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.