Our Beating Hearts

New Year's Resolutions

2011-12-30T02:05:00.000-08:00

#1. As of 12:01 AM on Jan 1^st, 2012…NO MORE SUGAR. I will become a master of honey and agave usage. No more hypocritical denial of sugar to my daughter.

#2. Pay off all debt. Even if I have to work graveyard until my eyes bleed. Preferably paying off $14,000 will not cause my eyes to bleed.

#3. Seek love and abandon fear. Lord, help me.

#4. Find out the name of the Ichi 12 boy WITHOUT stalking him.

This is a model depiction of Ichi 12. Any resemblance to the real Ichi 12 is purely coincidental.

Christmas is for Overkill

2011-12-30T01:55:00.000-08:00

Most people who know me well understand one definitive truth.

I am a walking Epic Failure when it comes to lying. Seriously. I would be a dream to play poker with, I have more tells than I have skills. When I was young I don't remember getting away with a single thing. I either cracked under the pressure of deceit after about 3 seconds, or my steam-bun face gave me away.

Yup.

However, there is one thing that most people don't know yet. If you remove all of the subsequent guilt from the lie, I could be an Oscar winner.

I am an AWESOME liar during Christmas.

Just call me Snidely. 'Cuz my deviousness will give you mad whiplash.

So...long story semi-short, I lied my bloody face off to my entire family at different times in order to manipulate them into different places and situations and therefore allowing me to create and complete their Christmas gifts.

Oh yeah, I bad. But only sort of, as I had LOTS of help.

Lie number one was designed to give my parents a surprise 3-day anniversary trip, whereupon their return they would find their house and property spotless, repaired, and up-kept.

This is quite a challenge for a girl with barely enough money to buy diapers. So I sent out a call for help. Anyone who wanted to could pitch in financially for the trip, donate needed items, or help with the cleaning. I thought that I might get 5 people.

I got 50.

Some pitched in for their trip (a two-night stay in the Executive Suite at the Cannon Beach Hotel, an ocean-front table at the best restaurant in town, petrol, and a champagne turn-down were all covered).

Some donated much-needed items (meals, garbage bags, laundry soap, essential oils...etc).

And many donated some blood (especially one young man), sweat, and tears.

I usually learn at least one life-lesson a day, regardless of whether I want to or not. But through all this I learned several things, not least of which is how important community is. And trust me, coming from the Great Hermit-Grinch of the Lower East Basement, that is really saying something.

It was just unreal to watch what can happen when people pull together. It actually makes me inclined to do the same for someone else in need. It just boggles my mind how much can actually get done. Obama, please take note.

Now that the plans were laid, I knew the precise track that my mother's brain would take when she found out.

Stress - "HOW MANY PEOPLE WERE IN MY HOUSE?!!!"

Abject Humiliation - "Oh Lord have mercy, these people saw under my stove!"

Gratitude - "We have such wonderful friends!"

And I would like to say...I was spot on. But I would like to move on from the hilarity of my mother and onto the awesomeness of our friends.
At the end of the insanity, I took the photographs taken by my friend Julianna and my sister Jubie and had them taped up in a collage on the wall next to a beautiful card made by our friend, Kelsey. The following are some of the photos that went up.

Danger was everywhere

Mr. Darcy had the ladies swooning...

Trust me, this basement project required mad scientists...

Babysitters were a crucial component...

I don't know why they took on the kitchen, but God bless them!

Superman...'nuff said.

What the Energizer Bunny looks like in human form.

Smile meets Death-glare...I got that a lot.

The face of lurve...

May the force control your Windex.

He wishes he could be there...

FIRE!

The L-Team Part 1

The L-Team Part 2

Morning hair.

WEEEEEEE!

Pizza!

The L-Team Part 3 & 2 + 1

It had to be done...

Captain Stupendous-Pants.

Food is prepared, or else I would have had a team of helpful, yet murderous zombies.

Light-saber warfare, a necessity at every deep cleaning.

Mowing in the rain...he needed a lot of coffee.

The first task...dishes.

He was present, but useless.

Food for the masses (not me, the pizzas).

Morale was high.

Manly men everywhere!

The bathroom...no sane person would do it.

Christmas window washing!

Cleaning the gutters and the fireplace...in the rain.

I can't believe they're still smiling.

A birthday was celebrated...

As was hair...

And more birthday.

Some people couldn't be with us, as they are odd little foreigners.

Or crazy bikers...

Or just behind the camera and didn't get caught.

Some others were masters at hiding from the lens...

Or just didn't like their photos...

She came, she saw, she conquered.

Lovely

Encouraging...

Smiles for my insane plan.

Darling...

Charmers #1

Charmers #2

Santa Claus helped out...

Madame Zora

Photographer #2...also not caught on camera.

Needless to say, it was a raucous time and fun was had by most. I wanted to fully commemorate all of the effort that these people put into my insane plan to bless my parents this holiday season. Thank you all so much, and may God bless you richly.

New Year's Eve

2011-12-29T01:33:00.000-08:00

New Year's Eve...
A time for new beginnings, romance, and fireworks of every kind.
In my mind, NYE has always held the spot for being the most mythically romantic holiday. I have literally grown up with this larger than life opinion of how this night should go.

Harry and Sally confess their love...

Times Square erupts into color and solidarity...

David Niven and Ginger Rogers fall classically in love amidst luxurious parties and misunderstood parentage...

The Magic Kingdom throws all it's charm and romance into one evening...

New movies are made...

And old movies stay glorious...

This is my 28th New Year's Eve and I have yet to celebrate one the way that I've always wanted to. In fact, I've never done more than bang a few pots, have a dinner, or go to sleep.

This should be okay. I mean, if I haven't figured out by now that Hollywood is not a solid example of real life then I should probably be smacked. But for some reason, each year that goes by feels a little more bittersweet. Last New Year's Eve I drove to the top of the highest hill and watched the fireworks light off. I was alone...but it was still beautiful.

This year I will be home alone...again. And frankly, I'm an all or nothing kind of girl. If a night doesn't turn out like I had hoped, I want to fully appreciate it by whining.

So I have decided to celebrate with all the Hollywood drama I can muster. I will pour myself a glass of champagne, light off a wish lantern (appropriately covered in wishes), and kiss my chihuahua. On second thought, that last part may not happen.

P.S. This is how cute I will think I look while pouting...

This is a more probable appearance...

Shark Attack! (The following has been amplified for dramatic effect)

2011-12-28T01:21:00.000-08:00

I've always been afraid of deep water.

Just something about the billions of dark, secretive, deadly, and slithery creatures tooling around my feet that has always freaked me out. Even swimming pools used to inspire concern if I couldn't clearly survey the contents of the area.

I mean, seriously...

I am SO not a fan.

However, I also have this great love of the ocean. Never have I spent more than a few months away from close access to a beach. If I can't get myself to the ocean at a moment's notice, I feel landlocked and trapped.

So it has always bugged me that I've been afraid of venturing into something I loved so completely. What was I? Chicken?

So one warm December day in 2003, as I was lounging on a glorious beach...I decided to be brave. This particular beach was on one of the smaller populated islands located in the Republic of Vanuatu (formally the New Hebrides).

It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining, the children were laughing, and the string band was playing. Combine all this with water as clear as crystal and I was feeling down-right confident about venturing into the water. All it took was a dozen darling little Nevan kids looking like this...

And I was sold.

I dove right into the water and was stunned to find out what I had been missing all these years.

It was fun, exciting, and the biggest pool EVER. I was heady with freedom. So when the kids went swimming further out, so did I. Swimming amidst twelve squealing and happy children is an amazing motivator.

I was happy.

I was free.

I was...suddenly alone?

I looked towards the shore and saw the bobbing heads of all of my confidence-bolstering children racing towards the beach like their lives depended on it.

This concerned me.

But I still couldn't figure it out...what was going on? Even though I could clearly see all the way through the ten feet of ocean water to the bottom, an eery feeling had begun to creep it's way under my skin. I was in deep water, in a foreign country, nowhere near another human being...and then I saw it.

A single dorsal fin.

Followed by another.

I allowed myself precisely 0.5 seconds to hope that dolphins were coming to teach me the ways of the ocean.

I allowed myself another 0.1 second to collapse into a fit of hysterical panic.

And then I was moving...as fast I could swim...with two aggressive Tiger Sharks after me.

At this point I can't even tell you what kind of adrenaline I was dealing with. All I know is that every stroke, every drop of water flying through the air, and every pump of blood through my ears was as painfully slow as anything I have ever experienced.

Waiting for an honest politician would take less time than my swimming to the shore. It seemed to get farther away the more I swam until I realized that the sharks had gained on me (shocker) and were currently circling around me at a distance of about 20 feet. So I did what any normal, terrified, Irish girl would do...

I struck a fighting pose and faced the nearest one...ready to punch his mean little face.

I was full of an undeniably sinful envy for Batman's Super-Dandy Shark Repellent.

I had just resigned myself to a fight to the death with two (probably not very hungry) meanies when I heard a whizzing sound.

And there they were...two rigging canoes full of island men in loincloths.

The Canoes

The Loincloths

My Face

And they were throwing SPEARS.

Flash forward four hours and I was sitting amidst all of the kids I had been swimming with. They regaled the village with the story of the fat, white girl born to be bait. I sat and laughed with them in a state of post-traumatic shock when the village women brought out dinner.

Broiled Tiger Shark with Shark Fin soup.

I was offered the honorary first bowl and commended for my conquest. I thanked them and polished it off.

I didn't like it.

Sharks are gross.

The Midnight Stalker

2011-12-08T18:35:00.000-08:00

There have been few moments of abject humiliation in my life.

There was the one time that I leaped to my feet, shouting "BINGO" at the top of my (perfectly sufficient) lungs in the middle of an auditorium jam-packed with 500 of my peers...only to find that I did not, indeed, possess an actual bingo.

Then there was the moment that I was discussing gender equality with a close friend at a formal party, only to find myself shouting (into the newly created silence of a song change) "But seriously, it isn't about sex!"

But few moments have truly compared with my experience on December 7th, 2011.

A dear friend of mine, one whom we shall call "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken," had invited me out to dinner after having completed my Uni finals (with a 4.0 GPA, I might add).

The purpose of this girl-date was only mildly about my academic success. It was almost entirely focused on an altogether more ridiculous premise...checking out the cute Korean waiter who works at Longview's Ichi 12 Teriyaki.

See? This is ALREADY humiliating...and we're only just warming up.

As I drove up to the restaurant, ""She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" came up to my car to meet me.

She - "He just left!"
Me - "Dang! Oh well, let's go have dinner."
She - "He's right inside Radioshack."
Me - "Shucky darn, I just remembered some shopping I have to do!"

So yes, my "may-be-27-but-acts-13" butt went strolling into Radioshack...as non-nonchalantly as possible. I meandered over to the iPads and became deeply interested. Next thing I know I feel breath on my neck and hear "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" frantically whispering "He's right beside you!"

I look left, and then I look up...and up...and up.

HOLY BUCKET'S O' LARD, BATMAN.

He was tall, handsome, and built like a cross between a rock and a hard place.

I mean...this man was beautiful. Muscles showed through his winter jacket like he was playing Chubby Bunny in his clothes, charisma dripped off of him like honey off Pooh Bear's paws, and that rugged chin of manliness could have chiseled iron...(granted, I may be exaggerating).

Now you might accuse me of thinking shallowly here...and you would be correct. I have no idea what character, moral structure, personal beliefs, or attitudes towards furry, woodland creatures he has...but by grab, that man was one giant hunk o' Korean. So what do I do? Oh yes...subtlety is key.

"Look at this iPad! It's BEAUTIFUL! It's the most beautiful iPad I've ever seen! It's sturdy, attractive, and bigger than the iPod!"

I jest not. In an effort to avoid the typically Rachel move of looking him in the eyes and verbally expressing my admiration (therefore humiliating both the innocent victim and myself-who-can't-keep-her-mouth-shut), I waxed and waned about the iPad. It wasn't long before a very perplexed Korean decided to walk to the opposite end of the store. By this time, "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" and I were barely suppressing our embarassed giggles, so I made a bee-line for the exit...

At precisely the same moment that Mr. Beautiful did.

He gave me a look that reeked of suspicion. I knew that I could not let him think that I was following him (which, in point of fact, I was)...so I dedicated myself to reaching the door first. "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" and I burst forth like vengeful angels (because they burst forth so much more effectively than humans) and ran into Ichi 12 so that we could collapse in hysterics about the ridiculousness of it all. It was in this moment that I first started to feel the inklings of embarrassment...

I was plagued with horrible thoughts. "What if he knew that we were giggling because of him? It's not like I was a den of mystery..."

I had just settled back into a comfortable place of laughing and chatting with my friend when lo and behold...Mr. Beautiful comes walking right on into the restaurant. As he slowly moved past our table, I was witness to a look that did not bode well. It was the look of someone who was on to me.

So we finished our meal and escaped to my car. Five minutes of raucous laughter and knee-slapping later, we look and realize with horror that not only is my vehicle pointed straight at the entrance of the restaurant, but the employees are looking out, wondering why we are still sitting there.

Just at that moment, as we stared at the door in dawning realization, Mr. Beautiful walks out...directly into our serious, staring faces.

O. M. G.

If it wasn't bad before...it was officially bad now. So I promptly started my car and zipped around to drop "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" off at her vehicle. Sadly, this was another bad move as I ended up zipping by Mr. Beautiful's vehicle...window to window...in open-mouthed screeching hysteria.

Lord, have mercy on my idiotic soul.

So I drop "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" off and we arrange to meet up at the nearby Starbucks so that we can finally relax and laugh about the utter retardation of the whole situation. I turn around and start driving towards said coffee spot...

Directly behind Mr. Beautiful...

Who notices that I am directly behind him...

And proceeds to pull into the Starbucks parking area.

