn't actually tell him their real names are Hank and Shirley. What a buzz kill.)

Should I bring my turtles with me when I come to visit you?
"Ya! That'd be alright!"

So, T what's your favorite movie? I was thinking I could be one of your favorite characters for Halloween?

"Star Wars"

.....oh really? ( I'm not so knowledgeable on the series)

[he then started making noises and talking about light sabers, going in details about who uses what and everything that I've actually never known.]

he concludes on the two options, which will become the finalists for my Halloween costume...


"Luke Skywalker, Or Obie Wan Kanobie"

"OK! If that's what you want"

he hangs up.

The most fulfilling conversation I've had since I can even remember.


Talking to a 3 year old is much more fun than "grown adults". In either case we are both are most likely pretending, but in this case, It's a hell of a lot more fun. As opposed to the bullshit small talk you'd make with a 20 something schmoozer.


I want to move in with him and sleep in his "Cars" tent, and talk about ninjas, "weapon swords", and light sabers all day- every day.


not only did he save my day, he saved my mom an hour, some agony, and an hour of throwing me a pitty party.

Mr T saves the day.

For Erin, the prettiest girl on oahu.

My pal erin in Hawaii suggested I fill this out, so here you go pretty lady!!


Two Names You Go By:
1.Brynn
2. Brynnie/ Brynnie boo

Two Things You Are Wearing Right Now:
1. 5 necklaces
2. moccasins

Two Things You Want Very Badly At The Moment:
1. my chripractor to magically open up availabilty
2. vicodin/ some sort of tranquilizer, or just to go into a coma (having the worst back pain ever)

Two People Who Will Fill This Out:
1.My cousin Diane ( I guess this is where i "tag" you!?)
2. whoever else

Two Things You Did Last Night:
1. vegan food from Real Food Daily
2. sleeeeept for hours upon hours

Two Things You Ate Yesterday:
1. a bunch of vegan delights
2. soy milkshake

Two People You Last Talked To:
1. gmail chatting with mallory
2. and I just talked to the girl at the cafe

Two Things You're Doing Tomorrow:
1. sleeping
2. dmv

Your Two Favorite Holidays:
1. Christmas
2. and I guess thanksgiving? although something always goes wrong with me

Favorite Vacations:
1. Mom and Dad's in Portland
2. somewhere where I feel free

Favorite Beverages:
1. Water
2. naked juice. superfood or mango

running away

I am excited for an upcoming exit.
yes, soon I will be running full forced away from the front of the lens, and head behind the scenes.

only in LA

Only in Hollwood, Would you be driving down the street and witness Danny Bonaducie ( I dont know or care how to spell his name) Walking out of a liquor store with two large, yet flimsy black bags, overflowing with various bottle tops peeking out, saying they're goodbyes to the city of Los Angeles, as they spend their last moments as your ordinary form of liquid medication and enter the liver and continue the Saga of "Breaking Bonaduce".




isn't he supposed to be clean? Wasn't his reality show all about getting better? Looks like he's done well....er...not so much.

Father Christmas comes early

Yesterday, while eating breakfast. The photographer for this week's shoot walks in...

As I sit at a table full of Brit's and one other American; one by one, whispers scatter around the table in "hush hush" manor, until one girl loudly debates her neighbor "THAT'S BRUCE WEBER?! He looks like FATHER CHRISTMAS!! I thought he was a young thin man!!"

While I'd seen photos of Mr. Weber and heard of him as if the bible was strictly about fashion... he'd be someone who'd be one of the hierarchy closest to god. The pretty British girl was right. He does indeed give off that "Father Christmas" vibe in person.

He's got a calm and happy presence, he's kind of quiet, and physically meets almost every characteristic that one might list to describe Santa Claus himself.


Although, you'd subtract the red hat with a bandanna, and the red suit with lots of khaki and natural colors.




one of my favorite spreads in W Magazine was shot by him a few months ago:




[ today, is a down day. We were told to go around Providence and explore, and get some color, because we're all looking a bit "pale". But, I chose to stay buried in my over sized bed, and let the sunlight kiss my face through the window. ]

The Island of Rhode

this blog has NEGLECT written all over it.


I sit in a fancy shmancy hotel, alone, atop my california king with bedding for Royalty- which sits parallel to a duplicated bed, with no one to sleep on it. In front of me hangs a flat screen, way bigger than could ever be necessary, yet can't provide a damn thing to hold my attention for the life of me.

Ive spent my day with really really ridiculously good looking people, who at a majority, i found really really faulty in stimulating conversation. If only I spent 10 hours a day in a gym..

I contemplate life, passion, and room service.

Skinny Love

Bon Iver manages to drain out every last tear. Go ahead, give it a try.



Come on skinny love just last the year

Pour a little salt we were never here

My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Staring at the sink of blood and crushed veneer



I tell my love to wreck it all

Cut out all the ropes and let me fall

My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Right in the moment this order's tall



I told you to be patient

I told you to be fine

I told you to be balanced

I told you to be kind

In the morning I'll be with you

But it will be a different "kind"

I'll be holding all the tickets

And you'll be owning all the fines



Come on skinny love what happened here

Suckle on the hope in lite brassiere

My, my, my, my, my, my, my, my

Sullen load is full; so slow on the split



I told you to be patient

I told you to be fine

I told you to be balanced

I told you to be kind

Now all your love is wasted?

Then who the hell was I?

Now I'm breaking at the britches

And at the end of all your lines



Who will love you?

Who will fight?

Who will fall far behind?

Hank and Shirley

Meet Hank, and Shirley.

three amigos

I miss this.

out of the office.

