That which deserves to live...lives!

I Heart the 9ers: or How I’ve Been Converted to Pure Religion

2010-08-23T12:51:00.000-07:00

Ladies and Gentlemen, I have finally been inducted to a very elite group of people. We are 100 million strong. We are vehement and volatile, and we will win. We are football nation!

For the first time ever, I sat in the cathedral of worship and cheered my saints on as they did battle against the forces of evil (otherwise known as Brett Favre). For the first time ever, I understood what it meant to scream and be heard because after all these years the TV still doesn’t listen. I learned about the most powerful man on the field; the TV network guy with the orange gloves that tells everyone when they can and can’t play. I learned that from the 30 yard line everything looks better and make a whole helluva lot more sense than watching a very limited perspective on Fox. I learned why people throw their hearts and souls into this. But most importantly, I’ve learned that I still like the bratwursts at the Giants' stadium better.

So here is me, eating my words. Football is not as slow as it seems on TV. The hits really do seem that hard especially when you hear it from 100 feet up. Those guys work their butts off. And yes, football is fun to watch.

There is something to be said about a stadium full of people all united in a single cause: winning. Whether it be our team or theirs makes no difference. What counts it that we’re there cheering our boys on in fighting the good fight, even if that means grown men to strip down to their purple boxers to prove a point. We’re in it to win it.

At the core, football nation is fundamentally the definition of pure religion. There is absolute devotion. There are a set of beliefs and practices that are agreed upon by a number of people. And the groups of adherers practice the faith every Sat, Sun, Mon, etc. from now until early February. They never waiver and they don’t switch sides. That would be heresy. And while the sacrilege of worshipping the almighty pigskin rather than the Almighty offends most, you have to realize that football nation is probably more fervent in their prayers than the rest of us. How, you ask? Because while we only devote one day to worship and take the rest of the week off, even in the off-season they’re wishing and hoping that next year perhaps they’ll be the ones to be exalted.

Caveat Emptor: or, How There is No Such Thing as Customer Service

2010-08-16T13:07:00.000-07:00

Three examples that there is no such thing as customer service:

1)The JetBlue employee who jettisoned all over a passenger then did the same to himself, out an Airbus 320.

2)The crazy McNugget lady who apparently has been drinking too much of the McDonald’s Kool-Aid, even for their taste.

3)The waiter at my local Mexican who threw a wrapped burrito at a customer because she dare have the audacity to come back and tell him that he got her order wrong.

Excuse me people, but what the f@#$?! Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure that in each and everyone one of those cases the person providing and/or asking for the service provoked the other in a manner that they weren’t accustomed causing a chain of events that spiraled out of control. But, whatever happened to the customer is always right? Would it have killed the McDonald’s employees to see that this woman was obviously upset and told her that they would pop some “chicken” nuggets in the microwave, or deep-fryer or whatever they use to reconstitute processed meat-parts that in some countries dogs won’t even eat? They couldn’t just say to her, “Ma’am, we don’t normally serve them at this hour, but if you wait a few minutes I’ll get some from the back freezer for you.” Is it really that hard? Really? Apparently, yes.

Apparently, the people who have decided to enter the service industry don’t really understand what the word service means. To define: to be of use. Meaning, here’s how the equation works: Request + Service = Results. As far as I can tell, no one is being useful on either side of the equation. As far as I can tell, no one wants results; we all want to walk around like sycophantic fools pretending that bad attitudes and a sense of entitlement will actually get us somewhere. Get your heads out of the sand, little ostriches. Puffing up your feathers to seem bigger still gets you eaten on the savannah.

Then who’s at fault, the attitudinal employee or the self-centered douche who refuses to comply to what it means to be a good customer? And the winner is…both! So what if the over-worked waiter gets your $5.50 burrito order wrong, that doesn’t give you a right to storm back into the restaurant like Hurricane Bessie and get up in his grill. Nor does that give the waiter the right to rip the burrito out of her hands, make her another one then throw it in her face all whilst screaming at her in Spanish to (unrepeatable actions).

How about we all take a deep breath? How about we realize that in this lightening-speed, need-it-now society there are still a lot of things that take time? How about we realize that there are still a lot of things that don’t take any time at all? Like a deep breath and a smile.

Monday's Musings

2010-08-09T16:59:00.000-07:00

Dad always said that, “I am what I am”; ok so that was originally Popeye, but both of them apparently got it right. In an article published today, a study states that our personalities are pretty much set by the time we enter first grade or around the age of seven. Seven? Really? Do you know what I was doing at the age of seven? Picking my nose, telling fart jokes, and stuffing my eighteen month old sister into leftover Christmas boxes. So they’re saying I haven’t changed much in the following decades? Truthfully, probably not and I’d surmise a guess that no one else has either.