The abject horror that I experienced at that moment was beyond human comprehension.

I immediately pulled to the farthest parking point from him as I watched him exit the vehicle and all but sprint into the nearby Ross store. I sat in stunned silence until "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken"arrived. We started walking towards Starbucks and freedom from humiliation.

Alas, it was not to be.

To put things into perspective, I would like to remind everyone that...
A. I have been (very) single for nearly 3 years
B. I was hyped on adrenaline from multiple sources (finals completed, Christmas cheer, ladies night out, and extreme embarrassment)
C. I am secretly an eternal idiot teenager

So I cannot be held fully responsible for what occurred next.

As we passed by his vehicle, "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" jokingly suggested that I write him a message. Ha ha...yeah right.

Right?

RIGHT?

Wrong.

Idiot Rachel did the worst thing possible in a case of mistaken stalker-dom...I wrote on his window. In the lightly fogged driver's side window I wrote...

I cannot tell a lie. That is precisely what I wrote.

Five steps later and I realized the error I had just made. So I turned around to correct my mistake, only to notice that 10 feet away were not 1, not 2, but 4 police officers eying me like a criminal.

Instantly foiled. So we made our way into Starbucks with the assurance that the minor fog would disappear before he came back out. But as we sat at our table it began to dawn on me that if he were to see it... then I was a sitting duck...framed in a well-lit window...15 feet away from the scene of the crime.

Full-out panic set in.

I made "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" go and give me the all clear as I full out sprinted to my car. From across the parking lot I heard my dear, beloved friend tell me that she was going to write my number underneath the message.

If you've ever seen a snake molt it's skin in .03 seconds flat, you have some idea of the severity of my reaction. Needless to say...no number was left.

I practically dove headfirst into my car with every intention of peeling out of the parking lot. Yet again, "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken" decided that we needed to stay for his reaction.

Upon reflection, I can see why she wants to remain nameless...YOU INSTIGATOR, YOU! ;)

So we literally pulled our car into a hidden-yet-strategic spot for ultimate viewing secrecy...only not really.

He exited Ross.

He reached his vehicle.

He did a double-take at his window.

Did he smile? Frown? React in fear? Scrub it off? Nope. He just stood there with a look of pure, unadulterated, utter and complete confusion.

Apparently his ability to connect the dots was less than stellar...thank God in heaven.

He then got in car and began to reverse...closer and closer to our not-so-brilliant hiding spot.

What happened next is still a blur...but it involved flinging seats, bottoms, feet, arms, legs, heads, purses, and meal leftovers every which way in an effort to escape detection should he pull in beside us.

Thankfully, he stopped a foot short of discovering us and drove off. "She-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-Because-She's-A-Chicken"and I breathed a collective sigh of blessed relief and promptly burst into screeching fits of hysteria. We had finally survived our stupidity...

When his vehicle pulled in directly behind mine, headlights to taillights.

My hands went into the air as I started screeching about how I was going to have to tell him everything or die of humiliation and horror and trauma...etc.

Only to discover that it was a pair of old ladies driving the exact Mitsubishi that Mr. Beautiful did.

The moral to this story is that I will always be a complete and incomprehensible idiot.

But at least I'm funny!

I'd like to dedicate the following song to my favorite accidental stalkee...

This Is A Post...

2011-11-28T00:49:00.000-08:00

To inform all of my passionately devoted readers (all 2 of you) that I have not forgotten your sincere need to hear my innermost thoughts.

I am merely in the middle of my Uni finals, in the process of starting up a magazine (aptly titled Our Beating Hearts), and working on my first novel.

But coming soon!

How to not drastically fail at getting gifts for loved ones this holiday season on a $0 budget!

How to stifle the need to senselessly murder any and all surrounding romance when struggling through a period of loneliness!

and finally...

How to pay your bills when child support is not forthcoming and you can't seem to find a graveyard job that still enables you to care for your infant child!

I might also throw in a piece about how my beautiful, marvelous, intelligent, fantastic, funny, charming, and much-loved little girl turned 2 years old on Thanksgiving (This will probably be the only piece I actually DO write).

Happy belated Thanksgiving everyone!


Disneyland: My ultimate Christmas Wish...What's yours?

Nice Guys Should Be Kicked

2011-10-31T00:50:00.000-07:00

If any of you paid attention to my previous post, you would discover two things...

#1. I adore Ryan Higa and Kev Jumba
#2. I spend way too much freaking time on YouTube.

But I have a point to make, so I'll make fun of my anti-social behavior at a later time.

So there's this video that Chester See, Ryan Higa, KevJumba, and my lover boys over at Wong Fu Productions put together.

It's hilarious.

I mean, seriously...it's HILARIOUS. o_0 I've been running around saying "Cows go moo" for weeks.

I've even put together an entire spoof about Fat Girls (it could be HUGE...teehee).

But then it dawned on me...I may love this video (and it's catchy corresponding tune of holy awesome), but dash it all, this brings me to a rant!

A rant about what, you ask? I'll tell you...

A rant about Nice freaking Guys.

You see, I've been hearing this same old thing for years now. "Girls only want to date bad guys, that's why I'm still single." Yeah...sure. You're single because you're just too darn nice.

The "Yeah Right" Face

First off, while you go around touting the nice guy approach...you're almost always going after the gorgeous girl. You know, NOT the brace-faced, four-eyed, chubster who has been your friend and compadre since forever. We girls get to sit there and listen as you complain that the supermodel next door doesn't appreciate your super-niceness enough to date you. How is this fair?

Secondly...girls don't want bad guys. They also don't want nice guys. We want GOOD guys. You know, strong, honest, sincere, faithful...etc. And these items don't always fit well with "Niceness".

So...before you whine that the super-girl you love doesn't love you back, why don't you take a gander at the girl who's been loving you all along and ask yourself how awesome of a person you are to earn that kind of devotion.

And quit whining! Sheesh.

P.S. Ryan Higa is STILL the man. ;)

My NigaHiga Love

2011-10-16T17:33:00.000-07:00

I recently experienced a great moment.
It was a moment of warmth, a moment of humor, a moment of joy...a moment of sheer ridiculousness.

It was the moment that I finally became aware of the existence of one Ryan Higa.

True, he may not make every single person on the planet laugh...but as for me? I totally fell off my chair in hysterics. I was literally so excited about my discovery (5 years after everyone else discovered him) that I powered through every video, mention, and guest appearance that I could find.

He made me want to make YouTube videos. He made me love Asians even more. But perhaps the most horrendous side-effect so far...he introduced me to a constant struggle with my inner (and not very repressed) fan-girl psychosis. If I knew where he lived, I would camp outside of his house and meet (*marry*) him.

Just when I thought it couldn't get any worse, up pops KevJumba. o_0 Ryan's friend, current roommate, and fellow YouTuber.

SERIOUSLY. o_0 Could I love Asians any more than I do at this moment? Oh wait...my daughter is Asian, so yeah...I probably can. But I digress...

This entire post has merely been a lead up to my next post. I thought it best to introduce you to my beloved NigaHiga and KevJumba before subjecting you to what is to come.

Moo Wa Ha Ha.

I Want To Dance

2011-09-28T23:08:00.000-07:00

I love dancing. I have loved it ever since I was a little girl. But the older I got, the less inclined I was to dance where anyone could see me.

Photo by Mike Baird

There once was a song from the children’s show Veggie Tales called “I Want To Dance”.

It was a song that I related to so strongly that I’ve never forgotten it. What was meant to be silly was a painful reality to me.

It was a song about a gourd who had always dreamed of dancing, but because of his size and shape people would only make fun of his attempts.

Granted…I’m not a gourd, but I might as well be, for all the grand jiggle that I possess. I wanted to dance freely and not be made fun of, regardless of my skill level or fat behind.

Sadly, real life really enjoys mocking fat, jiggly dancers. So it was largely against my will that I signed up for Dance 100 this fall.

My first day in class sent red-hot shivers of doom down my spine, most of which I shrugged away in the hopes that I was being paranoid.

These were pathetic hopes.

Class #2 had me doing moves with French names and satanic intentions. At the end of an hour’s worth of torment, I propelled my sweat-drenched, heaving carcass out the door and careened towards my vehicle.

I couldn’t move for days without growling like a dragon.

Flash forward a few classes and I’ve started to warm up to it (or reach a level of survival…whatever). But up until today I found it humiliating to be the fat girl trying to dance.

This morning I woke up sick. Crappy, drippy, hacky, all get out sick. The kind of sick that urges you at all costs towards a warm bed and hot soup. But once again I hauled my jiggly butt to dance class, if only to sit and watch.

As I sat in the auditorium, watching my fellow classmates try and keep up with our friendly (yet assassin-like) dance instructor, I was struck with a new realization…

Dancing is beautiful.

This isn’t a completely new idea to me…I’ve always considered professional dancing beautiful. But this was new. I was watching people of varying skill levels, ages, heights, weights, and personalities, and I was stunned. They were gorgeous.

The simple desire to express a feeling, enjoy movement, or simply challenge themselves made them beautiful. Instead of the urge to be embarrassed for people who aren’t particularly genius dancers, I found myself contemplating the beauty of movement and the courage of an unusual group of people.

Long story short…dance class may still kill me, but now I feel less concern about how I appear and a stronger desire to do what I have loved since I was little…express my heart through the art of dance.

Watch Dr Jiggle and Mr Sly -- Veggie Tales in Animation | View More Free Videos Online at Veoh.com

Do Not Read

2011-09-03T00:44:00.000-07:00

I was never very good with people.

At this point in my life I’m rather famous for my biting, harsh nature. Most people are either afraid of me or annoyed by me. So I thought back to a day when I wasn’t so violently protective of myself. Especially since it isn’t any mystery that the harder people try to keep themselves secure, the less secure they are.

Recently I have encountered several people who have claimed to know my inner thoughts more than I know them myself. This has done nothing but frustrate me in a profound way.

I can’t argue with them. What would I say?

It’s not like I can just lay my real self out there…it has too many layers and years and struggles to work through in order to come to the surface. If a person wanted to know who I was they’d have to sign up for a summer lecture series on “101 Ways Rachel Is Misunderstood”. And frankly, I am no longer charming enough to entice that kind of dedication.

Which brings me to my first point. I was told that I have been closing myself off from the world more and more. This irked me. Not because it wasn’t accurate, but because I have no desire to do otherwise. I don’t like the world! The world hurts.

When I was younger I could get by on my youth and passion alone. A forceful personality in a teenager who is traveling the world can be intriguing and exciting. Even people who didn’t particularly like me still couldn’t quite avoid the vortex that was my adventurous self. I was thinner, more beautiful, with fewer scars and more courage.

It’s similar to skin. Skin recovers quickly in youth, but as people age it can’t heal fast enough and begins to deteriorate. Ten years ago I could receive a blow and still feel like there was a way out of the valley. When my first love broke my heart I moved to New Zealand (Yes, New Zealand works wonders on broken hearts). When people wounded me I could cry and then recover.

But as time wore on I started to feel it more and more. At this point in my life I can no longer rely on youth and beauty and a compelling personality to cover my injuries. As people became less forgiving of me, I became less kind and less hopeful. Now, instead of youth, I have wrinkles.

Instead of freedom, I have responsibilities.

Instead of a hoped for love story, I have an ex-husband who has used my baby girl to tie me to him for what feels like the rest of my life.

Instead of dreams, I have a need to survive.

Instead of people who support and encourage me like a spoiled youth, I have a broken family trying not to rip itself apart even further.

But the simple truth is that I have never been confused about who I am. I would love nothing more than to have a person truly know me better than I know myself…but other than God, it isn’t going to happen. I am extremely self-aware.

Sometimes people will speak to me in a way that shows how much they believe they have “seen through” my gruff exterior. I’ve rarely been offended by this, because the intent has always been kind (even if misguided). But I have only ever had two experiences in my life when someone was able to pinpoint something in me that I had not already dug up.

This doesn’t mean that I have figured out how to fix any of it. My scars and personality flaws are many, and the ones I have successfully eradicated are extremely few. But I know my struggles, my sins, my flaws, my gifts, my strengths...all very well So when people take it upon themselves to disciple me into a better place I find it bittersweet.

When I was young I wanted everyone to be happy. I wanted everyone to tell the truth. I wanted to love everyone and I wanted everyone to love me. Turns out, not many people like a little girl who won’t stop talking. Last week I watched my daughter rush up to a stranger and try to give her a kiss and a hug. This young girl reached out and shoved her away. Mina just stood there with her lip quivering, unable to understand. My baby girl had gone with as much honesty, love, and openness that a person can go with, and had been forcibly rejected.

Mina is just like me.

I watch her and try not to be terrified. Terrified that with enough of those rejections she will build up a wall and shut people out.

Terrified that Mina will be just like me.

KOREATOWN: NYC

2011-09-02T14:46:00.000-07:00

I don't think that it is any big secret that I've fallen in love with all things Korean.

I love the Korean language.

I love Korean television.

The Korean drama "You're Beautiful"

I love Korean music.

The KPOP band B2ST

I love Korean food.

BiBimBop (비빔밥)

And I LOVE Korean boys.

Jang Hyuk, raw manliness.

So, needless to say...when I found myself in the center of New York City, I was utterly compelled to visit Koreatown.

Now, K-Town NYC isn't very big. It essentially makes up one block on 32nd Ave in between Broadway and 6th in Midtown. But for someone from a small town in Washington State, I may as well have been in heaven. Everywhere I looked there were Korean people, restaurants, karoake bars, markets, and even the infamous (to me anyway) Face Shop. Oddly enough, the Face Shop catered to the needs of the face...it was awesome.

