I'll have the salmon and.. My heart on the rocks, please.

How is it, that we've lost the beauty of a problem?

According to our friends in the dictionary, a problem is simply any question or matter involving difficulty. The diction laureates also state that "difficulty" is nothing more than a trouble or struggle, and that to "struggle" is merely to resolutely contend with a task.

So, how is it that we, as human creatures orbiting about on this rock, have convinced ourselves that problems are something to avoid? How is it that a "problem" is now served piping hot with a generous helping of stress pilaf and sauteed heartache on the side?

When did we lose touch with all the brilliance that is forged whilst contending with struggle?

Was it all those years we spent in school doing peremptory problems on homework and tests, is that how we lost the distinction between arbitrary problems and real life problems which then caused us to lump them both into the same connotation? Is that why we feel they should be avoided all together?

We have become so mired in searching for a bother-free existence in an attempt to be "realistic" as we approach life that we have successfully evaded anything real. We are chasing a folly. There will always be "problems" but that's... fine. That's totally fine. It's not only fine, it's beautiful.

Smile. Problems mean you're alive.

Outside of proving that you still have energy pulsing through your flesh, keeping you upright in your stride from day to day, there is also a permeating excellence inherit in solving a problem.

Think of the resilience of the human spirit that is gilded during adversity.  Be enamored with the idea that we are capable of the tasks at hand. When is the last time you took a moment to revel in the wonder of your own mind? Yes, there may be a problem in front of you, but with that problem you are able to open a cerebral tool box that no other species on earth is capable of. Have you ever made a toast to your deductive reasoning? Or taken your instincts out to lunch for a job well done?

Friends, there is so much joy to be found in solving a "problem."

You know those days when you think...

"My boyfriend never listens. He completely drives me up the wall. I mean, I love him but he makes me crazy!"

Why not take a moment to step back and say: "How fortunate am I? How is it that I am lucky enough to have someone so fused into my life that their very essence can affect me so greatly? What an interesting challenge that poses for me. In a world where so many soldier on unaccompanied, how is it that I have someone that I care for enough to evoke such a cacophonous response within me?

Or those moments when you're verging on a meltdown and think:

"I'm dying at work. I'm doing things that aren't even IN my job description! And for what? There is no direct benefit for this in me. What am I doing here?"

Before you go leaping off the cliff, wait a tick and take a look. You're employed. Something so many in this country pursue. Not only are you employed but you are privileged enough to have a set of tasks that challenge you, that encourage you to utilize your skills, encounter new ones to master along the way, and prove your worth in the scheme of things. Take a moment with your coffee and say "Wow, what providence it is that someone trusts me enough to go above what the job posting said, what a fantastic opportunity to show my superiors what I'm capable of.  The paycheck I receive to stay progressive in my chain of goals doesn't hurt either."

Or those times, tumbling through school when you said:

"If I have to write one more paper this week, I'm going to kill myself. I'm going to wrap my computer cord about my neck and swing from an archway in library. What was I thinking?"

Oh, the brilliant mental bloodshed of college. Again, in the melee of midterms, reports, presentations, practicum hours, and your honors thesis take a second, just a second while your pouring over your notes around 3:00am in a Denny's to say: "What a blessing it is to have the opportunity to be educated. Today, I am able to walk into a classroom and learn; something that people literally giving their life to fight for, all I had to do was take a few tests and pay my tuition. What a divine turn of events that, not only do I have the opportunity to get an education, but because of this tool box, I have the mental capacity to relish in this new knowledge and use it to better of my personal sphere.

While this is obviously piggybacking on the "glass half full" philosophy I am not trying to say that we must always be happy. That is also chasing folly. If we keep ourselves locked in a mental continuum of "I MUST BE HAPPY" we will achieve naught but the injection of unnecessary anxiety. We must give ourselves the permission to feel as we feel. Feeling feels as they come is central to the recipe for a healthy soul. The dialogue should read something like "I am as sad as I need to be, and that is fine for now. I will feel what I feel, but I will feel it in stride."  By sifting the ingredients through a "How fortunate am I?" filter, you will create a palatable result.  You will be able to digest whatever springs forth from life's oven, with little to no heartburn.


After consulting with the chef, I've changed my mind. Hold the rocks,  I'll take my heart straight up, please. It's much healthier for the palate.

Not All Who Wander Are Lost. We're just really good at pretending we know where we're going...

Whoever is responsible for the Cake Walk should punch himself in the face.