On the flipside, do you know what I was when I was seven? I was a voracious reader, an avid talker, a lover of sophistication, a budding musician, a stubborn child, a horse aficionado, a shoe whore, a runner, a dreamer, a listener, a lover of all people and things (except my mother’s zucchini boats which hasn’t exactly changed), a strong-willed, self-determined fighter for the injustices of this world especially if I thought my brother was receiving preferential treatment, but above all I was a writer. A writer, you say. Yes, a writer. And let’s be honest, how many other seven year olds do you know that keep a journal pretty religiously for the next twenty-some-odd years? Yeah, that’s what I thought.

Here’s the deal. We are what we are and I’ve always been one to observe nature, be it my own or others, and put pen to paper to take note. I’ve always been one who made books out of cardboard, construction paper and big fat pencils. I still do; I’m just upgrading to pixels powered by lithium batteries. And, in an effort to stretch my skills just a little bit further and do my best to change my personality against all odds I’m instituting Monday’s Musings: a conglomeration of the week’s weirdness, my own and everyone else’s around me. While the inaugural posting is lame by even an old mare’s standards, I promise you they will get better. So check back every Monday (or perhaps Tuesday morning if you’re like my parents and don’t stay up late) to be shocked, awed, amazed or bored.

Until next week, I leave you with my favorite childhood riddle as told to me by dear old Dad. (Nathan and Boydo are not allowed to answer.) First one to answer correctly gets a shout out next week.

~ev

Riddle: You die after which to come upon two doors, one which leads to eternal salvation and the other which leads to eternal damnation. In front of each door you have an angel, one which always tells the truth and one which always lies. You may ask one question to one angel so that you get to that sweet, sweet land of eternal pina coladas and warm-ocean breezes. What is the question that you ask and then which door do you pick?

Decisions

2009-10-13T22:07:00.001-07:00

It rained today. I stood on the beach in my trench coat and green wellies watching the waves crash against the shore then watching the raindrops make impressions on the sand in their wake. It had been so long since it had rained and I wanted to be out in it. I tried to remember when that was. A year ago in the same coat, but on a street corner with a man I had just barely met. It wasn't supposed to rain, and we were caught unaware by it. I think it annoyed him. All I could think of was Singin' in the Rain after Gene Kelley left whats-her-name on the doorstep. I hadn't taken myself for a romantic. I suppose we can still surprise ourselves sometimes. We were trying to find a place to eat that was still open which we eventually did. It was the first of many very good meals shared though the only one I remember sharing through precipitation. Perhaps I'm wrong. I'm wrong about a lot of things these days.

It stopped raining today. I walked home from work as the sun set against lingering storm clouds casting against them the most vivid red hue I've seen. I tried to remember if I've ever seen a color like that before. Once, on the way to dinner months later with the same man.

As I walked home today the sun set, the rain washed all the city smells from the street and I thought about time and change and how there are no what-ifs in nature they're only ares.

There are decisions that we make, decisions that alter the course of our lives that were made in moments of haste, anger, fear, frustration, but most often as a method of self-preservation. We human beings are so fragile, so inept, so proud. We think we know what's best for us, what's going to make us happy, what's going to keep us safe. We don't. If we did we would keep our mouths shut; we would be more patient, more loving, more kind. But we don't. So we say things we don't mean, do things we wish we hadn't in the name of our pride, our lack of understanding.

Then comes living with the decision. Believe me, I can do it. I'm strong enough and certainly stubborn enough to plow through my own mess. I don't necessarily want to. The truth of the matter is looking back on it, even if it appears as no time at all has passed, I can see clearly that I made decisions that I didn't really want to make. Decisions that feed into my own fears, my own what-ifs. But if I'd been patient, and had I been kind. But, if, had...

It may be true that there are only ares, there is also was; and was was good. So while the streets may be cleaned and the shore cleared of receding footprints, there was a dinner, there was a sunset, there was a shooting star, and there was a warm October night. It rained today and I remembered was. I will not forget.

2009-07-27T23:10:00.000-07:00

Old Writings from a New Girl

2009-07-13T18:56:00.000-07:00

I was digging through some of my old playwriting materials, and I found this stream-of-conscience assignment that I had to do for a class. It is always interesting to look back on our old selves to see how far we've come or haven't. Either way I got a kick out of how intense, for lack of a better word, it was. That aspect of me certainly hasn't changed. Anyway, enjoy...or worry.