My first visit to K-Town was with my sister, Heather. It was late at night after our press experience (see previous post) for the opening gala of the NYCIFF. We decided to do the crazy thing and go see it despite the late hour (and yes, I had no idea that late to me was merely warming up to NYC).
I even let my insane sister talk me into walking the 13 blocks there. Now, 13 blocks wouldn't have been so bad...if I hadn't been wearing Death by Shoe. By the time we arrived I was limping like a professional and barely able to enjoy the moment. So what did we do?

We looked for food! Any responsible human being knows that the best response to pain is sumptuous dining (I will currently ignore any contradictory opinions).
As we walked down the street we realized that every single restaurant was packed right out the doors...and we really, reeeaaally just wanted to sit down already. So we made a risky move and picked the one place that seemed empty. Lucky for us, it was only empty on the bottom floor...which didn't serve bulgogi (fan-freaking-tastic Korean BBQ also known as 불고기). It did, however, serve exactly what I had been dying for a year to try. Ddeokbokki (떡볶이)!

Ddeokbokki, Bibimbap, and side dishes (REFILLABLE side dishes...per Korean tradition)

Heather eating Ddeokbokkie while I stare wistfully into the camera.

Me eating a mushroom. Don't ask me why this is what was captured...because I spent 99.9% of my time eating Ddeokbokkie and Squid.

Thus, full of love and happiness and ddeokbokkie we snagged a taxi and headed back to our hotel for some much needed sleep (which we didn't actually get for several more hours).

The next day was an exercise in patience (an exercise which I failed at every turn), but after our last red carpet event (see here) the whole family (mom, dad, Heather, Danny, Jubie, & myself) grabbed two taxis and headed back to K-Town for dinner. We got quite a few funny glances as half of us were wearing black tie and the other half were in jeans. I was also bowing profusely to everyone who greeted us upon entrance...which amused each one of them to no end. ;)

Jubie eating the Spicy Tofu Seafood Soup that I ordered her...because it was AWESOME.

Korean Food Post-Steely Attack

When we had stuffed ourselves we walked outside so I could take some typical tourist photos.

And then we walked across the street (funny how in Washington this is a simple procedure...yet in New York, it's like walking the plank) to a shop called Pinkberry. I have no idea if this is even a Korean store, but it was in K-Town and it was fantasmic.

It was irresistible.

Jubie and I couldn't choose...so we split. Mango FroYo with Mango and Mochi pieces and Chocolate FroYo with Heath and Dark Chocolate pieces.

Heather and Danny enjoying their respective Pinkberries.

Mom was also unable to resist the Pinkberry call.

After this we got ourselves home and to bed...but the very next day Jubie and I went BACK to K-Town to tempt ourselves in a store drenched with the latest Kdramas, KPop, and all things awesome. Three days in NYC and I couldn't resist the Korean call for a single day. Lest I haven't been clear...Koreans are fantastic. If you ever get a chance to spend time with a Korean or eat Korean food...jump at it. You never know, you could just be the next victim to fall prey to "The Korean Way".

The Steely's Take Manhattan: Dancing On The Edge

2011-08-30T15:09:00.000-07:00

Day Two

Friday morning at around 9 AM I pulled myself out of bed. I say pulled because it took all of my mental and emotional strength to get my feet underneath me. You see, when I heard that New York was the city that never slept, I thought it meant that stores stayed open late and the clubs were hopping. I didn't know that I would find myself in the middle of a never-ending throng of people at 2 AM, completely unable to tell the difference between night and day.

From the Top Floor

Our hotel room overlooked the lights of Times Square (from the 33rd floor), so the draw was irresistible. Heather, Jubie, and I weren't asleep until 3 AM. By the time I finally convinced Heather to take a trip on the subway for some Italian food in Little Italy...we barely had enough time to get there and back for a repeat of the preparations from the day before (When we got lost in Chinatown we nearly panicked).

But we got home in time to rush Jubie, Dad, and Danny out the door and into their waiting limousine while mom (who had come on a later flight), Heather, and myself tried to flag a taxi for the Tribeca theater. After some stress and irritation we finally arrived...only to find out that none of what was supposed to be happening was actually happening. Our red carpet was late (literally, the carpet and backdrops were not there in time). So I tried to make do by snapping candid photos left and right.

The cinema chosen to show Dancing On The Edge

Once I got inside I was struck with horror. The horror of a barely functional newbie photographer who has just realized that the lighting and set she has been given to work with are so atrocious that she may surely perish. Here is a sampling of my desperate attempt to figure out a way to make it look good...

As you can see, Heather is a master of making herself look good. And I am a master of making people look demonic.

But while we waited for the equipment to arrive, I snapped these...

Then I stumbled upon my family members chatting with John Savage (all his films, relatives, and fame aside...the dude lived with Nelson Mandela for 6 years fighting apartheid! AAAAAH!). He had approached Jubilee to tell her how stunning she was and they got into a lengthy, beneficial conversation that ended with Mr. Savage trading numbers with dad in the hopes that he could be involved in a future project of Danny's.

This is Jubie having no clue that she is a mere one degree of separation away from NELSON FREAKING MANDELA. o_0

This is Jubie outshining John Savage because the photographer was biased.

This is dad cluing me in on how awesome we didn't know this was...

John taking dad's number, dad prepping for a water fight.

Yeah...we get it, I'm biased.

Of course, there were many beautiful people in attendance, all of which I could have done more justice to had I the equipment arrived before dark...and a rainstorm.

Nicole, talented and beautiful.

I couldn't stop taking pictures of Victoria MacKenzie...the woman is just striking.

I caught Emily by surprise...and she still looks unbelievable.

Seriously?! Why can't I translate in photos like this?!

The attendees prior to the screening.

I think someday they might make a movie about him...

And she would be the comic relief...;)

Danny upon the announcement of his award.

The cast after the screening.

Nicole and Victor

Dad, Jubie, and Victor

Dad, Danny, and Jubilee

Dad and Danny

Sadly, after our showing we were unable to get to the red carpet as another group of festival goers and filmmakers had arrived. So everyone who hoped that I would take awesome pictures of them was disappointed (thank heavens...the lighting was going to kill me anyway). My one consolation is that I wasn't drafted to follow the festival, or even the other people involved in DOTE. I was sent off to NYC to follow Daniel Steely's journey. And that is exactly what I did...sort of. ;)
So there you have it. The end of evening two. And just you wait 'til I write about Koreatown. o_0

The Steely's Take Manhattan: Opening Night

2011-08-26T23:40:00.000-07:00

If you haven't heard by now, you haven't been paying attention...

My little brother was nominated for Best Cinematographer at the New York City International Film Festival. This is the sole reason I found myself all the way across the country one fine Thursday morning.

My sister, Heather, and I had crashed the party with the pitch that all that publicity would require our group to look their best. They needed a make-up artist and hair stylist! Luckily for Heather, she happens to be a brilliant make-up artist. Sadly for me, I am only sub-par in the hair department. So I was also asked to sign on as Press.
There were two problems with this...
#1. I haven't worked a DSLR once in my life, therefore I had to learn how to use my new camera essentially overnight.
#2. I've never worked as Press once in my life, therefore I had to learn on the job...o_0

Let's just say that I was feeling the stress. So let me lay out the day for you.

We boarded our plane at 6 Pm on August 17th, where I proceeded to panic-learn my camera. Thankfully my genius brother was there to remind me what stupid mistakes I could be avoiding if I had his brain.

A short layover in Salt Lake City saw my first disastrous attempts at good photography...very high class.

This was a fascinating moment for me

Jubie keeping herself deeply entertained

We landed in NYC at 6 AM on August 18th, 6 hours before we could check into our rooms to try and sleep/begin beautification process for that evenings opening gala. So myself, my sisters Heather and Jubilee (part of the DOTE film crew), my father (also part of the crew), and my brother (aka Star of the Show) all arrived at the hotel and invaded their lobby area. Much to our delight, this is the first thing we saw at the hotel desk.

One of the many signs that our film was, indeed, part of the festival.

We dropped of our luggage and did what any normal set of country-bumpkins would do in a similar situation. We scavenged the countryside for food.

Hunter-Gatherers in action.

When we had finally acquired the needed sustenance, we crashed on the couches lovingly provided by a hotel with a seriously lame early check-in policy, Heather, Danny, and Jubie were unconscious within moments. I was nearly there when dad came in and informed me that Good Morning America was filming right outside. I heard my camera mocking my lack of photographic skills, so I busted it out and went to investigate. Turns out I got to meet Robin Roberts.

She is EXTREMELY charismatic in person. o_0

When we finally checked into our rooms everyone hit the beds like dead people...although I suppose I've never actually seen a dead person hitting beds. Never-the-less, we got a couple of hours of sleep before the real fun began. Danny and dad went hopping off to their room for easy boy preparation (stupid boys). While Jubie began the 4-hour process of becoming even more disgustingly pretty than she is normally. As I was getting her dress laid out and prepped, Heather started putting out make-up...and more make-up...and more make-up. Her set-up took an entire hotel bed's worth of space. I felt very sorry for my baby sister.

Once all was ready we headed down to the Hudson Theater as a group and split upon arrival. Danny, Jubie, and Dad began their evening of looking good, shmoozing, and avoiding drunk Italians while Heather and I dove headfirst into the world of Pressertizing.

Long story short...I learned a lot, very fast. I went from staying quiet to hollering people's names. I went from giving way to other press to rudely holding my place. I went from trying to take low-light, no-flash pictures to desperately snapping any which way that I could.

So without further ado, here are my press shots. I don't want to hear about my lack of awesome camera skills...I am HIGHLY aware. 0_0

The Dancing On The Edge cast.

DOTE cast

Then came the big event (for me anyway). Dad, Danny, and Jubie!

The biggest frustration of my whole evening was trying to take pictures of these three. They FLEW through the red carpet like they had dragons chewing on their heels. This next photo will show you just how many people were trying to get shots of them, and just about everyone failed.

Blinded by public interest.

Then followed over two hours of people from all corners of the globe.

Alexander and Victoria MacKenzie (Sandy is the Director of DOTE)

Two of the hardest people to photograph (due to a crazed crowd of pushy press) were Shilpa Shetty (Bollywood star) and Sally Kirkland (Academy Award Nominee).

It was one heck of an experience...but this was just the first night. 0_0 Stay tuned for the next installment of The Steely's Take Manhattan.

The Steely's Take Manhattan: The Beginning

2011-08-25T23:23:00.000-07:00

Aaaaaah. Sigh of relief.

I am home from New York City. This is the second time I’ve visited and it was just as insane this time as the last.

The first time I invaded NYC it was with my dad. I was barely 14 years old and we had rented a car to drive up into Canada. Dad and I really wanted to see the infamous Manhattan before we left, so we hopped in our car and set off. Per my request, dad decided to take the Brooklyn Bridge. You see, we had both made a very simple mistake. We assumed that because dad had mastered the art of driving in Los Angeles that he could handle Downtown Manhattan.

Never were two people so disastrously incorrect.

By the time we were halfway over the bridge, my dad was starting to feel the strain of trying to keep up with some of the most aggressive drivers in the known universe…but it wasn’t until he realized that we were heading straight down Wall Street...at 12 noon...on a Monday, that he panicked.

He flung a map in my 14-year-old-who-has-never-driven-nor-read-a-map-before-in-her-bleeping-life face and started hollering about finding an escape route. We had an army of perpetual honkers, jaded (and extremely competent) New Yorkers leaping across the hood of our car (like gazelles…mean, mean gazelles), and people pointing out our country-bum stupidity with alarming accuracy. In a fit of desperation dad squealed into an NYPD parking space in Battery Park and leapt out of the car, loudly proclaiming that they could just try to give him a ticket…he was saving lives by removing himself from traffic!

When we finally extricated ourselves and found our way back to the hotel, we knew what had to happen. The next morning we hired a town car to take us around and show us the ropes. The first rope? CARNEGIE DELI. O_0 The full awesomeness of this deli is probably a quantum leap beyond our human understanding. On your way to NYC? Go here to find out more.

The Carnegie Deli Storefront

Just one of their insanely awesome menu options.

We had a few other experiences, including the top of the Empire State Building (with a view of the Twin Towers at the time), the entrance to Central Park, and my near death when I went shrieking in the face of the NYPD blue because I was so excited to see them. What they saw was a crazed girl rushing at them during a period of civil unrest. Alas, I did survive the encounter…but two cops lost a few years of their lives to a stress reaction.

So now, 13 years later, I found myself on a plane with my father and three younger siblings...on our way back to New York City. Home to Lady Liberty, killer hot dogs, and a people group famous for merely being tough enough to live in their own hometown.

When we arrived and managed to cram all of our selves and our stuff into two town cars...we discovered that we weren't just staying in NYC, we were staying smack dab in the center of Times Square (well, not LITERALLY, but you get the gist).

In the lobby of the Millennium Broadway Hotel

This was just the beginning of a massive series of adventures all crammed into a mere three days. However, my dearest readers...you will have to wait until the next edition of Our Beating Hearts to continue the grand saga of "The Steely's Take Manhattan".

OUCH

2011-08-11T00:58:00.000-07:00

Today I feel insane.

I could chock it up to the disastrous visit to the dentist that resulted in…

a) TMJ (Temporomandibular Joint Disorder)

b) The loss of my trip to New York to watch my baby brother get nominated…because I sunk all of my money into doctor visits and the chiropractor to try and fix my damn jaw.

c) A serious struggle to live with the worst pain I’ve ever experienced next to childbirth.

Or I could blame it on my poor judgment for watching a drama loaded with romantic kisses and perseverant lovers that resulted in...

a) The realization that I am may never attract the person that I want.

b) An irritating desire to go hug a tree, just so I can feel a little love.

c) The embarrassing notion that after 2 ½ years, I still sleep on one side of the bed. And I hate sleeping alone.

Or I could stick it to the fact that I am royally sucking as a mom right now because of the pain.

a) I HATE that I can’t smile and laugh with my daughter.

b) I hate that when she asks me questions I can only mumble in response.

c) I hate that I am so tired in the morning that I let her put on Veggie Tales as I half-heartedly make her breakfast. I’m letting her rot her young brain in front of the telly just to buy myself some time to make a breakfast that isn’t even all that well-balanced.