Currently whistling a lonely country twang-like melody, spilling my sorrows onto paper, chased with whiskey, in my ford pickup, with my dog by my side.

will inform you upon my return.

PAX

Another notch on my belt. One more reason I love New York.

PAX- Like Subway Sandwiches. But it's salads. You pick a pre-wrapped bowl of lettuce. Take it to a bar, with a man standing behind it. He then asks you what you'd like in your salad. There are a million toppings to chose from. The killer though, is that they charge you per topping. And different toppings are different prices. I am a sucker for a Jam Packed salad, so I pay the price. Both Financially, And- Calorificly (I don't think that's a word, but you know what I mean). Next to each topping there is the amount of calories in each serving they give you. I let my eyes go out of focus at any sight of numbers. Ignorance is bliss when you don't know how much they're charging you for a cup of cranberries, and how much that cup of nuts is costing my ability to fit into my pants.

The workers at PAX have gotten to know me all too well. "Where is your friend?!" They asked while I ordered my creation Sans my roommate Lauren "Oh she's working" I let them know, assuring them she's not cheating on them with Subway- having an affair with carbs. She's just at a photo shoot.

"You's guys ah Models ahn''t cha?"
yes we are, we live just down the street. (I smile)
"So's, what's y'alls do? Like fashion? Have you been in magazines?"
Yeah, yep fashion magazines.
"Ahh. That's coo." the woman validates my career as she hands me my change.

Skeptical if she was sincere, if she was judging me, or being sarcastic. Her pearly white smile now assures me and warms my heart. She really does think I'm cool.

We've bonded.

THAT night. I come back. You know it- More PAX, I just can't get enough. All of the possible combinations have got the hamsters running laps inside my head! What about switching up the nuts, tossing it in a different dressing? Possibly chopping the mixed greens instead of simply fluffing them up and around?!

Upon my return, I've (by then) changed my attire, washed off my makeup and pulled my hair back. Did I do this to possibly detour the PAX employees from noticing that I'd been in there 4 hours earlier? Not initially, but once I realized that washing my eyelashes and eyebrows off, I become a fifteen year old boy with no eyelashes or eyebrows. I go with it. Me? No.... I wasn't in here earlier.

I walk up to the salad bar. And there is a new guy. Who doesn't really know what he's doing. But I can walk him through it. I've got faith.

I'm thinking he's from Nigeria. I think. I hate to stereotype, but I'd put money on it.

I stare at the Giant menu, then glance down at the beautiful display of toppings. I reference back to the different options of lettuce. I really wanted to branch out this time.

"Are you married?!" the worker asks as he analyzes the sparkles that shimmy around my left ring finger.
Yes. I am.
"Can I ask you something?"
(I'm pretty sure you just did)
ya, sure.
"How old are you!?!?
Twenty-two. Why?
"Well You just look so young. sixteen maybe! I wondered. How long have you been married?"
well well, don't you have a lot of questions! It will be 4 years in December. are YOU married? I ask him as I notice the gold band that rests on his wedding ring finger.
"No. I need to find the right lady...."

"I'm twenty-four... 1995" he offers up free info about himself.

1995?

"yes 12-25- 1995. My birthday"

I think to myself.
a) that would make you thirteen
b) obviously you are concealing some information about your real age
c) you need to become better at lying.
d) if you're going to lie, at least pick the date of a less popular holiday than Christmas. Ca'mon dude, you might as well just go ahead and claim you're Jesus Christ.

"Oh. Ok" I smile and scoot along, anxiously awaiting my newest and latest concoction.

As I get more anxious, he wants to talk more. He asks if I could help him find the right lady.

"I don't live here! I live in California!" I excuse myself from playing matchmaker.

"It's ok! I will go there!"

"eh...heh...heh" I force out a few awkward laughs, trying to figure out what I will say.

"Let me give you my e-mail! You give it to your friends!"

" I don't have any! They're all married! All so far away!" I toss out some measly little white lies.

I smile.
And wish him luck with finding his love.
"She's out there somewhere! You just have to be patient!" I advise him with my hearty wealth of wisdom.
And wave goodbye.

Oh PAX, even though you're now making me work hard for my grub, I'm still you're girl.

ya hear?

There are times when I think "Man, it'd be great if I had my iPod right now."

(back when I said "if I had nothing nice to blog about, then I won't blog at all", I was in the middle of dealing with our car getting broken into, getting robbed of the iPod and GPS system, having to buy a new window, and all of that good stuff. Now I am living my life iPod-less.)

So, my new scheme is that I will listen to a really killer song right before I leave the apartment, so I will have that stuck in my head as I march through Manhattan.

Suddenly as I step off of the subway- it's as if the man who continues to walk directly behind my left ear, approximately only five inches apart from the heel of my shoe- knew what i was thinking. He could feel my pain, the musical despair I was going through. So. He whistles. Loudly. Even when I thought I was picking up my pace, there he was; whistling a happy tune. Right behind me.

Automatically, the scene from Dumb and Dumber pops into my head.

"Radio!? Who needs a radio?!
( Lloyd and Harry start to sing a horridly off key song, "Mock- YA!... ing-YA! ... bird- YA!... ya-YA!")

I picture this man intruding into my thoughts, interrupting my sulking with; "iPod? Who needs an iPod?" Whistling Willy sings to me through his pursed lips.

Shortly after, we part. I head towards the exit of the subway station, while he; is heading elsewhere. Transferring to the land of birds, whistles and rainbows I suppose.

Thank you sir. For you have now made me doubt my whistling skills which I once boasted about.