Who decided to teach kids that all they had to do was walk around and they would be rewarded, WITH CAKE.

WHO DOES THAT?

Life can't be walked through, right? It needs to be worked through. Isn't that what we were told? Isn't that what we spent all that time in school learning? Acquiring all of the knowledge and the skills necessary for surviving in this world?


Living is hard, LIFE is hard. It is in no way, shape, or form a CAKE WALK.


So, if life is hard, it takes work, and you can't just get things out of nowhere then why does the cake walk exist? All it does is provide the medium for a phrase used to describe exactly what life isn't.

Who did it? Hmm? Who's responsible? WHO. DID. THIS?

OUR PARENTS?
Was the cake walk Mom's idea? Was it the fact that there were several stay-at-home-moms who had an abundance of baked goods, obviously in direct correlation to the fact that they needed something to distract themselves from their own existence? Was it a carefully choreographed method of rationing the hoard? Or was it evidence to support the claim that there was indeed a sweet ending to slaving all day in the kitchen? To show our daughters and future ladies of America that being a housewife was a productive choice? Mom... was it you?

Or was it...

OUR TEACHERS?
Was it a lesson cleverly guised as a jovial activity away from the daunting ordinary lessons to nurture the idea that there is some tangible accolade for pursuing an education? Allowing us to bask in the sprinkled reverie of not only staying in school but being present and involved on a day when there was no school scheduled?  Was it the positive reinforcement they deemed necessary for young people to keep filling the prison style brick buildings without question, which no doubt would gently remind the state that the signing of their feeble paychecks was an essential practice?

OR... No it COULDN'T be... Was it...

OUR CHURCH?
Cake walks are notorious for popping up during festivals sponsored by the church. Could it be the palpal powers' attempt at illustrating the blessings so commonly referred to in scripture and religious testaments? "Love Jesus. Eat cake." Or was it a clever, chocolaty blanket draped over the psyches of emerging minds to mask the blatant holes in theology en masse? No need for further inquiry, Love Jesus. Eat cake. It's that simple.


So, who? WHO? Whose ulterior motives are trying to seduce the youth by means of frosted, eye-catching goodness?

Well, dear friends, it is possible that maybe, just, maybe, there is a triumvirate at work.

It is abundantly clear that parents, teachers, and the church are a construct triplicate inducing buttercream frosted exploitation.

Yet, friends, before we fully allow red velvet McCarthyism to envenom wholesome baked goodness, we must consider the prospect that this confectionary trek is not taken on the grounds that a bitter twenty something looking back on his far too recent childhood may esteem.

There is a very real chance that, perhaps, it was an endeavor to imbue in us the concept of self-worth.

In the myriad of colored circles, walking about while music plays, hopping from shape to shape, or the random drawing of names or numbers from a colorful hat, one true fact remains:

All one had to do was be present to win.

Be there. That's it.

The hue of our flesh, the geography of our birth, the fiscal worth of our family's assets, or the gender of our valentine is of absolutely no merit.

Everyone present is given a chance to have their cake and eat it too.

Literally.

And here friends, pun intended, is the icing on the cake: If one did not get his just desserts upon the first round of chance, all he need do is keep walking. Eventually he is victorious.

There are no guaranteed success rate in this game, there is no mathematical equation that will determine when one receives his cake, the only solace in this confectioner's paradise is this: Those who keep walking will be rewarded.

We will get our sweet ending, friends.    Just keep dancing to the music.

Carry On My Wayward Self

I always manage to blog at a turning point in my existence, it just happens. Sorrynotsorry. I am lucky enough to have friends in low places where the whiskey drowns and the beer chases, BUT I am also lucky enough to have friends in some pretty fabulous places. That being said, here comes today's lesson from the learning:

When life fucks you over, fight back, find your friends, and fly.

If you don't like your current existence, change it.
There is no use being stagnant and going broke by staying somewhere that doesn't make you happy. You have to put your time in anywhere to get established, that's obvious, but there's no use in trying to fit in a place that requires you to shave so much of yourself away. That's a puzzle that you don't want to be a part of. Fix it.

Fight Back
Get proactive. No good comes out of wallowing in your loathing. No to mention, mild depression is a sneaky and crafty villain that will waste no time creeping up you to engulf your life.  Make a plan, do whatever you have to furnish your next step. And then take it.