My one consolation is that she likes to eat raw onion. This will keep her system healthy and I won’t have to worry about keeping the boys away. Now if I can just get her chomping raw garlic…

The Day of Doom

2011-07-31T23:58:00.000-07:00

Tomorrow morning I face a great terror.

A horror so great that even strong men crumble at it's feet.

I am going to the DENTIST. 0_0

But first, a little bit of Too Much Information...

Back in 2007 (before I knew how many babies I actually wanted) I started taking the birth control pill Yasmin a few months prior to my wedding. I thought that this would solve a multitude of problems...sadly, it created a whole mess of new ones. A month into the marriage I was 100 pounds heavier than when I started. I first got concerned when I had to let my wedding dress out only 3 weeks after doing the fitting. By the time 100 pounds passed me by, I was panicking.

But that wasn't the worst part. At the same time my immune system decided that it was going on hiatus. Since then I have gotten 99.9% of all crud that I have come in contact with (yes, even the swine flu). But that's not all folks! My wonderful teeth gave way to tiny white demons of destruction. Without dental insurance I wasn't in a position to figure out why I couldn't chew anything crunchy or eat anything hot or cold.

In an effort to lose weight, bolster my pathetic immune system, and save my hurting teeth...I began to cut out sugars, fats, and other bad-ish things. I started buying all of my food fresh and organic so that I could make well-balanced meals. For a considerable time I even went to the gym every single night and came home a pile of nasty.

So far nothing has worked. I'm fat, I get sick, and my teeth hurt. And this brings me to the present.

I put myself $3,500 in debt to save my teeth. With a free consultation I discovered that I was on the verge of losing nearly 6 of my teeth. This was intensely irritating considering how much time I put into keeping my teeth awesome. I brush, I floss, I have regular cleanings for crying out loud! Alas, tomorrow I go in to have my four wisdom teeth removed (will this make me less wise?), four teeth filled, and one crown put in.

Moral to the story: Babies are good for your health! ;)

The List

2011-07-31T18:00:00.000-07:00

All of my life I have been told not to make the mistake of looking for the “perfect” man. I was given many solid reasons for this, including the senseless battering of men who may fall beneath my extreme expectations (what can I say, my reputation precedes me).

So in an all-out effort to ensure that I never fell into the trap of too-many expectations, I instead ended up having too few.

I accepted mediocrity because I thought that it was the right thing to do. Love is a choice, so couldn’t I settle for something less than what I wanted and choose to love it? So that’s what I did. I proved that love is a choice that we can make, but sometimes we choose to love things that perhaps we should not.

But where does this leave me? Divorced, fat, grouchy single mom seeks Prince Charming?

PLUS

EQUALS

HA! As if… Never-the-less I thought I would compile a list. THE list. You know, that list that people make about what they really hope for, even if it is ultimately unrealistic.

So prepare for my list. And I do mean literally. You may want to be taking notes here, because I expect to be struck with literary genius.

The Man That I Wish For

1. I WANT A MAN WHO LOVES THE TRUTH:

Being a truth teller is so much different than just being honest. An honest person will say how they think and feel. A truth teller will seek out the truth beyond what they think and feel. I have never once benefited from lies…be they white or black. The truth is what I want, in all things…even in the “does my butt look big in this?” department.

2. I WANT A MAN OF COURAGE:

We live in a world full of cowardice. We are so afraid and so focused on self-preservation that we behave like the villains in our own stories. Courage does not mean that we are not afraid, but that we choose to do what is right…damn the consequences. A courageous man is not an arrogant man, he is not a foolish man, and he is not full of bravado. A courageous man fights to do what is right and just.

3. I WANT A PHYSICALLY STRONG MAN (Personal appearance unimportant):

I came to this conclusion after quite an internal debate. Years ago I focused my attention on attractive men, because I thought that my value would be diminished in the eyes of others if I were with an “ugly” man.

But then I got the tar kicked out of me (funny how pain and suffering changes my perspective).

These days I could care less about physical beauty. On the flip-side, however, is the fact that I now want physical strength.

I married a man who did not carry me over the threshold after our wedding.

I may have understood if he had at least tried. Hell, he could have DRAGGED me over that stupid thing. But he just assumed that I was too heavy for him to bother with, so he didn’t even try.

I won’t lie, that sucked.

I want a man that would find a way, regardless of the obstacles. I can handle being fat, but I can’t handle a weak man.

4. I WANT A MAN WHO LOVES ADVENTURE:
Seriously. When I wrote my bucket list at age 12, the top 3 things listed were as follows:

1. Visit every country in the world.

2. Learn a native dance in each country.

3. Taste as many new foods as possible each day.

If that isn’t clear enough, let me be more specific.

I LOVE adventure.

All of my most precious memories involve a situation where I was utterly unaware of what the outcome would be. I want a man who loves having a home and a family, but who is not content to live stagnant. Growth, challenge, and adventure is what I hope for (with periods of peace and rest thrown in ;).

5. I WANT A MAN WHO SEEKS TRUE FREEDOM:

Not the freedom to do whatever he wants, but the kind of inner freedom that produces good things. Freedom from fear in itself would be a miraculous thing and a sight to behold.

6. I WANT A MAN OF HUMILITY:
Humility is a gift. One that I probably don’t possess as much as I think I do (the fact that I think I have it is a pretty solid indicator that I don’t).

A man of humility does not place himself above others, nor does he consider himself of little value. Humility gives a genuine perspective on how valuable people are without detracting from our own self-worth. It really is an amazing thing.

7. I WANT A MAN WHO CHALLENGES ME:

I quoted this verse in a previous post, but I’m going to do it again.

An open rebuke is better than hidden love!

Wounds from a sincere friend are better than many kisses from an enemy.

As iron sharpens iron, so a friend sharpens a friend.

-Proverbs 27

8. I WANT A MAN WHO WILL TRULY LOVE MY DAUGHTER:

Even though this is late in the list, it is foremost in my heart.

My whole world is intricately woven with my love for my daughter. She is the one that I want to love, protect, teach, encourage…etc. A man without a sincere and healthy love for her could never understand my heart or love who I am…because she is as much a part of me as anything besides God could ever be.

It is my fervent hope that if I ever found this man that he wouldn't settle for less either. I want to be as awesome for somebody else as I want somebody to be awesome for me.

So that was my list. I may add new things when I think of them (because it's my list, and I can do that). And upon reading my own list I have come to one conclusion...

I will probably be single for the rest of my life. ;)

A Farewell To Creation Fest NW

2011-07-26T16:45:00.000-07:00

The year was 2001. The place was the Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA.

It was my very first year working at Creation Festival NW.

I couldn't afford the entrance ticket so I signed on to volunteer with my friends Benjamin and Jacqueline. Upon our arrival (3 days before the festival actually started) I discovered that while Ben got to work as Stage Crew and Jacquie got to work in the Office, I was consigned to Individual Camping. At 110 °F and no shade or AC within 10 miles of us, I thought I was going to DIE.

So did half of my crew apparently, as they all bailed out after receiving their festival passes. So my supervisor found himself with just me and one other kid running our area of the campground. For two days I ran like an insane person...showing people their campsites, answering questions, and assisting with traffic direction. I ended up working 10 hour days instead of the 4 that I had signed up for. Why, you ask?

Because I was having a freaking blast.

It was hot, it was exhausting, I was burnt like toast, I was meeting a new person every 30 seconds...and it was AWESOME. I fed off the energy of the thousands of people that I met and had more fun than someone that exhausted should have had.

So I returned the next year, and the year after that, and the year after that...etc. Eventually I was in charge of the Children's Tent and Worship Stage. I got to welcome David Crowder onto my stage well before he was famous, I got to experience the full awesomeness that is Phredd's live show, and over the past 10 years I have worked with thousands of bands, individuals, honey buckets (NOT easy to work with), and my fellow staff.

As a supervisor, I had the opportunity to witness what it means to be a good leader...and a bad one. I encountered people who were determined to climb the ladder of power as well as people who were determined to encourage the people around them to a position of Christ-like leadership. I saw politics at their worst and volunteers at their best. I've worked with bands that need a good spanking and bands that literally brighten up the world around them.

But on July 24th, 2011 I said goodbye for the final time. I said goodbye to a decade of my life. I said goodbye to early morning Honey Bucket runs, adorable petting zoo goats, children's tent dances, merch tent browsing, arguments about KJ-52 Vs. John Rueben...but most of all I said goodbye to people that I have loved for over a third of my life.


One intensely amazing crew...


Fred and Brian discussing how hard-working they are.


Although it is tempting, do NOT feel sorry for Brian...he probably deserved it.


Rona, my very first supervisor...and Fred, one of the best leaders I have ever known	.

I learned early on that the Children's stage was where I was happiest. DC Talk? No way. Switchfoot or Skillet? Yeah right. Phredd, Bigsby, Mark Thompson, Donut Man...etc. THAT was where it was at. One of my favorite moments in ten years was when Mark Thompson, Phredd, and Bigsby got together for "Elmer's Electric Tricycle".


Left to Right: Bigsby, Mark Thompson, and Phredd.

And I never went without my crew. One of my favorite people to camp and hang out with has always been my little sister, Heather. She spent the majority of her time as one of the only girls on Main Stage Crew.

Heather & Bennji...OH THE STORIES. o_0

Heather in the background having more fun than me. ;)

The very first person that I met at Creation Festival was a little teenage punk named Bennji. He was the biggest flirt I had ever met in my life and his personal self-esteem could easily have powered several small countries. I didn't know at the moment that I met him that his family and mine would become rather inseparable. To this day Heather and I ADORE the Favelle's...as twerpy as they may be.

Left to Right: Bennji, Rick, and Timothy Favelle.

Bennji, just prior to shaking his groove thing.

The majority of my time working with Creation was spent at the Gorge Amphitheater in George, WA.

But in 2010 we moved to the new location in Enumclaw, WA.

2011 was my last year at Creation for several reasons, including the one that trumps all...which is the knowledge that God is moving me on to a new part of my life. But the act of moving on has caused a certain level of grief. I am grieving this loss very much, but I will carry on the memories for my entire life.


Awooga Beep Beep at 5 months pregnant.


Fred, Charity, and Brian. A whole lot of love and a little bit of smart-ass.


Fred, Brian, and I at our collective last day at Creation Festival.

It's been a long, memorable run. It's sad to say goodbye but exciting to look forward. I hope that I have touched at least one life as significantly as my own life has been touched by those that I have worked with. Love you all heaps, rock on.

Abort My Heart: The Action

2011-07-26T01:25:00.000-07:00

I have always been at least mildly active in the Pro-Life realm (see previous post). I vote Pro-Life above all other issues, and refuse to apologize for that.

Fighting to end abortion has always seemed like a lost cause to me. The immensity of the issue crushes my hope that I can ever do anything about it.

But recently I encountered a group of Pro-Life missionaries that rearranged my thinking. Even though taking a political stand is important, what is more important is fighting for the hearts and lives of all the souls involved in abortion. They have taken a stand to save lives, one heart at a time. They provide information, testimonies, love, and hope in the face of great opposition.

Go HERE for their website.

So instead of getting stuck in frustration, I am going to do the best that I can to act in love and fearlessness. This October I will be participating in the Pro-Life Day of Silent Solidarity.

I will take a pile a flyers, strap a red band on my arm, cover my mouth in red duct tape, and go into town for the entire day. A lot of people will call me radical, some will call me crazy, and some may accuse me of making Christians look bad (as if we looked good to begin with). It is not my hope to inspire guilt or shame. Nor is it my desire to seek attention. My greatest hope is that even one person might be persuaded to view an unborn baby as a living, breathing, and valuable soul.

What have I got to lose? My dignity? If I knew that someone was about to murder a 5 year old child, I would move heaven and earth to stop them. So the knowledge that 4,000 mothers every day are going to murder their unborn babies compels me to action. A mother, a father, a child, a doctor, and countless others x 4,000...my heart just burns.

Bombing a clinic is evil and the absolute opposite of the point, protesting without love and compassion is damaging and useless, sitting around twiddling my thumbs does nothing of any value, and conserving my dignity serves no purpose whatsoever.

So if you feel that it's time to take a stand based on love and hope, go HERE and sign up. Pray for the mothers, pray for the fathers, pray for the doctors and the babies. Pray for the people who are fighting to save lives and lead people to the grace of God. Love is the only answer.

Abort My Heart: The Story

2011-07-26T00:46:00.000-07:00

I was 17 the day I had my first profound encounter with abortion.

I grew up Pro-Life. I wasn't Pro-Life because my parents were (even though I can't deny that they were influential), I wasn't Pro-Life because of the expectations of my peers (quite the opposite actually), and I wasn't Pro-Life because of ignorance. I was Pro-Life because I decided early on that every single person has an inestimable value.

But at 17 I hadn't worked through my beliefs fully, and I was just coasting along on the surface of things.
Then one morning I got a call from my cousin. She was pregnant, and she had an appointment set for the abortion. So I did the only thing I knew how to do, I asked her what it would take to change her mind. I told her that I would do anything, ANYTHING, to stop her. I told her that I would adopt her baby.

She agreed. She said that if I would adopt and raise her baby, she wouldn't have the abortion. So I went to tell my parents that I was about to become a teen mom. I wept about the consequences that I faced, I struggled with the idea that my life was about to alter drastically, and I leaned on the knowledge that my family would help me through this. In my memory, I was absolutely fervent in my desire to save and raise this baby. My mom and I talked through the night about the realities that we now faced...both the difficult and the wonderful.

The next day I waited by the phone for the promised call, so that we could discuss how best to go about the situation.

No call came.