Well, what do you think? Here I am all dolled up and nowhere to go. The story of my life. Well mirror, when are you going to talk back? Stupid piece of glass. That Queen got her's to work, didn't she? Or was it that she was schizophrenic and heard herself talking to herself? I think that may be your problem. Are you talking to me? Wait a minute. Ha! Ha! Just kidding. All I'm doing is looking in the mirror, and all I see is Munch, de Kooning, Pollack, Dali, Margritte, Bosch. Hawthorne is distrubing too, but I only see a little of him. I have dreams; ones that haunt. Every night the same dream; the same dream as the old man. I travel; sometimes I walk, sometimes I ride. I search, but there is no treasure. The guard tells me to search in my own house under my stove. I do. There is still nothing there. Then the fog rolls in, a bellow drones across the sea, and I see Max riding in his ship. I'm never sure if he is going or coming; if he has played with the Wild Things or is just about to face his fears. I never know. All I see is him sitting on the sea being rocked by that fog that is all-consuming. I cry for Max and the old man sometimes. Mirror, I wake and my pillow is damp with salt. Sometimes, I'll lick my cheek and taste the bitterness of the last night. Why is it that I don't have happy dreams? Why is it mirror, that when I look into you, stare into those eyes that stare back, I drown? The movie set swims and I fall into an abyss that ends up being the eternity of space. I blink; the set focuses and mascara is running down my face. Mirror, what do you think? Do I look okay?

A Perfect Day

2009-06-29T11:51:00.000-07:00

What constitutes a perfect day?

It's different depending on your mood, your circumstance, your location. A perfect day could be watching cartoons in your pajamas all day, or a perfect ice cream cone when it's hot outside. "A" is misleading, as if you can't have more then one; or they all have to live up to the last perfect day that you had. Not true. In order to have a perfect day all you have to do is to be in the moment, ready for whatever adventures may or may not come your way.

Yesterday was a perfect day.

Meeting new friends while listening to French-Afro Funk (is that even a genre?) at Stern Grove, which I didn't even know existed in the City. A little music oasis in an otherwise bustling metropolis.

Relaxing on Ocean Beach with one of the most fabulous people ever while enjoying probably the only day warm enough that I've experienced to be on the beach without a full-on down parka.

Then dinner watching the sunset over the Pacific Ocean.
Not too bad way to spend twenty-four hours. In fact, I'll use it as a reminder in the future that no matter how hard things get, no matter how bleak I feel the outlook, there are perfect days waiting to be had; perfect days that are an extraordinary blessing to remind us that we are loved, we are cherished and we are not forgotten.

Too all of you....go out and have a perfect day!!

As an aside...a huge credit to all those who took these pictures because I certainly didn't.

Manitu...here to take the world by storm!!

2009-06-11T20:53:00.000-07:00

Ladies and gentlemen,
Stop the presses! Can we talk for one minute about the Sanchez boys and the amazing family that got them where they are? I am so excited to actually be listening to Manitu's new album on myspace that is just about to drop. Hellooo!!!! Can we say talented people? Say it with me now...tal-en-ted! Nothing but good things to say. From listening to them play Santaria at their sister's wedding to being signed by Sony. This is amazing, absolutely amazing. I have no doubt they are going to conquer the music world; neither do any of the other people in your life who love you. You guys come from amazing people. Don't forget that. Best of luck to you all. And Marcos, I'm still holding you to your promise of me getting to see you on the the Billboard Top 100.

Don't forget to check them out http://www.myspace.com/manitumusic

Olfactory senses

2009-05-12T15:24:00.000-07:00

I find it ironic that the smell of roses should remind me of my grandfather.

Seen and Heard

2009-05-06T16:16:00.000-07:00

Man do I wish I had a camera phone, but I don't, so you'll just have to imagine. I'm on my way to lunch. A tall, thirtyish-looking man comes out of the Ferry Building wearing khakis, an un-tucked, salmon-colored polo shirt with the collar popped, round tortoise shell glasses that would put Harry Potter shame, a BreathRite nasal strip, talking on his Blackberry with a mint green mini-flosser in his mouth. The man was flossing his teeth in public while talking on his Blackberry!! Seriously? Some people and their hopeless nature to fit into society at large...I have got to get a camera.

The Question

2009-04-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

What manner of men ought ye to be? Even as I am.

While I doubt very highly that he did a lot of apologizing, I do know that he's definitely a master at forgiving. I fortunately need both.

The time here is so brief; too brief to be screwing it all up with our doubts, insecurities, petty grievances. God knows I'm trying; you may not though.

I am sorry. I will probably eventually say those words to your face. In case I don't, in case something happens, or in case I lose courage. . .I lied to you and I am sorry. Hopefully, you'll be able to answer that question better than I have in the last few days. I do hope so. We are all so in need of both sides of the equation.

Philia, eros, & agape

2009-03-18T22:03:00.000-07:00

I look into those dark honeyed eyes and I feel myself beginning to fall.