Find Your Friends
If you're too proud to ask, like I am... Swallow it. Ask. Remember all of the people that said, "If you need anything, just ask?" find these people, and START. ASKING. Most people will do what they can to help, it may not be the fix-all answer you were searching for but take what you can get while it's available. Rome wasn't built in a day; so why would you expect your life to be?

Fly
This is it. Take a breath. Look around. Jump.  Yes, it will be scary. Yes, you will feel like you have no idea what you have just done, but you will have made a change. That's what matters.  Proactivity is always a plus. Norman Vincent Peale said "Empty pockets never held anyone back. Only empty heads and empty hearts can do that."
It doesn't take a full pocket to have a full heart or a full mind, it only takes a full commitment to YOU.

YOU decide what you love, YOU decide what makes you happy, and YOU give you worth.


                          Do what you love.  Love who you love.  Be who you are.


Everything will work out in the end. If it's not worked out, it's not the end.

                                           Fly far, and fly free my cherubs. 
                                                 Love and life to you all.

Quips, Quails, and Quizzical Insight...

Here's the thing.  I think it's fair to say that I have ridiculously neglected this Blog.  Such is the price to pay for being sassy, and long-winded but a hater of writing.  I've decided to take this time to look at a few things in my 20/20 hindsight.

1.) I'm a trend whore.
I set up this blog as part of an argument to  not get a Twitter account. WELL, after year and a half, almost 1,000 tweets and nearly 200 followers we can see how that turned out.


2.) My iPhone is an enabler.
I've realized that being able to have an outlet at my fingertips is most defs what keeps me from sassing anything over 40 characters, because any more than that is ridiculous for your thumbs and terrible for your eyes on that tiny screen.

3.) Being Sassy Saves Lives.
Through this portal I have been able to spread awareness in a faster amount of time, and there is a LOT of awesome potential there, especially since I have started my career as an independent professional artist.  A Blog is much too long form to whore yourself out to the masses.

4.) Twitter Does Not Mean You Can Be A Twit.
The downside to this new social media is the fact that certain people think they can reinvent themselves and are exempt from any ramifications that come from their remarks.  Listen kids, don't tweet anything you wouldn't want your Auntie to read. Even if she is the cool open minded one who lives on the coast. I am all for free expression but we cannot go all anarchist with our quippy and cutting opinions.  That face in the picture is still yours, the name on your profile is still how people will refer to you, and if you can't be 100% proud of 100% of the content. Fix it.

5.) This Post Needs Ritalin. I Know.
I apologize for the ramshackle thought process that went into this post and I am fully aware that it is not really long enough to be Blog worthy, but it's too long for Twitter SO... DEAL.

All this being said I am trying to get back in the swing of using this blog.  If you can't fully conceive and articulate your thoughts, shut up until you can. Never say anything that you cannot defend. This is a good practice space for me to do just that.

This is a new day of personal artistry.  Treat it as such. Go out and Live.

In the words of Auntie Mame "Life's a banquet, and most poor sonsofbitches are starving to death."

Sometimes the Golden Rule turns to Iron Pyrite

Hello World!

It's been a while, a loooooong while, so yeah... Sorry for that. But I figured why not come back strong with a rant? SO HERE IT GOES.

Ok so one thing that I learned at a very young age was the Golden Rule, and for those of you who were not brought up with a "Good Christian Education" [cough] that Golden Rule states:

"Do unto others as you would have them do unto you"

Which has been, pretty much, how I have tried to structure my life.  And for the most part, it has worked out incredibly well for all involved.

But then comes those choice few folks who translate your kindness in a horrendously skewed way and begin to feel entitled to certain parts of your affection that you had absolutely no intention of letting them have.

It's like, all of a sudden, you become a teddy bear that they can just lather with hugs and kisses at their leisure, and you are just supposed to sit up straight with your little button nose and take it.

Listen folks.  I am not the Tangerine Bear. I did not accidentally go through the "BearSmile" machine upside down resulting in a frown being stitched on my face so I then become starved for all types of human affection because the little girls and boys that come through the used toy store do not want me.

Don't look at me like that, it's a pinnacle Christmas movie from my Childhood. Netflix it.

Anyway.

It's not that I don't love people, and I do want people to feel that I am approachable, HOWEVER, that does not mean that you can lithe up to me like a snake and cop a feel, or take a hug that wasn't offered, OR GIVE ME A KISS THAT I DID NOT ASK FOR.  Kisses are special. They are not to be passed about like valentines in a kindergarten classroom.

