raeY tsaL nO snoitcelfeR weF A: 7002

If you get me to call you "boyfriend",
There's currently a 40% you will marry a girl from New Mexico
Within two years of the end of our relationship.

Within reason, I like tattooes.
But I'm not sure I'll ever get one.

I think I should have a two drink maximum.
Nothing good happens after two drinks.
Funny things happen. Exciting things happen.
But good things? Rarely.

The only thing better than listening to people speak fluent Spanish,
is speaking it-- however meagerly-- myself.

My two biggest pet peeves at work: people who put gum on plates for ME to throw away, and when the water in the sanitizer bucket for the wipe down towels—is cold and dirty. Bggggggh.

If you throw your cigarette out the car window, and the cinders scatter all over the road so that I have to endanger my life and my car to avoid them OR if i'm forced to plow through them like usual, I MIGHT experience something similar to a rage blackout and "accidentally" smash into the back of your car.

I have a weakness for songs that are inherently and classically seductive.

Cooking and mowing the lawn: two tasks I've come to enjoy doing because of the delightful instant gratification that occurs upon their completion.

I get really empathetically nervous when worship leaders seem or sound nervous while they're leading worship. I try to overcompensate for them and sometimes it totally distracts me.

I understand dogs and dogginess. I don't understand cats and cattiness.

I'm sort of obsessed with people's quirks. I secretly collect them and place them in this intangible Vault Of Future Characters.

Regardless of all her past drama, I think Christina Aguilera's voice is amazing.

Since 1996, every time single time I've walked out of a venue where Toby McKeehan has been on stage, I've felt the same unbridled happiness and energy. I will respect, admire (and probably continue to be starstruck by) that man for the rest of my life.

I'm afraid I am seriously and quite literally addicted to sugar. I want it all the time. Even for breakfast. This problem, compounded with my raging, semi-irrational fear of dental work, is not a good combination.

Being secretly attracted to a friend is exciting, but frustrating.
Being openly mutually attracted to a friend is confusing.
Being secretly in love with a friend is miserable.
But being openly and mutually in love with a friend?
I'm very curious to see what that's like.

Epic Role Models

So at different points throughout my life, I've harbored a secret (or not so secret) desire to be or be just like each of these women.

Mary Poppins: who doesn't want their room clean in a finger snap? And her dress inside the painting?! Yes, please.










Any one of the four members of Point of Grace: first time since Amy Grant that I thought I might want to be a singer.










Belle: I'll always love Jasmine & Ariel too, but Belle with her books and her dreams and her stubbornness and her bangs that never stayed in place-- we were two of a kind.







Lois Lane/Teri Hatcher: mostly because of my raging crush on Clark Kent...
(except I also loved-- coveted, even!-- her haircut. THIS haircut. I know, I know. But i did.)








Kimberly/The Pink Ranger: mostly-- okay, entirely-- because of my raging crush on the green/white/red ranger...










Eponine: tragic heroine-ism at its purest and finest.



















Mara Jade: I know, I'm epically nerdy. But she was a former Imperial assassin and a total badass. And she ended up marrying Luke Skywalker, which sounded like a grand idea when I was 14.













Jennifer Knapp: I think I covered almost every song on her Kansas cd-- for one youth group function or another.








Anastasia: orphaned princess (with amazing red hair) goes on adventure and marries hot kitchen boy who's guts she used to hate... still my favorite kind of storyline. :)








Jean Grey: I know she's not the real or original Dr. Grey-- but she's who made me want to be her.











Mimi Marquez: I'd actually rather NOT be her... just would like to portray her on stage. :)








Arwen Undomiel: annnnnnnd I still want to be her. I still try to be her.
(and this scene is my favorite shot of her-- ever.)














I left a few out... maybe there'll be a volume two.

But it's only 99 cents...

You know that Verizon commercial with the chi looking boy who calls himself a "music hunter"?

I really am one of those.

I don't have a phone to capture songs when I hear them, but I do that in my head. I have been known to write down little chunks of song lyrics from movie or the radio and google them when I get home. (I first heard Feels Like Today on an episode of Smallville.) I have been known to rewind an episode of Scrubs until I can catch a good enough chunk of lyrics to google and locate the artist and song title in order to buy it on iTunes. (Hello, Jeremy Kay!)

I also love hearing people's favorite songs and having them explain why they are their favorite. I love knowing why people love the things they love. I even comb the Celebrity Playlists on iTunes to see if any of the rich and famous have something of substance to offer (I discovered Sia on Jim Carrey's playlist).

I love collecting music. It's one of the things that makes me the happiest.

So... if you want me to buy your favorite song on iTunes, message or comment me in some fashion persuasively convincing me that my life is incomplete without your tune. In other words, tell me why YOU can't live without it. And if I buy it and agree with you-- I'll let you know, AND be forever in your gratitude. :)

Homage

But really, honestly, not one inspired by *sheer vanity.

Rather compiled in a state of amazed gratefulness for his consistent, magnificent use of the remarkable gift God has given him.

I present to you, my singer/songwriter/surfer hero.














*that last picture had a little bit to do with vanity.

Hips Don't Lie?