Two days later I ran to the ringing phone for the hundredth time, and it was finally her. I started to tell her all of the plans we had made and how we could help her through it all when she stopped me and told me that she had just aborted her baby.

She said that if she had to experience the entire pregnancy and the birth that she wouldn't be able to give up the baby, and she didn't want to experience that kind of emotional pain. She also said that she wasn't ready for a child as she had so much life to live.

My world shattered in my head and my heart fell to pieces. I have never forgotten the pain. Or the anger.

When I was 13 years old, the blockbuster "Titanic" hit the theaters with a vengeance. Like any reasonably cool teenager, I went to see it. For the majority of the film I was unimpressed with stupid people. Sex, selfishness, and hopelessness have never been things that I enjoy in my media (call me a prude, it's probably true). But all in all I was indifferent to the film...until the end. The death of Jack? I could have cared less. But as the camera panned over the water full of frozen, dead bodies, it came across a young mother clutching her dead infant to her frozen bosom. It didn't even take an instant before I burst into sobbing tears. The very idea that half the boats were barely filled, and most of them full of adults while a tiny infant was left to die absolutely devastated me.

I have HATED that movie ever since. To this day I hold an intense grudge against the storytelling habits of James Cameron.

So before I ever had my daughter, I was deeply emotional about children. Movies that had small children suffer or die would leave me in a curled up ball on the floor. Songs that touched on the subject had similar reactions. And God forbid I was actually present when a child was being picked on. I once head-butted a football player 5 years my senior in the groin for throwing a little boy.

But then it happened. I had a baby of my very own. What was intense before became unbearable now. The absolute love for this tiny human utterly rearranged my DNA. Sometimes I look at her and my love is so big that it becomes painful to contain.

And suddenly I felt something...something deep and searing. The immense pain of millions of mothers who have had lives torn from their bodies. Whether by choice or by force, the depth of the loss is no different. Over the past 10 years I have had countless encounters with mothers, fathers, daughters, and sons all deeply and traumatically affected by abortion. And it hasn't mattered whether or not they were Pro-Choice or Pro-Life. It hasn't mattered whether or not they believed that their choice was the right one. Beyond the opinions, politics, and personal feelings...every single one of them still carries an immeasurable burden of suffering because of what was done.

So here I am, with two conflicting emotions. One is a frantic, painful desire to stop the murder of millions of children. The other is the immense and abiding pain for the mothers and fathers who live with the consequences of their decisions. I am angry and frustrated and in pain. How could you? Mothers and fathers! How can you take the very thing that is our greatest gift and accomplishment and reduce it to an inconvenience to be disposed of? In an effort to be self-fulfilled we are murdering the very beings that give us our greatest fulfillment.

And then I remember the terror and depression that I dealt with when I discovered that I was pregnant. If, instead of support and wisdom, I had been surrounded with people who told me to think of myself and kill my child...I may have done the same. In my selfishness and foolishness I may have killed my darling Mina. What if I had been encouraged to abort like so many women are? Would I have done the same?

Thank God that I had people around me full of wisdom, encouragement, and support. Thank God that I had a basic understanding of how precious that little baby was. Thank God that God was with me.

My heart aches for those that do not have what I had. My heart aches for those who now understand a level of loss that no human should ever have to experience. And my heart aches for the millions upon millions of valuable and precious babies that have had to experience the pain and terror of abortion.

Love is our only hope, love is our only answer, and love is where I run to in the face of this holocaust.

"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not boast, it is not proud. It does not dishonor others, it is not self-seeking, it is not easily angered, it keeps no record of wrongs. Love does not delight in evil but rejoices with the truth. It always protects, always trusts, always hopes, always perseveres." - 1st Corinthians 13:4-7

VOCALOID

2011-07-25T16:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I saw an advert. This particular advert was an introduction of a new Toyota and included the image of a manga-style female with stunning blue/green hair.

Upon further inspection I discovered what my youngest sister was shocked that it took me so long to discover...this girl is FAMOUS. o_0 Her name is Hatsune Miku and she is a Vocaloid.

A Vocaloid is a singing synthesizer application. This software enables users to synthesize singing by typing in lyrics and melody. It uses synthesizing technology with specially recorded vocals of voice actors or singers. This is a photo of the Hatsune Miku program...

This in itself would only be mildly cool, but thanks to the graphic depiction of Hatsune, she has become immensely popular as a character. She even has a profile with her personal information available such as age, height, weight, and vocal range. The name of her character comes from a fusion of the Japanese words for first, sound, and future. Her voice is sampled from the Japanese voice actress, Saki Fujita. Songs written using this program are credited to her, and the online community has gone CRAZY for her and the other Vocaloids. Search DeviantArt and you can find a smorgasbord of fan art devoted to these unique characters.

	For a list of all the Vocaloid characters, go HERE. For the Vocaloid website go HERE.
	The further I looked into it, the crazier it got...Hatsune Miku has flash mobs, fan clubs, and a HUGE selection of music. Toyota has even put out several videos as part of their promotion...

Although all of this was mildly interesting to me, I was never fully hooked until I saw the culmination of Toyota's promotion. Earlier this year in Los Angeles, Hatsune Miku, Kagamine Rin and Len, and (my personal favorite) Megurine Luka held a concert.

A concert, people.

It was sold out, it was raved about, it was considered a technological marvel. And frankly, I am a little impressed. Hatsune appears in 3D, with the spotlights, shadows, connection with her live band and live audience, and everything else that makes a concert awesome. How the heck? If this is where we are now...where will we be in ten years?

Hatsune Miku's "World Is Mine"

Hatsune Miku's "Disappearance of Hatsune Miku"(She emotes! Holy crap!)

Hatsune Miku's "Alice" (I actually adore this song)

Kagamine Rin and Kagamine Len's "Migikata no Chou"

Megurine Luka's "Just Be Friends"

Megurine Luka performing in English

My Brother, The Cinematographer

2011-07-16T22:55:00.000-07:00

I have a brother.

But not just a normal brother, a baby brother. I changed his diapers, eyed down the girls who thought he was cute, and endured countless tales of the awesomeness of trains, planes, and automobiles.

So it came as no shock that my darling little bro would decide at 11 years old to do the most annoying thing possible…start filming family life.

OH THE HORROR of some of the footage that little stink has gotten of me over the years. By 13 he and my youngest sister were filming epic stories such as Star Wars 7, 8, and 9…that were mere tiddlywinks compared to their many, MANY more illustrious endeavors. I will never forget the 40 minutes of nothing but Wal-Mart style sales announcements…”And this beautiful used piece of floss can be yours for the small price of only $9.99 at Wal-Mart!”

When my brother (we’ll call him Danny…because it’s catchy…and it’s his name) was 15, he got together with a friend and a cousin to start hashing out a fun and goofy summer home movie. It wasn’t going to be big, and it wasn’t going to cost a dime. However, we all forgot one minor detail…my brother happens to be a bit of a prodigy. So it wasn’t long before the project started to grow. 2 years, a crew of over 100 people, and $10,000 later my 17 year old brother premiered his film Under Liberty in a local theatre to a packed house that included the mayor. His movie didn’t have a big budget and it was completed almost entirely by minors…but by grab, it was decent for a home project! It garnered some attention and got him written up in the local paper.

Danny was featured in The Daily News. Click HERE to read.

To check out the Under Liberty trailer and purchase the DVD go HERE.

Because of the requests that started coming in for Danny as a professional Cinematographer, he and our Dad started up a brand new production company.

To visit Danny's production website go HERE.

SO! Let's just say that a year has passed, along with several jobs offers and a few filming adventures. One of which is the whole reason I decided to write this post. Just before Danny turned 18, he was hired as the Director of Photography for an Indie film being done in the Portland/Vancouver area. This was also featured in a newspaper...but a decidedly larger one.

To read the article from The Columbian, go HERE.

Just last week we got a call announcing that this film, Dancing On The Edge had been chosen for it's 2nd film festival, the New York City International Film Festival. The very next day we were informed that Danny...my 18 year kid brother, had been nominated for the Best Cinematographer award.

So August will find us on our way to New York City, a few straggling pieces of straw still in our hair and eyes wide and brimming with excitement. Here's to the hope that the genius of my brother fulfills him in his life...because if Hollywood tries eating him alive, they'll learn a thing or two about tangling with the wrong crowd.

The Unlovely

2011-07-14T22:23:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I felt beautiful, but today I feel ugly. This is uncommon only in the sense that I often think that I am beautiful, whereas most people will never believe that about themselves.
Frequently I even border on thinking I am smokin' hot...which can be both awesome AND funny.
But other days I feel like I will never again have the opportunity to find love because people don't seem to look past physical appearance long enough to discover the person underneath.

So often people will come to me and say that a "good man" won't care about appearance. If somebody knows a good man who doesn't care about appearance, please let me know. I have met good men, who understand that appearance isn't everything...but they still care, dash it all.

People can't help themselves. How many of us can stand and say that we absolutely do not judge others based on their appearance? We may know better, we may try our best, and we may succeed to a certain degree...but we see a bum on the street and we make assumptions about their desire to find work, or we see a girl with enormous amounts of make-up and instantly believe that we understand her insecurity. I find that even though I deeply understand the pain of being judged based on my appearance, I still can't resist the occasional judgment. I catch myself, give myself a slap on the wrist...then turn around and do the same dang thing again.

So here I am, torn between two forms of thought.

#1. It doesn't matter what you look like, it's who you are inside that matters.

#2. The more beautiful you are, the more people will value you.

I know that there is only one politically correct answer, and that people all around the world would shriek if they even knew that I was contemplating both answers equally. So I thought I would take an honest look.

Inner Beauty

Inner beauty is what determines a persons value in the eyes of God. If you have a heart that seeks good and just things, the fruit of your life will show it.
Most of us have experienced meeting a beautiful person with a hard or wicked heart. We no longer see them quite the same. The absence of inner beauty detracts from their outward appearance.
Even though I know that outer beauty without inner beauty sucks, I can't seem to value the one without the other. If I am ugly on the outside, then who will care what's underneath? Scientists have pointed out repeatedly how a certain head shape indicates whether someone has a big enough brain to have a good life, or how a certain waist-to-hip ratio will indicate whether a woman is a good potential partner...etc. So essentially, we're all preaching what we think is right, but not actually following our own advice. "It's what is inside that matters" gets touted constantly...but who the hell is listening?
For crying out loud, even the Dove "Real Woman Campaign" contained gorgeous women just ever so slightly out of the norm. 10 pounds overweight, visible freckles, or a few wrinkles around the eyes. These are not real women. These are real, beautiful women.

Outer Beauty

Outer beauty may attract people to you, but it doesn't keep them with you. A beautiful person can find someone to date or marry, but they don't have any more or less luck at staying together than an ugly person. Sometimes they have less luck, because they haven't been forced to learn certain life lessons.
Beauty can attract attention that is unwanted. When my sister and I are out and about, I never have a single problem with unwanted advances...whereas she'll endure the catcalls and disrespectful comments.
Physical appearance often determines how well you will do in your career, how much money you will make, and what kind of attention you get from salespeople. I wanted to teach in Korea (I still do), but they choose beauty and physical fitness over experience (they can afford to do this as so many foreigners want to teach there). So I get punted to the wait-list based on my weight.
People are always telling me that popularity isn't all that it's cracked up to be. Let me just say this...I've been popular, and I've been unpopular.. Being popular is a job, with back-stabbing and emotional stress. But so is being unpopular! When no one thinks to invite you places, and you get passed over for the prettier people again and again...you begin to feel worthless. People tend to behave like they are treated. Ugliness is treated as worthlessness, so ugly people tend to feel worthless. Why can't we seem to change this?

Conclusion

I know that being beautiful inside is the important one, I know that (theoretically) there should be a man who looks beyond my appearance and will love me, I even know that beauty isn't all it's cracked up to be. So why do I still feel less valuable? Why am I treated with more care when I dress up than when I'm in my PJ's? Frankly, I think I'm adorable in pajamas...so what the heck is wrong with everyone else?

A Wedding Tale

2011-07-13T01:03:00.000-07:00

May 23rd, 2007:
I was curled up on a hotel bed, BEGGING my mother to hit me with a car the night before my wedding so that I wouldn't have to go through with it. Considering the ridiculous content of the request, I can understand why she chocked it up to nerves and worked to calm me down. I made it to sleep with misgivings and dread. To this day I'm glad I married him, because I got Mina out of the deal...but still!

May 24th, 2007:

I got up full of terror and adrenaline and made my way to the church for the typical beautification. I was there first but was quickly followed by my 7 bridesmaid retinue. Which...I would like to point out, WAS NOT MY FAULT. o_0 Tim had so many guys he wanted in the wedding that I had to pick way more girls than I had intended. But it turned out well...as I still love every single one of them.

Krista and Rasmey...two of the most beautiful girls on Earth.


My cousin Anna, who was awesome and did the styling with help from my cousin Abby. This is Tim getting all gussied up.

Heather, my sis and Maid of Honor. Also known as Rapunzel.


The Dress That Weighed 75 LBS.

Yes, I've always been a bit vain.

So until this point I had been caught up in the hustle and bustle of preparation. But all of a sudden I found myself taking a moment to breath...and the panic sunk in.
I ran outside and my mom followed me...only to receive a barrage of brilliantly deduced and logically thought out reasons why hitting me with the car would be the best thing to do. My two best were...

#1. She only had to tap me to give me an excuse to head to the hospital.
#2. It would give me a way out that didn't hurt Tim or piss people off.

But instead of acknowledging the brilliance of my plan, she called for back-up. Out trotted the Pastor and I got systematically coaxed back into that den of destruction. This is where it gets good...

My dear, well-meaning friend Kathleen came up to me with a bag of white pills, saying that they worked like Ibuprofen and would calm my nerves. So I took the same amount of pills that I would take if they were, indeed, IBUPROFEN. Sadly, what was actually contained in that little baggie (my first clue should have been...THE BAGGIE) was Vicodin.