BUT! HAVE NO FEAR- roughly seven steps away from my departure from the whistler, there is a woman. She is wearing a crown, and fairy wings. She's singing her heart out. A fellow (male) free spirit is there, playing an array of instruments. They're show stoppers, accumulating crowds of tourists taking photos with their phones, camcorders (yes, your still aloud to call them camcorders), and plain old cameras. It's kind of Tori Amos meets...Blues Traveler?

I thought to myself; If I had my iPod, look at all of this I'd be missing out on!

I exit the subway station and there's a woman proclaiming "She only married him for his money, it was never going to work out!" "Yeah Yeah Yeah" her friend agrees in the most new yorker accent.

As I've said many of times, People watching is a favorite hobby of mine. Although, I've never claimed "people.. listening". Yes, I am beating around the bush, re-wording it to sound a bit more appropriate: All in all, I've become the ultimate eavesdropper.

Minding your P's and Q's is so West Coast, no?

Wait

Sticky, Sweaty, and Exhausted.
"I Give!"

I vow to myself, that I will bow out of the incoming and ongoing traffic accumulated by fellow pedestrians, and step off and into the next available "rest stop".

Of course, since I'm in one of the busiest cities in America, I draw near a Starbucks. Boring! ( Boring, but safe.) Do I stay or do I go? Being that I'm in Times Square, suffer from a combination of claustrophobia and and anxiety disorder; my body decides before my actual mind makes up it's - mind, and reaches out, grabs the door handle, and I'm in like Flynn.

It feels like I'd just spent 9 months running circles in a hot and steamy womb, and as I leaped into Starbucks,cheeks flushed, forehead damp, it was like my first breath of fresh air, on earth.

Waiting in line at a Times Square Starbucks, is quite similar to the wait you'd experience at a pediatrician's office (at least the one I went to as a child...and teen). The Giant Fish Tank. Disney Movie replaying over and over. The Cubic roller coaster (where the mangled, bright wires are threaded with colorful chunky cubes, which you dink around with, unsure what the actual point is). The crying children. The magazines. I think if someone invested some time into researching, I bet all of that chaos has a lot to do with the whole ADD/ADHD epidemic. Ca'mon. What the hell do you focus on!? Way too many options!

I found myself adoring the young lady in front of me's darling bracelets. Wondering what the dude by the window is drinking, it looks so foamy and delicious. My ears drag my attention over to the conversation behind me; a couple talking about their incoming out-of-towners, they're soo not looking forward to it.

Oh yeah- the menu, what to get... what to get?

"... yeah, we discontinued that." the barista delivers the unfortunate news, to the darling in the bracelets.

"Discontinued what?!" I think to myself. As if it was of great importance, as if that specific drink could be THE drink, of which
I'd recently become a shareholder, investing mass amounts of stock. For some reason that information seemed suddenly crucial.

Oh yeah- ok. the menu- what to get... what to get?

I settle on an Iced Vanilla latte. Sugar-free. Oh, and a bottle of water.
"Oh, the machine isn't working. Do you just have two dollars?"
"I only have a $5 bill..." my face telling him that obviously, together, my bottled water and caffeinated beverage would add up to more than $5 anyway.

"Well, if you have two dollars, I'd just charge you for the water, and since the register is having problems, I'd give you the latte for free"

"No, it's ok. I can pay for both! Here."
"Oh, it's working now. But I'm still not going to charge you for the latte."
" It's really just fine. I can pay for it."

[2.00] reads the register
"Two Dollars please!"
I hand him my 'five.

he winks. Hands me $3. Which I stick into the tip Jar.

Smart guy.

I meander back into the end of the establishment. There is a tiny table for two. Perfect. Me and my bag, which weighs that of a small child.

I set down my bag. My portfolio. My map. My wallet. My cell phone. And my drinks.
AHH.
Not only was I just given birth to, now - my umbilical cord was now snipped. I was free. Nothing hanging on my shoulder, nothing glued to my hands.

It's a weird spot. I've got a front row seat to the restroom. And I swear. I SWEAR- that people go in, yet never come out. It's a unisex restroom. A one seater. So there's no questioning how many persons "The John" should consist of. I may have been somewhat aloof to the individual departures out of Le Lou. But I definitely decided to now, creepily and carefully watch those that went in, to see if they came out.

In goes a blonde in her twenties, donning a bright summery ensemble, and uber-chic flats.

I was sure that I was about to discover some secret passage way. Some private entrance for VIP into an underground club. Sweet.

Ohp. Never mind. Out she comes. She did take a long time in there. I do believe the she also had her hair up when she entered, and her hair has now fallen down, over and in front of her shoulders.

"Ok, Brynn- you are being completely out of line, downright nosey, and disrespectful- STOP." I rarely talk to myself, and/or refer to myself in third person. Though, there is always a time and a place for everything.

I opened my Map of the city, and the subway routes. Studying where I need to go, where I've been, where I'm staying, where my agency is, oh- and where Whole Foods is. At this point; I'm pretty proud of myself. I'm figuring and mapping things out quite nicely. I'm such the New Yawker.

"You usin' this Chaya?" Tony soprano's distant cousin asks me, as he takes hold of the chair my tired old Marc Jacobs rests in.

"No, go right ahead." I grab my bag off of the chair, and set it down next to me on the hedge, by the window.
I'd already called Andrew, my mom, and anyone else I'd felt like bothering. I didn't know what to do with myself. But I had a whole hour and 45 minutes until my next casting down the street. I should've brought my book.... Hmm. I pull out a pad of paper and a pen. Time to take record of my surroundings.