"If the world was crazy, you know what I'd eat?
A big slice of soup and a whole quart of meat,
A lemonade sandwich, and then I might try
Some roasted ice cream or a bicycle pie,
A nice notebook salad, an underwear roast,
An omelet of hats and some crisp cardboard toast,
A thick malted milk made from pencils and daisies,
And that's what I'd eat if the world was crazy..."
-Shel Silverstein

I'm thinkin I better be on the lookout for that lemonade sandwich... because in addition to all the really crazy things going on in the world today, I was told today, by someone who owns a modeling and talent agency* that if I want to do runway work, I'm probably gonna need to LOSE A LITTLE WEIGHT IN MY HIPS.

To which I (internally) responded "You're kidding, right? Do you know how much steak & chocolate cake I've had to eat to even get THESE?! Or have you not seen me enough to notice that I'm a half-black woman fully entitled to whatever curves I choose/am able to maintain?!?!"

I mean, she didn't say it disdainfully, she's a nice woman. And she's been in the business a long time, so I guess she would know...

But... have you SEEN the skinniness that is me?! Because I have. For 23 years now. And I'm perfectly happy with my weight AND my hard-earned little hips, and have no desire to ever appear malnourished or skeletal. Hence my intense but healthily moderated devotion to beef and cookies.

Man... good thing I don't have a passion for fashion. Or body image problems, for that matter! If I did, I sure wouldn't have gone straight to Fat Mo's after taking my headshots...

Next to anything from Red Robin, that might be the best cheeseburger and fries I've ever eaten. :)

~lady j

*Yeah, I finally signed with an agency. After years of being asked about it, it seemed like a good move. I'm hoping to make some $$$ to pay off all my retarded school loans... but judging by my diet, I'm probably the worst model ever. Hehehehehehe! :)

Leave The Pieces

I have no idea what I'm about to write... you're entitled to be slightly nervous.

I am.

I found something tonight... and upon examination of said mysterious thing, it got me thinking.

There was a point in my life where I fell in love-- i mean, really fell in love-- with a man who had secrets. Kept secrets. He did it to protect me. But he also did it because he-- didn't know what else to do.

One day, not so terribly long ago, he left me. I still don't know why. I never will-- and I can live with that. But if I allow myself the masochistic luxury of pondering, I find myself unsettled. How disorienting it is, to be abandoned, left with your heart in pieces, in the center of a complete mystery.

I wonder how long God is going to have to work on my heart before I truly forgive him and let it all go.

Sometimes I'm terrified that I still love him. I wonder how strong the love of the next is going to have to be to trump my investment in this man from my past. On one hand, there's no doubt in my mind that God is bigger than my judgment lapses, bigger than my ability to hold on to the past, and bigger than my fear of placing all my trust in His divine love and wisdom.

But the feebler, human side of me longs for something microwavable, something warm and instant to slap on my heart and soul that will heal it instantly and blur the hurt of the past into some charming impressionistic piece of art that I can sell on eBay.

Somewhere in the middle of all that, my writer's soul is scowling at me, chiding me for giving voice to the most blasphemous of wishes-- "how dare you-- a woman divinely deemed a raconteur, by the loving, generous, Almighty God-- even think of wishing to muddle the greatest gift and tool of your trade you've been given-- your memory? You should be stripped of your latest tale for even entertaining the thought!"

But the Lord understands my heart. He made it after all. And of all who have witnessed the pain it has endured, He knows better than any, its weaknesses and joys and how much pressure it can withstand.

And He does not rebuke me or love me any less for wishing my pain away.

But he shows me, in small, tangible ways, that my vision is dim and that my plans are nothing compared to those He has for me.

When you were a kid, did you ever actually attempt to carve up a puzzle piece to make it fit into the big picture?

Although I know that my life sometimes has a way of looking pretty together on the outside, some part of me feels that I've secretly made a lifelong hobby/habit of sawing away on puzzle pieces with little useless, plastic safety scissors*-- too stubborn to quit or admit defeat, too defiant to be patience and wait for the right piece to present itself at the right time.

So i guess tonight... I'm finally taking a good look at my retarded scissors.

And I'm putting them down.

No guarantees that I'll never try to touch them again... but I pray I'm wickedly convicted next time I even give their wretched plastic blades a second look.



Psalm 27:14 (New Living Translation)

14 Wait patiently for the Lord.
Be brave and courageous.
Yes, wait patiently for the Lord.



*I had a very specific set of scissors in mind while writing this. Plastic yellow ones with a blue and white sticker of a monkey's face right on the joint that connects the blades. At age 4 or 5, I snipped the single lock of hair off my Carebear's head with one such pair of scissors, thinking it would grow back. It didn't. Therefore, I think it's safe to say that plastic yellow monkey scissors will always spell trouble for me.

Salute to Beardedness

Beards -on men- in winter, are sexy.

They just are. I mean, I'm a fan of handsome manly stubble anyway, but there's something incredibly old world romantic about a man growing a beard when it's cold outside. Several of my friends have begun their journeys into beardedness this month and I am very much a fan.

And so, Men of the East, I entreat you, this No Shave November-- go forth and grow beards!