So yup. I got stoned. On my wedding day. 1/2 an hour before the ceremony.
The good news? I was no longer trying to back out of the wedding. The bad news? I couldn't get my feet under me. I was sitting in the church basement, with stars dancing in front of my face, feeling like there was no way in royal tarnation that I was going to be able to walk down the aisle.

Unbeknownst to me, the Pastor had noticed my condition and set a chair on the stage in the likely event that I couldn't remember how to stand while reciting my vows. But really...my concern was getting to the dang stage without falling on my face. So here I was, propped (quite literally) on my father's arm while he tries to keep my heavy behind in the air as we begin the march. I took my first step...faltered...regained footing...and noticed...

That the church was full of 500 of my FAVORITE people! People EVERYWHERE! YAY ME!
So I crack-walked down that aisle, smiling like an insane person while I waved and greeted every person that I saw.
"Oh you came!"
"How have you been?"
"I've missed you so much! How is your sister?"

All the way to Tim...I was having conversations with my guests, including a few people that I did not know.

Casey and Jess


Donovan and Rasmey


Shannon and Lea


Steve and Krista


Danny and Lisa


Josh and Vee


Casey and Heather


Josh and Jubie

And then there was me...

So I finally make it to Tim and it got worse. I couldn't for the life of me make myself look at him. He was all weepy and sappy looking and I kept erupting into giggles at how ridiculous it was. So instead, I spent all my attention on, and recited my vows to...the best man.


My parents...amused by me I'm sure. ;)


The Bridal Party...in its extensive glory.


Yup...STONED. 0_0


My siblings...how I adore them.

The ceremony itself is a story for another time...full of terrible preachers, hilarious mishaps...and other various disasters. ;) As for now, I was off to the reception...with an increasing need to pee and throw up because of the drugs. This caused many a scene like this...

And I didn't even get to TASTE this...

But I did get to witness this...


Dad and Jubie

And marvel at how my family turned our farmhouse porch into this...

I had so much fun at my reception that they eventually had to kick us out because we wouldn't leave. Sadly (and informatively) Tim and I didn't spend a lot of it together...we were having more fun seeing all of our friends.


My darling O'Shays! Jess, Jer, and Rach...weirdest friend pairing of all time.

NOTE: My photographer was the ever so lovely Julieanne Fry.

ALSO NOTE: The comment below for the far less stoned version of the Vicodin tale. ;) Thanks Kat! Love you forever!

Pain and Guilt

2011-07-12T23:36:00.000-07:00

When I was 15 I was sitting in the passenger seat of our family van in front of a church late one night. There was a song that started to play on the radio and it grabbed hold of me.

In the three minutes that the song played I had an experience I have never forgotten. A boy in his late teens came stumbling drunk down the street with a few of his friends. When he saw me in the van he careened towards me and stuck his head in the window and asked for a kiss.

I wasn't afraid and I wasn't disgusted. Instead, I was struck with this overwhelming sense of pain and grief and I just stared into his eyes. He drew back a few inches and looked stunned, as if I'd just torn his heart in two.

We stayed that way for what seemed like forever, but was only the duration of the song. Just staring into each others eyes...until he began to cry. He jerked out of the window and ran away. I cried for hours.

I had seen something, something I didn't know was possible to just...see...in someone else.

Ever since that day I have not forgotten the song that played. The song that was speaking to me about who he was and what he was suffering.

The song is called The Freshmen by The Verve Pipe...and is about the pain, guilt, and suffering that comes with an abortion.

I have never forgotten, and I never will.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/The_Freshmen_%28song%29

Kiss Me

2011-07-09T01:34:00.000-07:00

Kissing.

That age old expression of affection. Mother to child, friend to friend, lover to lover…kissing is pretty awesome when handled wisely (as in, don’t give your kisses away cheaply). Kissing even has health benefits. It can reduce stress, lower cholesterol, and release adrenaline into your body that burns calories and does wonders for the cardiovascular system.

So lately I realized that it’s been 2 years and 2 months since I last kissed someone (THAT kind of kissing). AND I MISS IT SO MUCH. 0_0

So I thought I would take a trip down memory lane. Maybe it will tide me over until I find somebody worth kissing.

#1. Johnny Morgan

I was 8 years old…I was loud and obnoxious and didn’t have many friends. Johnny was a sweetheart with big ears. I thought he was WONDERFUL. He once saved all of his school merits to buy me the bracelet that I wanted. He saved for months. The culmination of our relationship came on a school afternoon. I was standing at the entrance and he came up to me with a flower he had picked. I would have been delighted with just the flower, but it was accompanied by a kiss on the cheek. I was over the moon…for all of ten seconds until the other kids started to make fun of him. I was furious. I chased each one of them down and delivered an 8-year-old’s version of the wrath of God.

Johnny grew up to be one good-looking stud muffin. Much to my schoolmates’ chagrin and my absolute delight.

#2. Jenepaul

Jenepaul was my favorite friend in my early adolescence. We would crawl into my parents closet and talk about everything. We spent endless hours in that cramped little closet…so really, it was only a matter of time before a kiss was attempted. We were 13 and we had been talking about what love must be like. He started tickling me in the side and told me that people who love each other kiss. My blazingly intelligent response was to tell him that if he didn’t stop tickling me that I was going to kiss him. He proceeded to tickle me more fiercely, so I threatened again…yet MORE tickling ensued. So I leaned forward and gave him the best kiss I could muster…

Right on his teeth.

The goof was smiling like only he could…this huge, blindingly beautiful smile. But in the dark of the closet I did not know this. So I had a wonderfully romantic moment with Jenepaul’s teeth. Thankfully my darling friend gave me a big hug to tell me that it was okay and ease my humiliation.

Jenepaul grew up to be one of the most gorgeous men on the planet. He’s gone now, and has left broken hearts behind him.

#3. Steve

Steve was a boy from England that my parents set me up with. They met him while they were in England and he and I started writing each other. He was a charmer and several years older than me. He came to stay with us for a while and I was a bit smitten. When he first arrived he tried to kiss me right off the bat and got a face full of my “Heck no! My first real kiss has to be awesome!” Poor kid. But it’s all good…he recovered well.

I was standing in the middle of the footbridge that crosses our beautiful local lake, under an umbrella, in the pouring rain, with bursts of sunset coming from the distance. He came to meet me and simply leaned down and kissed me full on the mouth…for several minutes.

I was so overwhelmed that I dropped my umbrella. So yes, there I was with my arms around the neck of a handsome Englishman while he blew my doors off in the rain. I suppose it wouldn’t hurt his ego much to hear this. And yes…my foot did indeed “pop”. It was a heady feeling…that kissing thing.

Steve is now home in England, married to a dear friend of mine, with two gorgeous little girls making his life wonderful.

#4. Sam

Sam was a New Zealander and the boy that I was about to marry. He had decided not to kiss me until he proposed, so it was pretty predictable when it happened. I was very disappointed at the sad little peck that I got, as if it was on cue. What followed however, changed the story.

He proposed at the bottom of a mountain in the middle of a waterfall. This would have been great if he hadn’t been so darn predictable. What I hadn’t predicted however, was his insane plan for the day. He proposed, kissed me, and informed me that we would be climbing the mountain…in our nice clothes…without supplies. So off we trotted up this stupid mountain. When we made it to the top of the ridge that we had aimed for it began to pour buckets of rain, as only the rainy season in New Zealand can do. So we began our descent with dry clothes and solid ground, and ended looking like mud monsters.

Halfway down we stopped, absolutely covered in mud and grass, and started to laugh out loud. He leaned in and put his ridiculously muddy hand on my ridiculously muddy face and kissed me for real. The buzz was intense (kissing buzz, not bug buzz). We slid, kissed, slid, kissed, slid…etc. all the way down that mountain.

Sam is now married in New Zealand and working on his Doctorate. The boy is an entomologist.
This is very funny, so you may laugh.

#5. David

David was my introduction to cheap kisses. Sam had left me just before our wedding and I was reeling. So when David pursued me with fervor, I leaned towards him. He kissed me many times, and well. But his kisses were selfish rather than loving, and his intent was conquest rather than a future. Even though kisses may be good, if you are in the business of selling them for love…they will do nothing but harm.

#6. Roman

As the avalanche goes…

Came Roman. A very handsome, caring friend (sort of) who went to console me after David left me for another woman. Roman and I lasted for all of 2 hours as I discovered two things. #1. I do not like wet, sloppy kisses. #2. Being consoled right after a break-up is a bad idea.

#7. Tim

My Asian boy. We graduated together, road tripped together, and saw each other through almost all of our other relationships. He was my BFF. So it was inevitable that we would fall for each other. He startled the ever-loving daylights out of me the first time he kissed me. It was Christmas and he had driven down from Tacoma to make me breakfast and talk to me about this new relationship that we were dealing with. I asked if we were dealing with a friend love, God love, or romantic love…and the twerp leaned forward and kissed me right then and there. He was a damn good kisser, also pretty ripped and tall and handsome…etc. ;) I really do have good luck with the boys I kiss in terms of physical appearance. SHALLOW. O_0

Tim left when I was pregnant, see the beginning of my blog.

So now…years after my last kiss, I wonder if I will ever get to kiss again? That kissing thing, it’s pretty intense.

The Great Korean War

2011-07-08T13:22:00.000-07:00

My world has been shaken. Utterly and completely shaken.

I got TOLD.

And I don’t mean gently told, or half-told. I don’t mean that I got told something I was aware of, or told in a way that allowed me to preserve my dignity. Nope. I got 100% no-holds-barred TOLD.

History Lesson

Part One (The Day)

Yesterday was a hard day, plain and simple, and I was feeling desperately sorry for myself. I even compiled a list of things to feel sorry for myself about.

#1. The death of Jenepaul

#2. The blow up in my closest personal relationships

#3. The fact that I’ve been running, biking, swimming, dancing…etc. every single day while consuming less than 500 calories worth of fruits, veggies, and whey protein and yet STILL have not lost a single pound.

#4. The aching loneliness that starts coming up every once in a while. I want somebody to hold me and kiss me and take care of me when I struggle.

#5. The knowledge that my whole family is dealing with their own immense struggles right now, so I’ve got no one to talk to or lean on.

So you get the drift…PITY PARTY EXTRAORDINAIRE. o_0

Part Two (The People)

RACHEL (Myself): Honest, brave, and true. Mean, insecure, and self-focused. Most people would easily acknowledge my ability to out-talk, out-argue, and out-fight just about anyone out there. I have an IQ of 168 that doesn’t help me in the slightest. I don’t invent things, I don’t win awards, I don’t gather acclaim...the sole blessing that a high IQ has granted me is a brain that moves like lightning CONSTANTLY. Over-thinking is my middle name. This means that if someone sees a flaw in me, I’ve probably already seen it, questioned it, come to conclusions about it, and tried figuring out how to deal with it by the time they try bringing it to my attention.

So I can’t honestly remember a time when a friend genuinely challenged me in a profound way…because they can never beat me to the punch.

RYAN (My Friend): Honest, hardworking, and intelligent. Stubborn, mean, and self-focused. He works his heart out to achieve what he’s set out to achieve. He’s appealing and genuine and flat-out hard to resist. He can also hurt my feelings more than almost anyone out there and I never really know what he’s thinking (Poker Master). He’s also as big a pain in the butt as I am. I have quite literally met my intellectual match in Ryan. And just to be clear...he's pretty darn handsome as well.

Part Three (The Set)

I had gone to the YMCA so that I could wallow in misery in the sauna (may as well lose weight while wallowing) only to find that the sauna was broken. So I drove to Lake Sacajawea and cried in the evening light.

The Fight

I tried calling and texting a couple of people for support, only to find that they weren’t available. So I texted Ryan.

Texting him was a risky move. I’d tried talking to him a few times before…but got the impression that he didn’t want to talk to me. So I texted him when I was already on the defensive.

This backfired.

I wanted him to care so much about how I was that he came rushing to the Lake to see if I was okay and offer me a hug. I wanted him to feel my pain and realize how much I needed the support. I wanted him to want to be my friend. But what I said didn’t even come remotely close to expressing that. I wanted him to care enough that he would come up with the idea by himself, so I tested him. Had I been thinking like an adult, I would have just said everything up front…but no, Rachel the child kicked in.

Therefore Ryan and I started a fight that literally lasted 4 ½ hours.

I was mad. I was indignant. I was incensed. I was…wrong?

Wait…me? Wrong? Hold the phone now…WHAT THE HELL?

And The Walls Came Down

My friend Ryan gave me a talking to like I have never had. He wasn’t all right. Sometimes he was dead wrong. But I found myself stunned to be at the receiving end of a mail-reading.

Some things hurt my heart very much…like being told how disappointed he was in me. Some things made me mad…like when he said that I was acting like a child.

But dang if he wasn’t right. He started pointing out my heart and my actions with knife-like precision. I couldn’t keep up with the revelations and embarrassments as he just laid me out raw. I behave like a child, I’m selfish, I draw lines with people and leave no room for failure…etc. By the time 2:30 A.M. came around my heart was so raw that I could barely stand.

Yet in the middle of all this, Ryan did comfort me. He told me the truth and challenged me to grow up, but he also made me tea, made me laugh, and held me. I haven’t felt that at rest in a long time…and I was in the middle of getting in trouble. I didn’t want to leave at all. I probably would have fallen asleep and stayed all night if he hadn’t made me go home.

So after all, I found a friend where I least expected it. He behaved like a true friend, telling the truth even if it’s painful to hear. And even though he isn’t perfect, he taught me a lot about what a friend is and that sometimes it doesn’t matter if we suck at being friends…because we're friends despite how much we suck.