More eavesdropping.. Behind me there is a man and a woman. I decide that their business- is now my business: Without turning around, which would be totally outing myself and my being a complete snoop. I observe the context of the conversation. I think it's a business coffee date. They talk business. She loves her boss, her co-workers. her schedule. Blah blah blah b-oring! I tune out.

Wait-!
" So, then I'm mid shampoo, and just decide to start busting out this musical, like I'm on Broadway! "

Oh no she didn't.

" No one is auditioning this time of year. But I wanted to stay in New York and soak it all in."

I suppose she means both figuratively and literally. Her shampoo suds and the New York experience I assume is what she's soaking in.

" I talked to my mom, and even she says that she thinks that I'm the happiest I've ever been. She can even hear it in my voice!"
I'll bet, especially if she caught you in your Sudsy performance. I fall in love with this girl, and the fact that she has taken her conversation to the uncomfortable stage. Where the counterpart has now crawled back into his shell, and I rarely hear a peep out of him.

I am right by the window. Two Cholo's walk by, they both are sporting hair nets, covering their perfectly coifed, greased up, slicked back hair. Passing them is a woman who looks very expensive. She's wearing all black. A big ruffled collar, and a skirt that falls beautifully. She's perfectly pieced together, even the giant band-aids on her forehead, calve, and elbow look so fabulous.

Oops, I've forgotten to pay attention- out of the Restroom comes a guy with a topless cup of iced coffee. What? Everything seem so strange. Shouldn't he be coming from the other way with an almost full cup of coffee? After further analysis; I've come to the conclusion that he's spiked his drink during his stint in the restroom. Now I've just been left questioning what would he spike his iced coffee with? Vodka? Rum? Robitussin?

Up walks a man. He's obviously reading the same fashion magazine as my very own father. The man is wearing a pale Polo shirt, which appears as if he'd received it for free from his bank, or his car dealership, or the golf course which he frequents. He's wearing white tennis shoes, they're almost identical to my dad's Court Classic's that he buys at Costco for twenty bucks. In remembrance of the Twin Towers, he's pulled both of his tall, white athletic socks upward and stretched to the maximum capacity. He's with his daughter. They both have giant cookies which are speckled with an assortment of colored M&M's. Where you'd find salt and pepper shakers at a table-for-two at a fine dinning restaurant; here- he's placed a bottle of hand sanitizer and a few napkins. I miss my dad.

Leaving it at that note, eerily homesick, it's suddenly time to go. I take off my gladiator sandals, slip on a pair of heels, and set off into the sunset of smoke and smog.

I (heart) NY

Today was spent in a sweaty hussle around the city that never sleeps. Which is funny, because I slept for 12 hours last night. (went to bed at 8:45pm and woke up at 9:00am). Of course, it takes a whole City with an "insomniac" reputation to finally upstage my own insomnia, for it to backdown and tuck itself into bed at 8:45pm.

I had to go to the agency to do some things, but shortly after met up with my friend Jade.

Jade and I met in Los Angeles at a photo shoot. She's one of those models you meet and realize that there's a hell of a lot more to, besides a pretty face and twiggy legs. Come to find out she was from Bellingham Washington, so, of course she was coo! A lady from the Northwest. Soon after we met in Los Angeles, she up and moved to New York, but through the beauty of the modern day technology, we've been able to keep in contact.

This afternoon, we met at Starbucks, then took our drinks the nearest park. We sipped our drinks as we indulged in eachothers lives. Shortly after, we frollicked around town, she was the hottest tour guide New York has to offer. We decided to go to Whole Foods in search of samples. As we chomped on Chips & Hummus; we agreed that samples are god's gift to this world. A little bit of this, a little bit of that. After our sample extravaganza. Jade sets out on a Journey to find a nice cold bottle of Kombucha (which she informed me, levels out the less intelligent side of your brain, so - if your more of a left side intellect, the kombucha will give your right side a little boost), which was on the middle floor. Yes, this Whole Foods has 3 floors. It was Disneyland for Tree-Huggers.

Eventually- We parked ourselves on a bench, in -go figure- another park, and dove back into the deep conversation that we had shared earlier, along with our iced coffees.

Mid conversation- a man with dewy, dark chocolate skin, interrupts us, to let us in on his perspective- he thought we were a sight for sore eyes. In fact, he said he couldn't look at Jade's eyes for too long, because they were.. (he found himself at a loss for words)... "Hypnotizing?" I suggest.

"YES!" he agrees. "I'm Mario, by the way"


"Marr-rio, or Mair-io?" Jade asks.

"I say Mair-rio. But you can say it however you'd like."
Mair-rio it is.

Mario goes on to share his past times in the City of New York. The celebrities he's met. His overwhelmingly underpriced apartment, due to rent control and the fact that he's lived in it for the last 25 years. On an average of 3.5 minute intervals; a bullet of saliva would bounce of his tounge, onto my foot, onto the cement, and most possibly somewhere onto Jade as well. In my head I was trying to figure out if it would be out of line to jab him with a "Say it don't spray it!" or a "How 'bout the news, not the weather!" But I withheld. Jade and I had just previously been speaking about ADHD and how we both thought we have a little bit of it dancing through our heads. Mario- without a doubt- had quite the case of ADHD himself.

"You know who the BIGGEST celebrity I ever saw was?!..... I'll give you ONE hint!..... She's a mormon."

"Gladys Knight?!" I toss out there.
"Nope, she's white."
"Marie Osmond?" I guess again, being that I've got a little more knowledge in the mormon department.

"Nope, she wasn't a singer."

"................" Jade and I are speechless.

"Okay, she was married to Kennedy"

"Jackie Onasis?!" Ding! Ding! Ding! Jade wins!