The question is, will you be there to catch me?

Being...

2009-02-16T20:13:00.000-08:00

I sound a clarion call out into the darkness; willing an answer.

I see my past behind me always behind me; the same, never changing.

I see myself in this moment demanding the immediate; impatient, impish, imprudent.

I see my future endless stretching before me; forever shifting it's course with each choice.

I do not see how it all connects though.

I am not God, blessed with omniscient omnipotence; though I would will that too if I could.

I am a child, I am a woman, I am a hag. All these and more am I.

I am the then, the now, the will be.

I am all these and more.

I am.

Bitch Fest

2009-02-02T13:28:00.000-08:00

My brother started a blog and while he says he feels on dirty inside, I am slowly beginning to feel the effects of simmering sibling rivalry and rage. Why, do you ask. Well first off, does sibling rivalry ever need an explanation. Secondly, he's better at it than I am. And, of the things that I truly hate in this life, it is him being better at me at anything. The sad fact of the matter that equates to just about everything except matching his clothing. But he never really gave a damn anyway so I can't even hold that over him. You can't hold something over someone who doesn't care.

Four posts in and he has already exhibited his adept and adroit nature for handling the English language. He has also shown his ability to exaggerate within reason, drawing the reader in with a hairs breadth of believability, and a satirist's skill of belittling his audience without them even realizing it. He's gifted and talented and witty, everything that I am not in my writing and it fucking pisses me off to no end. While I, who have no natural ability to weave diatribes and stories out of thin air, struggle day in and day out actually writing; he sits down for a whole thirty seconds and gracefully punctuates deft sentences deflating weak arguments.

So, yes. I am raging and pissed that I lack the natural talent that my brother possesses and doesn't even realize or utilize. And, yes. I hope he reads this and chokes on his own word vomit.

We all age. No one ever grows up.

...

2009-01-21T20:32:00.000-08:00

The skies are gray spattered with rays of sunshine
And tears trickle from the heavens
My mood mirrors her unstable patterns

My god
He is beautiful.
I join the heavens in their weeping
For betimes beauty evokes
the power
of
a drop
of
water

I'm a bum and not funny. Who knew?

2009-01-14T15:18:00.001-08:00

SO...after reading everyone's posts that I haven't in a really long time. I decided that everyone is really funny, witty, ancedotal, or otherwise a fully functioning member of the family, community, society in which they live. And, I have decided that I am a bum.

Yes, a bum like the homeless people on the street begging for change. While I don't necessarily beg for change I do beg the pithy experiences that you all have. This is not to say that my life is devoid of humerous moments or ancedotal morality plays. I'm simply saying my stories aren't cute, they tend to be gritty and have only a vague sense of sardonic humor to them. I have stories of strange men and crack pipes or crazy people soliciting for their dog's cancer surgery or protests in the streets or garbage trucks waking me up at the buttcrack of dawn. None of these things are two-year old cute or funny to anyone but me in a sick, sick sort of way.

However, while I don't have cute or endearing stories, I do have 65 degree January days, and a seagull that knows me by sight, and clear nights on my roof with stars shimmering in the distance while traffic roars below. Ah...serenity! I'm a bum and I love it. What can I say?

I will say this, for the time being I'll survive off your stories for true, unadulterated humor and remember Brianna dressed in her mother's boots voguing for me, Astrid playing swimmer, Adri chasing cats, Kai being Wall-e, and all the other zany antics you've shared. Because believe you me, coming from a now hardened cynic that really is funny.

And I like a whore must unpack my heart with words...

2009-01-10T23:45:00.000-08:00

"You know a heart can be broken, but it keeps on beating just the same." And the faster you run the harder it pounds against your chest never letting you forget that it's there, counting each moment past like clockworks; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
Carve it out with a spoon, you beg. Because it will hurt less than the continual counting; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
Let it turn to ash, it's already searing. Every face turns to their's and every stranger's footfall echoes with memory, so take those as well so I can forget. But, I can never forget. Take my eyes, my ears, my heart and every single solitary memory will still resound in the hollows of the empty shell.
My mind will still relive the counting; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
The counting that happened when we were together; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
The counting that happens still when you're gone; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
Counting; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
Counting; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
Counting; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
The broken heart keeps beating and I keep running faster; tha-thump, tha-thump, tha-thump.
I don't want to forget.

God is great and the nature of destiny

2009-01-06T19:18:00.000-08:00

Guy walks into a diner, approaches a girl that you know from the beginning is supposed to be his and says to her, "You are my density." "Huh" "I mean...destiny." Probably the most brilliant movie line ever and one of the weightiest. Make no mistake our destinies are quite dense.