An open rebuke
      is better than hidden love!
Wounds from a sincere friend
      are better than many kisses from an enemy.
As iron sharpens iron,
      so a friend sharpens a friend.
                             -Proverbs 27

Photoshop Class

2011-06-23T12:48:00.000-07:00

My skills at Photoshop are not great...but in an effort to keep a record of my progress I am going to post my projects here.

Poetry Through the Years

2011-06-07T02:10:00.000-07:00

I know that poetry is rarely good, seldom entertaining, and mostly horrendous. Never-the-less I have written hundreds of poems over the years. I recently began to rediscover my old writings due to a few significant events in my life. The loss of a friend, the birth of a child, the foolish mistake of a young girl unaware of how brutal consequences can be...

When I was 12 I started penning my thoughts down via poetry (thanks in part to my beloved Jenepaul), and I continued through the years. Even though the following poems are not exemplary pieces of art, they represent some of my greatest struggles, most intense grieving periods, and moments of extreme frustration.

Gypsy

I married for love, and true it was dear

I stay by his side, for his love keeps me near

But hidden below the folds of my soul

Lies a wanderers heart, that never was whole

Give me green for my feet, and blue overhead

My lover beside me, and hay for my bed

There's a good God in Heaven, with a masterful plan

I was born as a gypsy, and a gypsy I am

The stars up above, shine down to my eyes

And I yearn for the earth that knows foreign skies

Over the mountains, and over the sea

My dear friend the west wind will soon come for me

Give me starlight to guide us, and strength for the storm

My lover beside me, for he'll keep me warm

There's a good God in Heaven with a masterful plan

I was born as a gypsy, and a gypsy I am

-suneideises

Bag of Dreams

I had a bag
A bag of dreams
With little pieces of many things

Rainbow colors
A few old stories
Of other worlds and their glories

Year-old words
And memories
A thousand hopes on a thousand leaves

Sorry eyes
That aren't the same
An overused and tired brain

I kept it near
For my own sake
Just in case my heart should break

I saved it all
Not just the good
And wondered if I ever would

Set it aside
With all its truth
And hope that age is lost with youth

Now its heavy
It hurts my head
So I just lie awake in bed

And make a bag
A bag of dreams
That holds my heart and other things.

-suneideises

Ferengi

I saw a color
And it saw me
I touched a star
And it touched me
I healed a wound
And it healed me
My culture is wound
'round a foreign tree

I saw a man
And he saw me
I touched his face
He began to weep
Our colors are so different
Both of us can see
My skin can only lie
With what was given me

I knew a dance
And it knew me
I taught a song
And it taught me
We fought the words
And they fought free
The language I forgot
Has not forgotten me

-suneideises

Star Tears

The stars are dimming with the night
The tears I weep are all alight
Yet here I stand in waking day
Pale flower I, bright river they.

The sun will rise o'er the low
And bid the moon that ere she go
She'll waken lovers with her beam
Til next they meet in starlit dream.

-suneideises

The Garden

Mary, Mary, how does your garden grow?
She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said
"My garden died a long time ago."

"It died on a rainy day because I let go,
Little did I remember that rain turns to snow.
Frostbitten butterflies crying in pain,
My heart couldn't hear them
For I was the same.

"I gave all that I had
To a passing parade
And watched as it walked away
With all I had saved."

"I watched as it rounded

That faraway bend

Then fell back to wait for

My heart to mend"

Mary, Mary, how does your garden grow?
She looked at me with tears in her eyes and said
"My garden died but it maybe will survive."

-suneideises

Whine Whine Whine

They say I'm good with words
I can't say that I don't try
Words can heal, words can hurt
Words can help you cry

The moments in my voice
Are lacking true direction
If I could point by choice
Tonight is your election

You love me well enough
I wish to otherwise accuse
No matter where I delve
I cannot talk to you

I'll never get the better
Your voice stronger than mine
Fighting drives both ways
You listen to form replies

False front though it may be
You have been my enemy
I am angry, it is true
Not all my wounds come from you

Faith, the fight and future
Are all things you chose to teach
Manipulation, in your way
Is what your actions preach

I'm not what you wanted
Selfish, weird and damaged
But I will not be sorry
I can yet be salvaged

When I embarrass you
Better that you come out clean
Just roll your eyes or leave
And I'll just come out mean

Or better yet disown me
Until I learn my lesson
Maybe by that time
I won't want to listen.

-suneideises

The Dream

Today I watched the sun explode
With lightening in my eyes
Amazing all the things we dream
Sleeping under foreign skies

Dreams and fear broke night and day
When sorrow broke the dawn
What there was to throw away
Is now everything that's gone.

I dreamt I gave my heart away
I fear I dreamt too long
For dreaming led to dancing
And turned darkness into song

I dreamt I hated all my fears
And hidden in my soul
Was hatred born of bitterness
In all I'd come to know

I dreamt I lost all I held true
Silence screamed when left alone
I dreamt I'd given up to die
For all I could not hold

I dreamt that I could burn a bridge
With the fire on my tongue
The world lay blackened at my feet
With nowhere else to run

I dreamt a warrior came to me
But passed without a heart
Now he has but run away
And I must fill his part.

"Cowards all, I cry you flee!
From the burning in my eyes
Leave your battles here beside
Let me suffer for your lies."

I dreamt my heart was torn and wild
Let loose for anger's sake
Here it was my mind was lost
When I found I was awake.

-suneideises

If you made it this far, you're a glutton for punishment...and I shall reward you with the seedlings to my most recent work. The first two are songs, the last is a poem. All three are unfinished because I am tired, thirsty, and lonely.

I Want To Be...

I get louder when I’m nervous

I get mean when I am angry

Sometimes I feel like I can hardly breathe

I fall down when I’m alone

I cry when I don’t want to

And never seem to do the things I should

I want to be a princess, but instead I’m just a dragon

I’m standing in the rain, it seems like no one followed me

I get tired when I am sad

I get sore when I don’t sleep

I hurt myself whenever I’m afraid

I scream when I am desperate

I can’t say what I mean

And whenever I am dreaming, I am loved

I want to be a dancer, but instead I’m overweight

I’m standing in the rain, but it seems I’ve come too late

I avoid mirrors, so they won’t tell me I’m getting older

I avoid others, so they can’t show me that I’m not wanted

All these dreams I’ve lived on, are slowly getting buried under

The shadows in my heart

Give Me A Riot

I had a dream, and it was pretty

Of the sun outside the city

Someplace where I could have it all

I had a song, but it was quiet

It needed instruments and riots

Just to bring it down from the clouds

There was a boy, and he was kind

Until I read between the lines

It's not really very funny, but it's true

Now I've got so much to learn

And so much energy to burn

But I'm tired, so tired that I can't breathe

Mina

I ate it hard on a Tuesday morning

Blood in my eyes, splinters in the doorway

My hands were cold and my feet were stone

And the years looked pretty sad alone

I worried that we wouldn’t make it

When I was buying your first blanket

Your beating heart couldn’t rest

As this old pain beat through my chest

The Official Obituary for Jenepaul Engle

2011-06-03T16:59:00.000-07:00

Will be printed in the Pacific County Press, Willapa Harbor Herald, and the Seattle Times. It will also be available for download at http://www.flannerypubs.com/.

Jenepaul Engle, of Seattle, WA, died on Wednesday, May 25^th at the age of 27.

He was born on May 8^th, 1984 at Cherry Point Navel hospital in Havelock, NC. He attended Raymond High School in Raymond, WA and went on to graduate from the Gene Juarez Beauty School in Seattle, WA.

From day one, Jenepaul saw life as an adventure. His innate love for people and his gentle heart were among his greatest strengths. Although he loved music, dancing, and travel, his greatest joy was to love and bless those around him. Among those blessed to know him, not one escaped untouched. He changed lives everywhere he went and brought light into dark places.

Although life was seldom what he expected, Jenepaul continued giving his all. He gave to the people he loved, cherished, and valued. Jenepaul’s favorite quote said a great deal about who he was, "Dream as if you'll live forever, live as if you'll die today."

Jenepaul is survived by his loving parents, Samaria and Craig Allen Stephens. Also surviving are his grandparents Eric and Susan Tangen of Orting, WA; his brothers Robert E Velotta and Jonathon R. Engle; his sister, Jasmine M Kindlespire; his two nephews, Ashton Velotta and Bryson Jimenez; his aunt Senath and her family; his aunt Karen, and his lifelong second family, Mercedes Toro and David Toro.

For those who would like to attend the memorial, there is a Celebration of Life for Jenepaul on July 10^th, 2011 from 2:00 PM until 8:00 PM. The location will be Lake Wilderness State Park in Maple Valley, WA. The lake is a place of many happy memories for Jenepaul and his family, so all are encouraged to come together at the park’s picnic area to share photographs, music, and memories of Jenepaul’s life.

Jenepaul, we have loved you for 27 years, and we will miss you for the rest of our lives. Rest well, dearest one.

A Final Farewell

2011-06-01T23:57:00.000-07:00

How does one mourn the death of a loved one in writing? How do I, knowing the pain that his family is suffering, write an obituary for a beloved friend? Do I follow the acceptable format, with all it's detail, focus, and contrived sayings, or do I write from my heart, with all the emotion and love that ever made a piece of writing unstable? Polished and sensitive, or honest and raw?

If he were still alive, I could say "I love you" and know that tomorrow I could say it again, and again the day after...and again...and again...
But this is my final statement of love, and it is not mine alone, but that of all the people who loved him far more than I. It's like saying goodbye to a piece of your own heart...and I feel unequipped.

Jene-Paul, I miss you, and I am fighting to find the words.

Loss of a Loved One

2011-05-27T22:38:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I received a blow that I don't know how to recover from.

But first, a story...

Nearly 15 years ago I had a friend. His name was Jene-Paul and he was my closest friend at the time. We would frequently be found sitting in my parents closet, talking about where we were going to travel and what adventures we were going to have when we grew up. It was during these "closet talks" that I learned about his past injuries, present pains, and future hopes. Jene-Paul was the most ADHD person I had ever known in my life. Energy flowed out of him in mind-boggling amounts and sometimes he could be exhausting. But I loved him to pieces and thought that we would be friends forever, he was the boy that I attributed my first (both innocent and hilarious) kiss to. At the time he bore an uncanny resemblance to Brad Pitt. His beauty did him very few favors in life...

Jene-Paul and I shared our pain with each other, but in the end he had a longer and harder road ahead of him than I. Life happened, our families moved, and we lost each other. Five years ago I started searching for him, not knowing that he had changed his name. Here and there I would hear a whisper of his name, rumors of his newly discovered homosexuality, his parents divorce, or a painful break-up...but I could never catch up to him. Four months ago I spent nearly two weeks pouring over Facebook, Myspace, and any online network that I could think of. I introduced myself to every Jean-Paul, Jene-Paul, Gene-Pol...etc. out there. I still couldn't find him. My beloved, exhausting, beautiful friend was somewhere that I couldn't see.

Then yesterday my cousin posted a lament on her Facebook over the loss of Jene-Paul. I actually chose to believe that there was some other boy of the same name who had felt overwhelmed by life. But through my cousin I found his dad. And there, for all the world to see, was a photo of my beautiful friend. Dead at 27 years old by his own hand. I finally found him, 18 hours after he left us.

Jene-Paul and his Grandma.

Jene-Paul and his brother.

Jene-Paul at work.

Jene-Paul with his sister, Jasmine, and his mother, Samaria.

The things that I am learning are not things I ever wanted to learn. My heart in pain feels tight and makes my throat ragged, and I can't help hitting my chest with my fist in the hope that the pressure will make the pain go away. I didn't get to tell him that I loved him so much. I didn't get to tell him that Jesus loves him so much. I didn't get to travel with him or fulfill our dreams together.

All I can do is cry my heart out and plead with God over a boy whose heart was so much bigger than he knew how to contain and whose pain was far too great for him to struggle with alone.

Stars

2011-04-16T23:52:00.000-07:00

Sometimes I have a hard time knowing that the dreams I had as a child are not the same dreams that I can pursue anymore. Life threw up some painful obstacles that changed everything as I know it.
So on the days when I'm feeling trapped and landlocked, I find myself some sunshine or some stars and try dreaming up new dreams. It isn't easy, but each day I can breathe a little more.

The Mountain from Terje Sorgjerd on Vimeo.

Balancing Brilliance

2011-03-11T23:31:00.000-08:00

I saw this today and for some reason it appealed to me. A video about balancing things that actually soothes the soul? Go figure...

Song Sapling (A.K.A. What Happens To A Song That Isn't Finished)

2011-01-20T01:20:00.000-08:00

I get louder when I’m nervous

I get mean when I am angry

Sometimes I feel like I can hardly breathe

I fall down when I’m alone

I cry when I don’t want to

And never seem to do the things I should

I want to be a princess, but instead I’m just a dragon

I’m standing in the rain, it seems like no one followed me

I get tired when I am sad

I get sore when I don’t sleep

I hurt myself whenever I’m afraid

I scream when I am desperate

I can’t say what I mean

And whenever I am dreaming, I am loved

I want to be a dancer, but instead I’m overweight

I’m standing in the rain, but it seems I’ve come too late

I avoid mirrors, so they won’t tell me I’m getting older

I avoid others, so they can’t show me that I’m not wanted

All these dreams I’ve lived on, are slowly getting buried under

The shadows in my heart

A Picture & A Song

2010-12-11T23:41:00.000-08:00

Oh My "Tangled" Heart Be Still!

2010-11-30T09:46:00.000-08:00

I believe that it is fairly common knowledge that the glory days of Disney Animation Studios have long since passed away. If it weren't for the life that Pixar breathes into the conglomerate that is all things Disney, we would be stuck with movies such as the semi-horror "kid" film "A Christmas Carol", and the desperate to please but oh-so-not pleasing "Princess & The Frog". They do have the occasionally fun movie event, such as "Bolt", but really...where has the magic been?