(Was she Mormon? I question this fact. But I question the authenticy of Marios many stories, so I roll with it.)

"She had such an Aura about her!! She was soo beautiful!"

In between his memoirs about encounters with Jackie O, Stevie Wonder, some famous boxer (who's name has slipped my mind), and being mesmerized by Jade's beautiful green eyes, Mario's sentence comes to a hault:
"DO YOU KNOW WHO YOU LOOK LIKE?!" he intensely questions me, expecting I'd cough up the answer immediately.

"........Who?"

"You remember Lacey Peterson, and her husband that killed her?!"

"Yes...." remembering Lacey to have dark features, with a pregnant belly, and seeming to be a shorter than average height.

"Wasn't that an awful thing?! How can someone come to do that?! He killed her!" Mario concerns.

"Ya, I mean how can someone live with that?" Jade fills in the awkward gap of silence..

"Anyway, so you know how Scott Peterson had a Mistress?! That's you! You look just like her!!"

"Reeeeeeeally?! Hmmmm. This- I haven't heard before! I will always remember that one!" I honestly tell him as my smile stretches from ear to ear.

There are times when I think that there can't be anyone more socially awkward and random than myself. And then, there are times like these; when I'm put in my place. There's always someone who's got a comment further out of left field than you ever thought left field could go.

Wishing I could switch spots with that cigarette behind his ear (which keeps on falling down onto the collar of his yellow Polo shirt), I dreamt of accompanying Mario around New York City, sharing extravagant stories, which most likely are crafted by a creative train of thought, leaving him lying through his teeth, though he claims he never tells lies, because he's just so horrible at it.

He then went on to tell tales about how in the hippie days, "you know- the days of Woodstock, do you know The Beatles?", that park was so great, so free. Once he was sitting on the bench and two blonde hippie girls walked up and each gave him a daisy. And they went home together. Jade and I, both being blonde, both having been accused of hippie-dom on several accounts in the past; quickly glance at each other and proceed to listen. Man, Mario had stories for days.

Jade and I have found ourselves to be similar on various levels; we appreciate different walks of life, love hearing what they've got to say, and are enthralled as we take it in for what it's worth. It was intertesting and quite refreshing to be with someone else who wasn't so anxious to find the quickest verbal exit out of our odd converstaion, delighted to see where the Mario train would take us.

Eventually Jade sticks out her right hand, as her left clutches the empty bottle of Kombucha: "It was Wonderfull to meet you Mario! I'm sorry I've really gotta use the restroom!" She was so polite to wait almost an hour to say anything and interrupt Mario's Marvelous Mumblings.

We laugh as we depart our pow-wow in the park. "How about that Mario?" Such a flattering fella', full of fact (and fiction).

It's people like that who make New York- New York. Two more hopeful weeks of random run-ins and life stories of complete strangers.

I Love New York.





( Me, and my new favorite Celeb look-a-like; Amber Frey)

Big Apple

I'm in New York. I took the most uncomfortable Red Eye. Arrived in Newark at 6:00 am (3:00 am LA time), had the driver take me to the apartment; and arrived here in the City at 8:00 am. Not wanting to disturb any sleeping beauties- I took 1/2 lunesta and crashed on the couch.

I was just awakened from a very strange nap; by phone call from my mom. I really shouldn't be sleeping anyway, but the remnants of my Lunesta would beg to differ. I really, really, really don't feel like going into my agency today. I think sleepwalking through manhattan isn't always the best way to spent your first day. I will greatly appreciate it if I could spend one whole day of slumber.

Well.
Off to the shower.

---EDIT---
I was given the go ahead (without even asking) to rest today, and go into the agency tomorrow.
There is a God.

And the rocket's red glare, the bombs bursting in air

Last weekend, I found myself once again-attempting refusal to surrendering to another illness. Without properly functioning taste buds, much of a voice, or any stability in my body temperatures, I wasn't the most enthusiastic person to be around. Although, I can rightfully say that I consistently tried to remain upbeat.

Spending the 4th of July weekend with a 102 temperature isn't the "Hot" weekend us Yankees usually set out for. Spending the weekend hot and sweaty is expected, but most also are in a bikini under the bright and shiny sun, with an ice cold beverage in hand. Not so much in bed, in front of a bright computer screen, sipping Theraflu, with antibiotics by your side.

I wasn't going to neglect my spirits, and Andrew wasn't going to either. So I jumped into a pair of navy blue short shorts with white polka dots, a red top, and my dirty, white, high-top Chuck Taylors- and set out for a Patriotic coastal bike ride.

Our trip started off here in Santa Monica. We rode down to the Pier and along the beach into Venice. Breaking a sweat on top of a fever made me feel extremely cutting edge. Hard core. Bad ass. Deep down realizing it's stupid things like this, that prevent my full recovery from being sick.

Inevitably, we stopped off and enjoyed some lunch while indulging my favorite hobby- people watching. We parked our bikes a few times throughout our journey and strolled along the boardwalk. It was nice to get out into the real world, with real people, being that I'd been tucked away in our little apartment for a few days. Sooner than I'd hoped- I wasn't feeling as much of a savage as I did earlier in the day, and needed to get back home to resume my horizontal lifestyle. I dreaded the bike ride back. But like the true athlete that I am, we did it.