Not everyone believes in destiny, that the stars or the gods or God is guiding our lives, sending us in the directions that we belong into myriads of different scenarios that will teach us who we are to become, who we were and who we will always be. Whether or not one harbors that personal belief, I think most would find it hard to refute that life often has a very particular way of working out miraculously at the moments when we need it to or more often than not at the moments when we least expect it. So if one would not call this destiny, what would you call it? Coincidence? A remarkable concurrence of events or circumstances without apparent causal connection?

No. Just because one cannot see a connection does not mean it is not there. Just as a deaf man cannot say music does not exist because his ears do not allow him that joy. The connection is there, the guiding powers of the universe are there, destiny is there. And that is what makes God great. He gives us the opportunity to race up and meet that path. The death, the destruction, the poverty, the sorrow, the joy, the love, the laughter. All are a piece to our puzzle. All pieces, the universe tells us, are for our benefit, your personal benefit.

The Christian belief states that Jesus Christ came to Earth to suffer and die for the sins of mankind. I say bollocks. I say that sacrifice was made for me. Me. And if, in that council in heaven, God in his infinite wisdom knew that I would be the only one to make it back, he still would have made the world for me, and come to it to make that sacrifice. How do I know that? I am his child.

A mortal parent will do anything for their child. They would move mountains, if they but had the power. They would see every path that child took be smoothed so as to see them not stumble. How then can I deny that my godly parent would provide me with less? How can I assume that he who has the power would not move the very stars in their heavens to see that I learn who I am to become, who I was and who I will always be? For that is destiny, is it not?

Ah...but he does. Every day, the world works for me and I in turn work as a piece in the destiny of others, because we are all the sheet and the truth is that I am not the only child. God is great. And, it is written. Embrace it and rush up to meet it.

December??

2008-12-25T12:14:00.000-08:00

I can't believe I've gone all month without a post. Oh wait, yes I can. I just want to say that as the new year approaches and we lay this old one to rest, I couldn't have done it without each of you. I love you guys!!! Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year.

Angels

2008-11-23T20:26:00.000-08:00

"Who, if I cried out, would hear me among the angels' hierarchies?"

There are angels among us, wandering unaware of what they truly are. And, what truly is an angel? A helping hand, a comforting soul, a genuine smile. All of these things and more. An angel is that soul that listens, listens to the voice on the wind that is the very voice of God. I thank that voice for the overwhelming existence. I thank that voice for angels.

For "we, who do need such great mysteries, we for whom grief is so often the source of our spirit's growth-: could we exist without them?" ~Rilke

Fate, Changes and Follow-up

2008-11-17T18:35:00.000-08:00

Several of you voiced sincere concerns over my last post. For that I thank you. And, not surprisingly 11-11-08 passed without event. I didn't fall off the pier. I didn't get hit by a trolley car. I didn't even have so much as a stomach ache. What did happen is that fate offered me an opportunity to change and take charge of my debilitating fear of the unknown.

So on that day of days and with great trepidation in my heart, I made the very distinct choice to face that fear, stop sabotaging myself, allow myself the leniency of imperfection and the possibility of happiness and decided to become instead a self-saviortor, a self knower. The greatest journey begins with a step and my first step was to allow my self the emotions that I so often deny yet that are so human to all of us and then step into the unknown regardless of the pain and joy that would be waiting for me. I will continue to fear. However, for the moment, I am content to begin to trust myself, to trust my judgements and to trust those around me that I have chosen to embrace.

Thank you for your prayers. Thank you for your love. Thank you for showing me that there is another way to be. I am indebted to you all.

11-11

2008-11-10T19:59:00.000-08:00

11-11, it is my luckiest of days. I was born at 11:11am at 1111 Pine Street. I've lived at 1111 Chestnut and 1111 California Street drew me to San Francisco. And, at 11:11 every day, I let fate know how I would like the time until the sun sets to be spent, the majority of the time comes true. Whether I will that into existence or fate chooses to smile down on me, I know not. Yet, as I lay my head down this evening I feel a sense of foreboding, a sense of fear that I have not felt in a very, very long time; a sense that my world that I have worked so hard to construct over the last several months will come crashing down around me even as the very clock strikes to waken me on my lucky day.

The funny thing about luck though is that it eventually runs out or she turns on you like a jilted and jealous lover. I have tried to be gentle with her, tried to show my gratitude for her gifts which she has so generously bestowed. But, I cannot shake the feeling that somehow I offended her, that somehow my luck went on too long. I am scared. Oh God, I am scared and I do not know if I'll make it through tomorrow. Call it what you will, the ramblings of a fool or the misgiving of the ill-informed. I cannot shake it though and a dark cloud hangs over my spirit. The angels have abandoned me. Please God, let it not be true....