It is BACK. Late last night, my youngest sister and I went off on a late-night, epic-style adventure that only happens to desperate single mothers who have finally talked someone into watching the monitor for a few hours. Personally, I was having a blast just being out of the house! Little did I know...

We went and saw "Tangled" in 3D. The heavens smiled down upon us and gave us the entire theater to ourselves. I believe this was God's doing, as he knew full well how much shrieking, jumping, squealing, and throwing of things that was going to occur.

It was AWESOME. I was absolutely swept away.

It was every bit as magical as Beauty & the Beast, equally as beautiful as WALL-e, just as funny as How To Train Your Dragon (not a Disney film, I realize) and my new favorite Disney film of all time.

I realize that some may not agree, but regardless of your personal Disney loyalties...you should get your family, get out of the house, and go see this stunningly beautiful and well-conceived film. And yes, the 3D is actually worth your while...

I Need Thee Every Hour

2010-11-28T09:06:00.000-08:00

"There is a solution for every problem" was what I used to say to myself when life got tough, and for the most part it proved to be true. However, the problem with having an acute ability to solve life's difficulties is that I never really had to lean on God. I had never before experienced anything that was so painful, and so beyond my ability to fix, that I had to give it up to the Lord. If I was afraid then I chose the bravest way through, assuming that it would fix my fear.

But now that I face the darkest pain and deepest fear that I have ever faced before, I know that I have no solution. There is no magical escape route or last minute stunt or heart-felt appeal that will send evil from my doorstep. All of a sudden I only have one choice, and that is to relinquish everything to God.

I have no blithering idea how to do it. Fear begets control with me until I don't know how to physically let go, let alone spiritually.

So if there are any prayer warriors out there...know that a young, dorky, immature, and occasionally hopeless individual could really use the shout-out.

Duck Heads & Mochi

2010-11-01T23:18:00.000-07:00

So today I took my sister and my daughter on an exploratory trip down to Portland. The Mission? Find an awesome Asian market. What we found exceeded our wildest expectations.

http://www.fubonn.com/

It was amazing! All of my favorite foods were there along with countless items I've never even heard of. The gross out factor was also present as we sauntered past skinned pig heads, cow tongues, goat livers, and other wonderful things.So if you feel like a culinary adventure, go check it out!

In Honor of Nana

2010-10-02T18:17:00.000-07:00

Today I found out that my age-old B.F.F. is pregnant. At first I was psyched out of my mind. Then she told me it was a boy and my dreams of forcing our children to play My Little Pony together slowly died away. Until I realized...finally! A boy can play the boy parts! No more "I want to play the girl" fights in the world of My Little Pony grand balls...oh no. Now I am psyched yet again...until she reads this and realizes she may have to protect her son from the plottings of her old friend. ;o)

Confessions of a SoKo Head: Part 2

2010-09-15T21:58:00.000-07:00

I feel like Alice falling into the hole...there seems to be no end of SoKo media on the internet. And I love it! Bring on the scarlet letter of humiliation.

And since I'm already confessing...

2010-09-13T22:09:00.000-07:00

Yes, yes...I know. It can't get much more ridiculous than confessions of love towards Korean TV. But if you think that...you are DEAD WRONG.

Because it can! And it has...

In my new found and abiding love for the guy who didn't get the girl (played by Kim Hyun Joong) I decided to research him. Because research is what I do. The following is a photo of his character Ji Hoo in the series...

And here is a video of his pop band SS501...which I now adore as well. Like I said...it can get more ridiculous.

If this video were sugar I would currently be bouncing off the wall...

Confessions of a SoKo Head

2010-09-13T22:03:00.000-07:00

Last night I cried for hours before going to bed and crying some more. My heart was aching, my chest contracting, my mind racing with thoughts about what could have been...

And then I realized that I was wasting away in misery...over a South Korean television Drama series.

I kid you not. Tears and suffering galore all because the wrong guy got the girl. And I do mean the WRONG guy. After 27 hours of overly-intense, melodramatic action and a relationship that had me grabbing for the tissues while day-dreaming about Asian soul-mates they gave the girl to the wrong stinking guy.

The show is called "Boys Before Flowers"(yep, totally serious fare here...). It has sky-rocketed to fame in Asia and pitter puttered it's way to Hulu here in the States. (For those who dare to tread...go here.)

What was initially the humiliation of staying up way too late for my own good, cramming hours of Korean Drama goodness into my putrefying brain...has now become the uber-humiliation of absolute Fan-dom. Yes, I've put it out there...I LOVE Korean TV!

And Kim Hyun Joong? If you're reading this, please accept my offer of marriage and a life-time of undying love. Thank you, and good night.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3ZKs7BDBVsQ

Unheard

2010-09-05T21:55:00.000-07:00

These are events which secretly occurred,
With a girl, whose voice; remains unheard,
A desperate wave consumes her heart,
Wounding her, eroding her, tearing her apart,
The acid-like hope and the fire of passion to succeed,
Inside her, it would burn and constantly bleed.

As she would battle within, a fearless fight,
She began to doubt that she was ever right,
Ever right, ever true and ever real,
To hear and to speak, to think and to feel,
To her it seemed pointless, to have so much,
When, she couldn’t do with it, anything as such.

She would doubt and question, ‘why, oh why? ’
‘Why have the knowledge, but no permission to try? ’
To attempt to bring her skills to life,
Through study; in itself a struggle and strife,
‘Why have the courage, talent and ability,
When I am clothed and enveloped in disability? ’

Disability of the body, I tell you; no way,
Disability, in having no voice and no say,
She would reflect and laugh and sometimes smile,
At her shortcomings being there all the while,
She would ponder and cry at the cause,
Of her endless defects, and numerous flaws.

Until the point, where she could bear it no more,
The invisible script of hopes, she simply tore,
And in this way, she never again wanted to be tried,
Yes; you got it, she gave in, grew old and died,
Sorrow ate her up, to the very centre, the inner core,
Where the will to succeed, lived no more.

Oh hearer of this call, to whom no sound is audible
Know that each being is indeed credible,
And that her body remains with you, alive today,
Yet her heart lives not, nor breathes the same way,
So these are events that secretly occurred
Within a girl, who will always be unknown; unheard.

Rukhsar Ahmed

At The Back Of The North Wind

2010-09-05T00:38:00.000-07:00

Where did you come from, baby dear?
Out of the everywhere into here.

Where did you get those eyes so blue?
Out of the sky as I came through.

What makes the light in them sparkle and spin?
Some of the starry twinkles left in.

Where did you get that little tear?
I found it waiting when I got here.

What makes your forehead so smooth and high?
A soft hand stroked it as I went by.

What makes your cheek like a warm white rose?
I saw something better than any one knows.

Whence that three-cornered smile of bliss?
Three angels gave me at once a kiss.

Where did you get this pearly ear?
God spoke, and it came out to hear.

Where did you get those arms and hands?
Love made itself into bonds and bands.

Feet, whence did you come, you darling things?
From the same box as the cherubs' wings.

How did they all just come to be you?
God thought about me, and so I grew.

But how did you come to us, you dear?
God thought about you, and so I am here.

The Wisdom of George MacDonald

2010-09-05T00:18:00.000-07:00

"Come, then, affliction, if my Father wills, and be my frowning friend. A friend that frowns is better than a smiling enemy. "

"When I can no more stir my soul to move, and life is but the ashes of a fire; when I can but remember that my heart once used to live and love, long and aspire- O, be thou then the first, the one thou art; be thou the calling, before all answering love, and in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire. "

"Whose work is it but your own to open your eyes? But indeed the business of the universe is to make such a fool out of you that you will know yourself for one, and begin to be wise."

"Man finds it hard to get what he wants, because he does not want the best; God finds it hard to give, because He would give the best, and man will not take it. "

"Then the Old Man of the Earth stooped over the floor of the cave, raised a huge stone from it, and left it leaning. It disclosed a great hole that went plumb-down.
That is the way," he said.
"But there are no stairs."
"You must throw yourself in. There is no other way."

"All that is not God is death."

"It was foolish indeed - thus to run farther and farther from all who could help her, as if she had been seeking a fit spot for the goblin creature to eat her in at his leisure; but that is the way fear serves us: it always sides with the thing we are afraid of."

"Love me, beloved; Hades and Death
Shall vanish away like a frosty breath;
These hands, that now are at home in thine,
Shall clasp thee again, if thou art still mine;
And thou shalt be mine, my spirit's bride,
In the ceaseless flow of eternity's tide,
If the truest love thy heart can know
Meet the truest love that from mine can flow.
Pray God, beloved, for thee and me,
That our sourls may be wedded eternally."

"I repent me of the ignorance wherein I ever said that God made man out of nothing: there is no nothing out of which to make anything; God is all in all, and he made us out of himself. "

"But words are vain; reject them all—
They utter but a feeble part:
Hear thou the depths from which they call,
The voiceless longing of my heart."

The Great Expedition

2010-08-29T23:02:00.000-07:00

Summer 2010 marks the first year of my new Super-Mom mentality! I have picked, cleaned, canned, cooked, boiled, baked, dried, and created my heart out. Mina and I have a sturdy supply of berries, vegetables, syrups, and sauces. My next move is to learn how to make soap! My experimentation with butter-churning was an eye-opener...that's a lot of dang work for a product I don't use all that much. ;o)
Today my younger sisters and I went blackberry hunting. I say hunting rather than picking because I now carry war wounds with me that may indeed scar for life. And after hours and hours of leg-cramping, skin-tearing, face-staining work...we now have blackberry syrup, blackberry cobbler, and jars upon jars of good old fashioned blackberry goodness. I am psyched! My only problem is that I really don't want to open any of them after all the work I put into it. ;o)

So, I'm going to take my charlie-horsing legs and bloodied hands to bed and dream of my new life as the bestest mum ever. Providing nutrition and love to all in need! Until I wake up tomorrow and take a look at the mess I have yet to clean up...

And unto us He came...

2010-08-17T23:21:00.000-07:00

Today was hard. So many things converged on my heart at once. The death of a dear friend, the resurfacing of some old wounds, a painful lack of sleep, and a stupid propensity to watch heart-wrenching videos of military reunions. But the hardest part was hearing my 9 month old baby girl call for her father and knowing that he wasn't going to come for her.

He even had the chance. I'd told him the night before that she had been saying his name over and over and he had led me to believe that he would show up for her today. So when I called him to find out when he was coming I was surprised to find that not only was he not, but he wasn't coming because of his S.A. meeting. I thought it was a revealing decision, but it didn't really sink in until later, when Mina started calling for him yet again.

I never wanted my baby girl to grow up without a daddy. He goes to his Sexaholics Anonymous meetings like they are his new church, his new addiction. Only with S.A. he can convince himself that he's doing the right thing. So I take the call, the one I've heard a thousand times. He won't be here because he needs to get better in order to be here. So he continues to please himself, while I hold my precious baby while she calls for him. It hurts my heart so much that I can hardly breathe.

Sometimes I want so badly to be whole, undefended and at peace. I want Mina to have the things in her heart and life that I feel unequipped to give. I'm terrified that she'll end up as wounded and abrasive as I am. I don't know how to fight everything at once, my fear, my anger, my wounds...God help me.

Mina the Magnificent

2010-08-05T17:03:00.001-07:00

Vote for me in this contest!

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Civil War - A Reenactor Speaks

2010-08-01T22:15:00.000-07:00

I spent many years as a young Civil War reenactor. Most of that time I was a member of the 20th Maine, a well-to-do unit with tight standards. We dressed accurately (down to the layers upon layers of underthings), we spoke correctly, we had a solid knowledge of the period, and we had an ever-loving blast. I remember how much the boys loved to get shot and die glorious fake deaths and I especially remember what happened after the gates closed on Saturday nights. Everyone would put on their best clothes, grab a lamp, and head down to the dance. Boys would bow and tip their hats, girls would curtsy and behave as charmingly as they knew how.

It was wonderful. My sister and I would rate the success of the event based on how many hat tips and "howdy miss" comments we received. It was considered an extreme success if a young gentlemen asked for more than one dance. And nothing can compare to the outright thrill of a handsome young man in uniform requesting that we accompany him for a midnight stroll around the camp (chaperoned, of course).

The smell of campfires still bring back those memories as some of the happiest of my life. So if you feel like doing something a little out of the ordinary, take the family to a local reenactment. In Cowlitz Co. the nearest event is at Ft. Stevens in Astoria on Labor Day weekend. Go check it out!

HeartBlock

2010-07-27T23:25:00.000-07:00

I'm so tired in my head
A little crazy, and I dread
The days ahead, as my heart's ocean
Takes me with her undertow

I was never in there,
Those places that they kept her
Little fighter, had already lost
And yet just kept screaming

I can't seem to let go
All the things that she knows
Her body holds the words she saw
In it's skin and fingertips

Her blood so violently
Just pounding in my chest
With no valley to fly to
And release this endless flow

Project Not Forgotten

2010-07-04T22:13:00.000-07:00

As you are celebrating your freedom with your family and friends this 4th of July…

Rescue Task Force invites you to please take a moment and write a card to our troops. Help us give a severely wounded marine, soldier, sailor or airman just back from Afghanistan or Iraq a smile. As they recover in one of our nation’s military hospitals, R.T.F will deliver your thank you note in a backpack filled with necessities and entertainment to help cheer them up and keep them healing.

Send a thank you note to be included in our “Heart Medicine” backpacks for severely wounded military men and women.

On this special day help us tell them, "You are NOT Forgotten."

Send your letter to:

Project Not Forgotten
27715 Jefferson Ave., Suite 205
Temecula, CA 92590

"We found a way to help heal a broken heart... Never forget"

- Andrea Stone

PLEASE DONATE ONLINE SO THAT WE MAY HELP MANY MORE!
or
Send a check to:
Project Not Forgotten
27715 Jefferson Ave., Ste. 205
Temecula, CA 92590