We spent the evening glued to the television watching movies, every once and a while peeking out the window to check out the fire works. ( Fire Works- that's another story, am I the only person that doesn't like them? I think they're depressing and could care less if I never saw a flame in the sky again. Andrew kind of frowns upon my negativity towards them. I understand, I feel the same way about people who don't like chocolate, I don't understand and question if those people have a whole soul.) I've now seen Borat, and can officially state that - in my opinion- it's been completely overrated. I can admit, I found myself laughing through several parts of it, while other moments had me disappointed that so many people I know and love; praise this film, occasionally quoting Borat and his so- very-obvious psuedo accent. I did find it very interesting that if you filter through some of the obscenities, you'll find a candid and underlining example of how idiotic Americans are.

Happy Birthday Uncle Sam.
Viva America.

7/11 a holiday for Cheapskates

I'd like to inform all of you American Consumers, that today, July 11th (7/11) is free Slurpee day!

Go on!
Hurry on over to your local 711 and indulge in a complimentary slurpee.




you can thank me later.

Talking shit about a pretty sunset

I'm always drowning myself in my music, whether I'm primping and prepping for my day, sulking during the night, or rocking out in LA Traffic... There's always a time and a place for a theme song.

I've always been a Modest Mouse fan. In fact, (along with Pixies and Nirvana) they're up there in Brynn's Top 5 All Time Favorite Bands. I may be biased because we - those bands, and myself - all originate from the Great grey, and rainy, Northwest. I'm mostly fanatical about their (Modest Mouse's) stuff from the mid/late 90's. Their newer stuff I feel has strayed from their roots, and is a bit watered down in regards to their original style. Although I will give them props for a few oustanding songs on their latter albums.

Lately, I find myself reaching back to 1996; plucking this song out of their "This Is a Long Drive for Someone with Nothing to Think About" Album, wondering if Isaac Brock attains certain psychic capabilities. Most Likely not. And I'm being Melodramatic. But please enjoy.

Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight
Looking kind of anxious in your cross armed stance
Like a bad tempered prom queen at a homecoming dance
And I claim I'm not excited with my life anymore
So I blame this town, this job, these friends
The truth is it's myself
And I'm trying to understand myself
And pinpoint where I am
By the time I get things figured out
I've change the whole damn plan
Oh noose tied myself in, tied myself too tight
Talking shit about a pretty sunset
Blanketing opinions that i'll probably regret soon
I've changed my mind so much I can't even trust it
My mind changed me so much I can't even trust myself

bridging the gap

Remember the cliched term you've heard on the playground, seen on after school specials, and shouted out to your verbally threatening siblings; "If you can't say anything nice, don't say anything at all" ?

Well, I've recently tried applying that to myself, "If you can't blog about anything nice, then don't blog at all."

Obviously, if you've ever read my blog. You're probably thinking that I am full of shit, and a complete hypocrite, aren't I always spewing out my problems? The answer is yes. But- Am I able to laugh about it. Most usually. So I've realized that I if I haven't been able to laugh about it yet, then don't waste any energy writing about it. ( ok, for the most part)

My last couple weeks have brought me some glorious adventures and I realized, I've yet to report on my trip to San Francisco! My last weekend in June was Celebrated as my first getaway to the S.F. I embraced the city with abundance. The city - to me- has a very European feel to it, it's got loads of character within each different district.

I mustn't only credit the home of the Golden Gate Bridge for my outstanding experience- for it wouldn't have been the same without the great company I was in.

The six- hour road trip, with Miss Valorie Darling, was candid and delightful, as the clock struck hour by hour, we found ourselves getting more acquainted with each other on many different levels. Miss Darling and myself now share stories that shall never leave the four doors of her snazzy little Prius.

Upon arrival, fragrant of dewy feet and humid armpits, We were greeted by each of our best friends. (It just so happens that I met Valorie working in Los Angeles, and she was college roommates with one of my best friends Jenn in Oregon! Now, Jenn lives in San Francisco, along with Valorie's best friend Erin. Get it? Got it? Good!) Being that it was almost 1am, and we were tired, hungry, and sweaty we retired and called it a night. Jenn and I cuddled up under a bundle of covers and whispered the night away detailing all of the "Who's, where's, and what's" since we last saw each other.

The weekend was spent on an ultimate high, you know that buzz that you get when you're back with a familiar face, picking right back up where you left off. You get each other, you share history with one another, and are able to reminisce on the good old days while soaking up the laughter and comfort of present. Jenn took me on the ultimate tour. We lunched at the Pier, trekked around the must- see spots, did some Vintage shopping, and we even consummated our special weekend, by purchasing friendship bracelets on Haight St.

I was so sad to go, leaving me so excited to go back.




Oh, and no, we never got around to re enacting the opening scene of Full House. But I did keep my peepers peeled for John Stamos look-a-likes.

no, really

Tonight, I spoke with my mom on the phone.
I told her I'm about to lose my marbles, and do something completely insane.

Unaware of what exactly I will do, I simply informed her that she'll probably see me on the news, and feel completely ashamed of me being her daughter.


enough said.

How to lose 6 inches in 60 minutes.

For the last... I don't know- fragment of my life, if I received a dollar for every time someone referred to me as a hippie, I'd probably have a nice wad of cash.

Today, I finally said goodbye and made peace with my mane. I personally am not one of those people that gets super attached to their hair, I actually happen to neglect giving much attention to it at all, and before I know it I am able to tuck it into my waist belt and or/ tie it over and around my lady lumps, sporting my locks as a halter top. Even when Andrew and I distance ourselves, hovering over opposite sides of the bed, I still find myself demanding he ought to "Get off of my hair!". Through my agent harassing me to sever off a minimum of 4 inches, my split ends dusting off Andrew's nightstand, and fellow lovers of Peace, not war- asking me for a doobie: It was time to Leave my hair with the dust in the wind, at Woodstock '69.