The Last Two Weeks...

2008-10-15T21:05:00.000-07:00

Life has stopped and started and stopped again. After which it started and I found I've become a whole new person with more feeling, depth and forgiveness than I knew I was capable of. I've also discovered that I can be a very ugly human being at moments with a fierce wrath and belligerence that has not been tempered with time. I've probed the depths of my desires and found that I'm not as far away as I think I am. I've fallen in and out of love and back in again. I've longed desperately for missed company and wished that I didn't lack courage. And, the beauty of the entire situation is that I've done nothing. It has all fallen in my lap and is entirely out of my hands. That being said here is my prayer... it is meant for all ears and every heart. I whisper it to the heavens with every fiber of my being.

Father,
I love thee. I am so grateful for thy arm, thy grace, thy mercy and thy love. I have asked and begged and pleaded and you have heard. And, that is how I know you love me. Because you listen. You listen to every word, every intonation, every thought. And, knowing that you listen, hear me now. Father, bless and strengthen those who have the courage to follow you when I did not. Bless those who have dreams that cannot be dampened. Mend the breaking hearts of those whose sole desire is to be loved. Guide the words of those who are in love. Help find a home for those I love who are homeless. Help the weary to find strength and give those weary the dreams that they've long forgotten. Soften the hearts of the abused. Let them know it is not their fault and they can change. Give time to the traveler so they may rest. Bring laughter to the child so that she may make her parents smile and remember. To those who question you, plant a seed of faith that it may grow and if you are so inclined, miracles. And for the ones I love, knowledge. Knowledge that thou are the true and living God and that I am your child, humbled, willing and weak. Thank you Father. Thank you for your love, for your guidance, for your unwavering faith in me, in my family, in my friends. Please, please let us remember that we are all, as surely as the sun rises, your children. Guide our paths and lead us into thy embrace.
Amen.

Tombstones & Obituaries

2008-09-16T23:49:00.000-07:00

"I am pretty sure the word “irrepressible” will somehow find its way onto your tombstone, if that’s not too morbid a sentiment for you."

Someone sent those words to me in response to an email I sent out. Now, while the thought of trying to get an irrepressible corpse into a box sent me into hysterics, it got me to thinking. What would I put on my tombstone? What would be said in my obituary? So, rather than wait until that fateful day is here to see what would go on my tombstone. And, rather than have someone write some made up sentimentalities about me, this is what I would say to all of you who are actually fortunate enough to not have died while diving off the Acapulco cliffs.

Erin Lynne Vomocil
B 1-3-81 D ???
"Irrepressible. Obviously I'm not in the coffin."

"To the not so dearly departed, you should have jumped. I died while flying. What can you say you died doing?"

God....I am in love with life right now.

My new boyfriend...25 years too early

2008-09-15T21:33:00.000-07:00

A couple of week ago, I was in Seattle for work after which I got to hang out with my long lost girlfriend Carrie. Of course when you just "drop in" on a Friday afternoon on a woman who has two kids, a Georgia bulldog, a husband, and two jobs, not to mention laundry to do, mouths to feed and groceries to shop for, life gets interesting. So, in exactly Carrie's style (and I wouldn't have had it any other way!) we head to Pike's Place, have the best doughnuts I've ever had and I don't even like doughnuts, and head to the grocery store to shop for cheese, bread, olives, all the good food in life. Now, while Carrie is desperately trying to find things to feed her guest and her family, her two year old Kai has taken to running around the store. I, in an attempt to help, pick Kai up, look him in the eye and tell him that he's going to hang with me for awhile. He growls at me.

Now, it should be noted, that while Kai can talk, he just doesn't. He prefers to be the man's man and make truly manly noises like grunting, growling, and sounding like a truck. And, let me tell you ladies, there is nothing quite like a man who growls. So after Carrie gets back to her house, unpacks the groceries, washes the fruit she bought, puts it in a fruit bowl, tries to wrangle her children, answer her phone, deal with tenants, catch up with me after six years of not seeing me, I sit on the couch and play crasher trucks with her growling two year old. Good friend, I know.

Anyway, Carrie finally comes to join me on the couch and reminisce when Kai disappears. The next thing I know, he has come back from the kitchen with a bowl of freshly washed grapes, he puts the bowl on the couch, and then promptly proceeds to feed me grape after green grape. Apparently, I had made an impression. But, I want you to know it was then and there that I fell truly, deeply and madly in love. My whole life I have wanted nothing more than a man who growls and feed me grapes. ALAS...he has come along twenty-five years to early in his case and twenty-five years to late in mine. But, don't you worry one bit my little growler. If your Mom says it's okay and you're not totally weirded out by rich, divorced, older women I will totally be your sugar momma come the year 2033!