So do us a favor, oh misinterpretive ones. Make sure that you have set the grounds, MUTUAL GROUNDS, for physical human contact before you go and take it.  Because some of us, as loving as we are, save certain things for certain people and if you are not one of those people, it says nothing about you... It's just... Some of us just have a select few that we share friendly pecks or nuzzles with, others we keep at arms length, a loving length mind you, for our own well being.  Some of us only have a limited supply of unadulterated affection, so we have to ration it.

That being said, share love, love all, give love. Just watch out much you consume, it can be stifling.

Keep that in mind all of you lithe-y takers out there.

Bella Vita

"Well I'm gonna paint my front door red and change my name to Elizabeth Arden..."

We've all heard the phrase "That which does not kill us makes us stronger." These immortal words were penned by Robert Harling in his stage play Steel Magnolias, further immortalized when they were spoken by Dolly Parton in the 1989 film.  Great words to live by, no doubt about that but as of recent I have found that another phrase from Harling's Magnolias has been ringing true in my life.

"I'd rather have 30 seconds of wonderful than a lifetime of nothing special"
Shelby's new philosophy on life, as delivered by the innocent and earnest Julia Roberts. I want to personally thank Robert Harling for this insight.  By now you're probably thinking "This is different, no sassy commentary?" Well no worries...... Here it comes

Robert, darling that message is wonderful, but damn near IMPOSSIBLE to truly live by.  Especially for us thinkers out there, and OH am I a thinker. I can't help but think past that 30 seconds to wonder what comes next. Do you really expect us to just throw it all in and then pick ourselves up later when it's over? 30 seconds? The average time it takes to clean a mirror? That's it? That little moment in time is worth everything? Well it all sounds great in theory but in practice not so much. Like mathematical proofs, rarely working when it's put into practice because certain variable are impossible to maintain.

Well Harling, I'll tell you what I'm going to do.... I'm going to thumb my nose in your direction and then give it a go.

I can't believe it, but I've finally met someone who is worth all of the risk. But let me just say that fighting your own brain is not a battle easily won. So if you want to join the crusade BE READY.  Get ready to go through an emotional pattern commonly seen in a pregnant woman. Wanting to cry simply because it's almost too wonderful, becoming a cuddle-bug of EPIC proportions, feeling the need to blog about your new life mission and feelings on the matter, and impractical food cravings. (The last one might be just me BUT.... I included it anyway)

As cheesy as it sounds I'm kind of seeing life in a new way. Forcing yourself to sit back and take life as it comes is a great skill to have and when you have it time only seems to rush by when you look back at all of the wonderful times you have had.

So if you think you're up for the challenge give the ladies who make up the Magnolias a wink, take a deep breath, close your eyes, and leap.

Thank you Robert, Dolly, and Julia for the words, now it's time to solve that proof. So if you're with me, take that deep breath and join me on the front lines.

                                                                Let the battle begin.

Premonition: It's not just a Sandra Bullock heart-stopper anymore...

I'm still speechless...

In a span of 72 hours  I saw the movie Baby Blues (a horror/thriller about a mom going crazy due to postpartum depression) and watched the Disney classic Bambi. Now these are two events that seem relatively removed from one another.... I thought so too.

WE WERE WRONG.

On the third day on my way back to Illinois it all came to a head.  A doe decided to launch herself at my car as I was traveling down the highway at 70 mph.

No I didn't hit her, she literally jumped from the ditch at my car and then was knocked back into the ditch. She hit me and she meant it.

I then realized what was happening. My two previous evenings were colliding. She was a postpartum doe on the verge, but instead of killing her kids like the woman does in Baby Blues decided to take her own life, fulfilling the Bambi motif.

And then I got to thinking.... You know we never actually see Bambi's mom get shot. We never see her fall, or even the hunters who supposedly kill her.  We only see Bambi running and hear a gunshot.  What  if this whole time we've been under a false illusion that Bambi's mom was murdered?  I mean this postpartum doe can't be the first right?

It makes sense.  Not only was she a mom, but can you imagine the pressure of being the mother of the Young Prince of the forest? Especially with absolutely no support from the paternal side.  That's a lot. Having to be the Great Prince of the Forest's babymama and to have no help? Girl please.  Bambi's mom killed herself, there's no way around it.

Maybe I'm just seeing an unlikely coincidence, maybe I'm loopy from the $4,000 repair estimate. But it's possible.   Think about it.