While I was leaving the salon, a woman and her daughter entered with an extreme response to the shag carpet I had recently installed.
*GASP*
"WOW! SO MUCH HAIR!!!"

As If they thought "Hair" secretly meant "Dentist" and "Salon" was code for "Office", expecting to be welcomed in by the redundant melodies of Sheryl Crow, the aromas of sour bubblegum & rubber gloves, and instead of seeing the floors sporadically upholstered by freshly chopped locks , they expected to see the Walls smothered by photos of Awkwardly smiling teens freshly liberated from their damaging alias "Brace Face".

Hair? In a Salon? Noooo!?

I contemplated informing the woman we had finished watching 101 Dalmatians in the backroom, and through inspiration; murdered a golden retriever in hopes to make a nice fur coat for Fall/Winter '08.

(please, Vegans and Vegetarians, I am one of your kind. And have been for quite some time. I just dabble in tasteless humor from time to time. Please forgive me.)

The unforgiving glare she tossed over at my moccasins, told me she wouldn't so much appreciate my comment, for once I thought before I spoke, and went on my Jolly way, realizing: I now may have to wear a bra, because my hair no longer covers my little breasts.


damn.

an old friend stopped by

My mono has relapsed.
Somebody shoot me.

Dos

I wish there were two of me.
I'd be a whole lot more productive.
I think my mid-life mind is overheating

Mad About Plaid

I think I met someone who shares the same enormous love, that I myself, have for plaid and flannel.




Thanks to my pal Val, who spotted the Male version of me at McCabes.

Ode to Odor

As far as fashion goes, I'm all about exploration and innovation. I love to see a crazy kook wearing some extravagant hot mess that they dare to wear. why not? Life's short, and you always have tomorrow to wear something boring and/or normal. I rarely find it appropriate to shove anybody's style or outfit of choice into a "Do's & Don'ts" category.

HOWEVER.

Tonight, I am her to tell the world; WHAT NOT TO WEAR.




This morning I absolutely could not find my deodorant. So, I scrambled about, in a hurry for a quick alternative...

A while back, Andrew's best friend Vince stood on his worrysome pulpit and preached like that brotha' from anotha' motha' on a Sunday morning in a Souther Baptist Church. Vince was there to spread the gospel: Regular deodorant submits cancer through your armpit and into your brain, via the iluminum ingredient you can find in most deodorants. But no need to panic! He had found the light, and he found it at Trader Joes.

"Trader Joe's Unscented deodorant (with cotton) paraben and aluminum free".

If you tell Andrew that Rubbing Alcohol is the most effective way to lubricate your dry, irritated, red eyes, he'd probably do it; One drop in each eye. Of course Vince's sunday school lesson on how important it is to convert to the aluminum-free-pit-stick, lead us through the valley and the shadow of death and over to the selective (but obivously eco-friendly) toiletry section of Trader Joes. I didn't pay much attention to these silly shananigans, I admittedly welcomed the advice into one ear and Shooed it out of the other like it was a dirty old fly. It was mainly a cheap form of entertainment, I was able to ring out a few good laughs like It was a used up washcloth. These two get together and get worked up about any damn thing such as, Well...deodorant.

Suddenly it's June 24th 2008, and now, this underarm armor has got me taking notes.

Today I scurried home after a long day and quickly disrobed my clothing, seeking a more suitable wardrobe for something with more of a breezeway, something of comfort. I grasp the bottom of my T-shirt and quickly deploy it from my body. As my shirt teams up with my arms,together, they create quite the potent gust of wind.

"Oh My!"

I furrow my brow and tuck my tail between my legs.
That can't be me!
No way.
Absolutely not.

I bow my head, and take to the worldly advice of Mr. Toucan Sam, I follow my nose.

Definately me.

It's as if I've unknowingly smuggled an onion patch under my arms, and I unfortunately failed to notice that somone had slaughtered those puppies to smithereens!!

Never have I ever produced such a stench. And when I do go into sweat production, out comes a scent more comparable to pine trees. Yeah you heard me, pine trees. It's been confirmed on numerous occasions by several people I hold dear to my heart (and armpit).

This odor wasn't foreign to my nostrils ( My poor nostrils, feeling like they'd just been assulted). I have been given many opportunities to get a good whiff of this aroma: In dance class, the locker room after gym class, and sitting in seventh grade Math Class next to the kid who was still wearing sweat pants. I always wondered when my day would come. The day when I could formulate my own natural defense mechanism, if I were to be mugged by a man on a street, all I'd have to do is get him in a quick headlock and he'd be out like a light.

I'm sorry Vince, for the inability to be vacant to this product, but I feel even more remorse for your wife, may she never snuggle up into those armpits of yours.

In the mean time, it's pine trees or bust!

What ever happened to predictability

The milkman, the paperboy, evening TV.





I'm going to San Francisco this weekend. One of my very very best friends in the world, Jenn lives there. She asked me what I wanted to do when I got there. I told her that I'd like to re-enact the opening scene of Full House.

She thinks I'm kidding.
But wait until I show up with my topsy tail, tye dyed biker shorts, and my perfected hand gestures insinuating she ought to "CUT-IT-OUT!"

Craving

Sometimes I get these cravings.
I don't mean the flavors that my tastebuds long for, it's almost a nostalgic, sensual, emotional craving.

For the last hour I've had a craving. It started out at the thought of a glass of water.
Soon, I realized that wasn't enough. I envisioned an extremely large body of water. I was craving being engrossed in the rhytmn of the pacific ocean's waves.

But that wasn't quite enough.

I wanted to be at Turtle Bay Resort, on the North Shore of Oahu.
I want to hop from the ocean, to the pool, back to the ocean, to the pool.
And I want it to be 1996.