Too much....

2008-09-11T17:00:00.001-07:00

Call me busy, call me crazy, call me stupid, but it took me until just this moment to realize that today is 9/11. I've written tens of emails, submitted checks, had to look at my calendar at least a thousand times and not once did it cross my mind that I was supposed to be in memoriam today. I don't forget most of the other holidays. I don't forget birthdays, anniversaries, weddings, bar mitzvahs, all the other important events in life. And yet, I forgot today. Why?

I've never been allowed to forget, that's why. For the past seven years, every where you turn you're inundated with the atrocity of it all. You're inundated with the subsequent war. You're inundated with the inadequate politics that have governed since then and that have botched just about everything. It is never ending. I am living that day over and over and over and over. So I pose this to the masses. If I am still in the nightmare, how can I remember it?

Utah...as much as it pains me...felt like home

2008-09-08T23:00:00.000-07:00

So...I have been told yet again that I am not writing enough or frequently enough. My apologies. It is hard though. My life simply isn't as anecdotal as yours. Children provide an endless stream of one-liners and stories. I am just not that funny regardless of what people have said. Wry, yes. Sarcastic, yes. But, seriously! How on earth can I compete with Astrid peeing on the carpet because I took her diaper off and let her run while I was supposed to be watching her and looking absolutely adorable while doing it? (Jasmine, thank you for not getting mad.) I can't make peeing on the carpet cute. At my age it means one of two things. One, I'm either piss drunk or two, I'm incontinent. Either way it is not a good sign. Incontinence under the age of thirty cannot lead to long term health. Anyway, I seriously digress.

My main point of sitting down and writing this evening was to thank every one who I got to see in Utah for all growing up so beautifully and happy. It gives me vast amounts of hope that you can't even fathom. Hope that yes, for a sinner like me, I too may someday have children that wipe snot on my shirts and husbands that would rather eat pizza than tofu and a pocket full of friends that for one summer evening can get together and reminisce about how things were, how wonderful they are now, and how there are so many more amazing things in store. For once in my wanderer's existence, I felt home. Thank you so much you guys! I love you all!

Apparently...

2008-07-22T16:31:00.001-07:00

Someone actually reads my blog....Go figure. It surprised me though. So in light of that information, I am going to resolve to post more for the whole 2.47 people that actually check this. This day's topic of discuss, how much Erin hates the fact she hasn't worked out over the last year because now that her trainer is kicking her back into shape and it hurts like h.e.double hockeysticks. So...being lazy is much easier. Less satisfying but easier. I have another session after work and I am thinking of all the ways that I can break something between here and the busstop so I don't have to go. Nothing is coming to mind. Looks like I'm going.

....

2008-06-28T10:44:00.000-07:00

Not that anyone reads this stupid thing, but I felt the overwhelming need to send accounts out into cyberspace. So here they are thoughtless thoughts filling the void. Today, a Palestinian boy looked me in the eyes as I ate falafel and smiled. An old woman looked at my skirt and frowned. A grown man told me not to bend over as the bad men would look. And, a Messianic Jew brought a tear to my eye. A breeze came out of no where and cooled by brow and for the first time in a long time I was at peace with the world; if only for a moment.

Time...

2008-05-05T16:19:00.000-07:00

It just goes by way too fast and suddenly you look around and realized that you're possibly further from your dreams than when you started dreaming. There are two ways to deal with the passage of time; one, you fight it with every ounce of strength that you have or two, you accept it and live your life. Either way, you come to the stark realization of how little control you truly have. Nothing, NOTHING, is on your timetable. Every thing is on God's. And, since we never have the foresight he has, we get frustrated with him or maybe I should say I get frustrated with him. I won't speak for anyone else.

Because I love Jasmine...

2008-02-29T20:21:00.000-08:00

How long have you been together? Together...what do you mean by together?

How long did you date? Dating is such a finite term...

How old is he? Old enough to vote and to buy beer and young enough he isn't in AARP.

Who said "I love you" first? I will, but probably in some foreign language because I get verklempt.

Who is taller? Please, oh, please let him be.

Who sings better? Me, I rock the mike like a vandal...

Who is smarter? That would be me. Have you seen me in glasses?

Who does the laundry? The Chinese lady around the corner. She even comes to pick it up.

Who does the dishes? I eat with my hands.

Who sleeps on the right side of the bed? Mister Cellophane

Who pays the bills? AMB Property Corporation

Who mows the lawn? I water the house plants, does that count?

Who cooks dinner? Which ever restaurant lets me in...

Who is more stubborn? Good question...don't know.

Who asked who out? I would definitely be doing the asking. Too impatient.