Peer Pressure is a Real Thing...

I did it.
Oh my God.... I did it.
I got a Twitter.
It was not something that I ever intended on doing, in fact I swore to myself that getting a Twitter was not an option. Ever. Well apparently I didn't realize how much peer pressure builds up when you go on an audition tour with people who treat Twitter like a nicotine addiction or who suffer from an extreme case of Twitterrhea.  Have you ever told someone no and then had to sleep between them 5 minutes later? Yep. Looking at you like two year olds who are trying to gain access to the cookie jar before dinner, puppy-dog eyes glistening, waiting for you to say "FINE...."Well it's hard stuff people!  So, I have fallen.  And the worst part is this blog has suffered. HOWEVER, I'm going to get back on the train pistols blazing. Until next time, Pink eye is the stink eye.

My Goodies, My Goodies, My Goodies Not my goodies!

Listen Ladies, we need to talk.  I think you're going to want to sit down for this... No literally sit.  I want to talk with you about the Fanny Floss Faux Pa that has seem to crop up more and more lately.  Let's just two things straight first.  1) Thongs are not actual underwear (and not nearly as cute as boy shorts) and 2) LEGGINGS ARE NOT PANTS.  So what does this mean? It means that it is NEVER OK to wear a thong under a dress, especially when walking up stairs and contrary to popular belief ladies leggings are not the answer to everything.  Every fabric, when stretched far enough becomes shear at some point.  So, if you've got some junk in the trunk it's probably not the best idea to let those goodies hang out with the fanny floss.  Honestly, I don't understand the purpose of thongs, they are a neglige NOT an undergarment.  I get the whole idea of making the dreaded panty line vanish, but couldn't we have come up with something a little more practical? A Piece of string that holds nothing but a small piece of cloth over your lady parts? Really? That's it?  What about your other naughty bits? Like your ass cheeks. Could we not find a suitable undergarment that would create a smooth line without letting your cheeks trip the light fantastic around behind you.  I am ashamed Fashion Industry. Ashamed.

As for leggings ladies, if you put a veil over someone's face you can still see the general shape of that face.  Butt cheeks don't (hopefully) have lots of ravines, bumps, and curves you will find in a face but rather a smooth rounded surface.  So seeing overall shape is not difficult, because they are two of the same shape side by side!  Also ladies, be honest about your caboose size, if you've got two Boohbahs fighting around back there THONGS SHOULD NOT BE AN OPTION.  EVER.

So please, spare us.... No one wants your ham hocks staring them in the face.  Have you ever tried to finish a meal after being face to face with Mt. Gluteus? Ya, no thanks.  Spare us the lady humps and keep goodies in the candy shoppe.  That's all.

They're Here....

Ok so I've recently come to a new conclusion. Have you ever discovered that the second you need something it isn't there? And I mean, LITERALLY is not in the spot where it has been the last thousand times you've seen it? Well, that's my life.  And friends have suggested that the culprit might be the ghost that lives in our house and I said" Naw... I don't think so, A) The paranormal and I have a very pleasant relationship and B) This started happening to me a long time before I moved into this house" And then I had an epiphany, "Wait...I figured it out, it all makes sense now... there's a poltergeist living in my tote bag."  Now before you write me off think about it. It makes sense, things move to places you SWEAR you have not been.  Where things end up just doesn't make sense.  This phenomenon seems to follow me wherever I go and what else follows me every I go? My tote bag.  So I'm currently in the market for two things to test this theory: 1) A little girl to stare at my tote and tell me if there's anything in there and 2) If there is, a frumpy midget woman with coke bottle glasses to rid me of the phantom and assure me "This bag is cleeya" So if anyone knows where I can find a psychic four year old and a midget medium in a denim skirt LET ME KNOW.  I keep my life in that bag and I need my life to not stack chairs in creepy cheerleading-style pyramids and I really don't have time to spend worrying that I'm going to get sucked into a TV.
Well there it is, my first random musing and I think I'll keep it up, just like I'm going to keep trying to rid my life of the Tote Bag Poltergeist.

The start to an interesting adventure

So, I've finally jumped on the blogging craze... Well, not so much jumped on but rather hitched a ride in order to evade Twitter, which I have sworn I will never partake in. So, here it goes! This first post will really be just a kind of expository one for me.  I love to live, I LOVE to people watch, and I LOVE to muse about what I find.  So get ready because here they come!