Although I lived on Oahu for years, I've got a specific instance that I aspire to acheive, that ultimate bliss that I once experienced.

It was 1996. My first trip to Hawaii.
Me and my long blonde leg hairs had just graduated the fifth grade, and my sister had just graduated high school. She was off to attend Brigham Young University over there. And my family followed suit.

I was ten, my brother was fifteen, and my sister was eighteen.

In preparation for my hawaii trip I watched "My Father The Hero" (vintage Katherine Heigl) about twenty seven times. Every time Nicole dipped into that listerine - blue water, my toes tingled with excitement all the way up and through to my perma-grin smile and googley blue eyes. I smiled, knowing that I would be walking around on a tropical island diving into pools and floating in the satly sultry sea.

This movie was to me, and my Hawaii trip, like "Gonna Fly Now" by Peter Wolmarans, was to Rocky. You know thee "Rocky".

It pumped me up. I knew that in a matter of time, I too- would have the pool, the sand, the ocean, the fruit drinks, the tan, and an even tanner Hunk of a man. Ok, most likely my pre-pubescent self matched with my hairy legs wasn't going to land me a dreamy local boy any time soon. But I could feel it, it was soo close.

I remember the smells immediately off of the airplane. The sounds. The wind. I remember seeing the first sunset hover over the fluorescent waters. I'd previously never understood how beauty can captivate one's emotions, but I remember - even at my premenstrual age, I felt it. I felt the beauty surrounding me. I was overcome by it. It was no longer a vision: It was a feeling. I was convinced that I was just sweating tiny droplets of the sodium packed ocean out of my tear ducts. Not me- I wasn't crying.

I remember my dad buying all of us beautiful lei's to wear. I felt like a Hawaiian princess. Spreading my plumeria scented aura amongst the land. Behold, Princess Brynn Akuhnakikahu Lau Lau had arrived.

To the outside world, my family was a bunch of tall, skinny, blonde, pale as powder- TOURISTS. But I didn't see it that way. I was on my own island, owning it. I felt fireworks. With every waking moment, my dreams were coming true. I no longer pictured myself as an akward gangly girl who could be out-weighed by a gallon of milk. I was bronzed, I was beautiful, I had long black flowing hair.

When I reminesce my latter years, when I was actually living in Hawaii; they are very significant, but nothing really brought such electricity to my soul, as the trip of '96. I look back at my years as a resident of Hawaii and smile at the good times. But when I think back to my trip of '96 I still actually feel it. My throat grows a lump, my eyes produce a subtle swell, followed by a wistful case of the goose bumps.

I think this trip to me was so life changing because it was the first encounter I had with "Possibility". I acknowledged the possibilities that the world had out there for all of us. The tropics were not just for the movies, the fancy cruises, or those stranded on a desert island. They were for family vacations and College kids too! It didn't have to be a distant dream to let your toes mingle with the orchestra of the soft, yet, exfoliating sand. I was doing it. I was living it. It was possible.

This trip also proposed to me: "Growth". My big sister was leaving us. What some called my sister- I viewed as my idol. She really was a princess ( Portland Rose Festival Princess- it was a big deal in the ninties). She was beautiful, virginal, humorous, intelligent, a prom and homecoming queen that oozed with integrity and honorable values. She was my Madonnna, my Britney Spears. And I knew that after ten days, I'd have to let her go. We were leaving her on this island.

Where was I going to find my new dance moves? Who's hairstyles would I copy? Who's dates would I tag along on?

I realized my sister had to grow. She was "grow"-ing up. And it was time for me to grow as well.

Just a few days into the trip, my family and I found ourselves kicked back, maxin' and relaxin' at the Turtle Bay Resort. Out of nowhere- I come to realize myself being smothered by four pairs of blue eyes throwing daggers at me, followed by a chuckle here and a giggle there. Can you imagine? All of them! Just gawking at me! My own flesh and blood! My sister (brother, dad and mom) had caught a glimpse of the beautiful shinning sea of golden locks, that swayed back and forth with the Hawaiian breeze, on my teeny, tiny toothpick- like legs.

It was time.

two disposable razors and an hour later. I was nude. Ok, I wasn't nude. But I felt like a skinned cat. What had my sister done to me? I remember so vividly that night. My legs caressed the hotel's white thread count, and to me it was the most awful feeling of all. I wanted my leg's golden comfort blanket back.

The next day, I was teased by my brother and my dad. It was a catch 22, a lose lose situation, I was teased either way. I was either Harry with the Hendersons, or I was mocked by the uncanny resemblence of my legs to Uncle Fester's head.

I remember indugling into a heaping mound of shave ice, freezing my brain with a tasty Dole whip. I helped break open, and cut up coconuts and pineapple, and when doing so- my mind told me that I was living like they did in the ancient Hawaiian days. We attended Luaus, and I became extremely mesmerized by the ocean like motions that those beautiful women created as their hips shifted. But I couldn't get myself to stray for very long from the thought, that all I wanted was to be back in that water.

I would always end my days with a peaceful swim in the evening. The way the moon hit the water and bounced off of my sibling's sparkling shoulders, was unreal. It was that sparkle that you'd sometimes see on Ariel in the little mermaid. I soaked it all in. Everything was captured and tucked away in my ten-year-old memory card.


I sometimes forget about the Brynn 12 years ago. That young girl was completely consumed by the feelings, enthralled by the beauty, absorbing it all.

She wanted to live there, She wanted to love there, She wanted to grow there.



And I did.



( circa 2005. Our 1st valentines day as a married couple)