Who proposed? Again, probably me.

Who is more sensitive? I sure hope he is. I didn't even cry in the ending of Turner and Hooch. Heartless I know.

Who has more friends? I do. I have so many people I love spread all over the world.

Who has more siblings? It will be tough to beat 6.

I don't tag anyone because all the people who actually read my blog have already posted. :)

Love!!

2008-01-10T12:54:00.000-08:00

Amie Jo! I love you!!!!

Holiday parties and New Year's Resolutions

2007-12-30T21:26:00.000-08:00

A picture of me looking swanky at the work holiday party....

New year's resolution...tell each of you more often that I love you!

Poem by someone I can't remember

2007-12-24T23:18:00.000-08:00

There are people you think about often,
Thoughts that bring warmth and good cheer,
For thoughts have a way of brightening the day
And making the mile disappear.

There are people whose lives are so special,
Whose friendship and love mean so much,
But somehow you know that wherever you go
In thought, you will never lose touch.

my favorite things....

2007-12-02T23:15:00.001-08:00

This is how I see me living this life I call mine. It resonates.

Why I could never live in New York...

2007-11-08T23:14:00.001-08:00

I like wearing jeans to work.

Yo, ho, ho and a bottle of rum...

2007-11-08T22:27:00.001-08:00

Wednesday morning was ominous. The fog hung thick like I've rarely ever seen and the horns bellowed somewhere in the ether. The walk down the pier to work was the same as always, the afternoon was not.

I cannot describe to you the burning sensation that lingered in my nose and throat or the nausea that enveloped me completely. I could stand up without feeling disoriented and my only thought was to get a breath of fresh air. Some 58,000 gallons of fuel floated outside on my beautiful ocean and strangled everything that it touched. Some drunk or disoriented sailor crashed a 800 foot cargo ship into the Bay Bridge and now everything was dying.

Dying so that I could have a t-shirt, a computer game, a lead-based toy a little cheaper than if I had built it myself. The seagulls that I fed everyday at lunch weren't calling to me now. The pelicans were not skimming the water in perfect unison. The sea lion was no where to be found. Everything is dying. Most of it is dead already.

What happens in Vegas, stays in Vegas

2007-10-28T01:26:00.000-07:00

Wish I could tell ya'll what happened this week in Vegas, but I can't. Have to follow the rules you know.

Conspicuous Consumption

2007-10-18T23:30:00.000-07:00

When the 400 entered Mrs. Astor's ballroom, there was one thought going through their heads, "Will I know anyone to talk to?" Lucky for them, society was limited, courtesy of their hostess, so once they've been to one of these shin-digs they all got to be very comfortable with each other. Today's society is quite different, we're all nouvou riche and there is no such thing a polite society anymore. So when we enter the ballroom we think one of two things, "Where's the booze or my god, what is that thing hanging from the window?" Which we then promptly vocalize for the entire gathering to hear. Now, while those thoughts certain did pass through the 400's collective conscience, they sure as hell didn't vocalize them inside the ballroom! They also dressed appropriately because a women wouldn't be seen in anything less than her absolute best there. I suppose all this leads me to the point of how utterly crass and tasteless our society has become. While the drapes may not be your taste or the champagne not to your liking, don't assume you can show up like some A. Jackson invite and be welcomed with open arms for your worst taste and shallow conversation. Am I looking for structure, absolutely. Am I looking for a remnant of class, you betcha. There are societal constructs for a reason and while I may be young, I still search for a time that smacks of polite conversation occurred because you sure as hell wouldn't say what you thought to the queen of New York society. It would have meant your head.

When the lights go down in the city...

2007-10-10T15:11:00.000-07:00

Magic happens after dark here. All the tourists leave, the commuters de-commute and you are left standing under these towering steel giants shrouded in fog and wondering if Sam Spade will saunter out from around the corner with his burning golden eyes. Instead you step onto the cable car aware that you're the only rider and it's very well likely to remain that way. The bell echoes off the false canyons and you stare at your reflection in the glass. A chill runs up your spine and a wicked smile spreads across your face. Possession overpowers you. You own the entire city, never mind the drivers or the one straggler you see on the street. You are the only one and everything or anything the city has to offer is yours. Power, unadulterated, is yours to use. The feeling is overwhelming for a moment. Then, the chill of the night hits you as you step down from your chariot and reality sinks in as you still have ten more blocks to walk. Yet, the smile still lingers as does the hope that the blonde devil might be waiting at your doorstep.

But of you it is required to forgive all men

2007-10-01T21:54:00.000-07:00

What constitutes friendship? What constitutes love? How do you distinguish the two, when do you distinguish the two? C.S. Lewis said, "Love is not affectionate feeling, but a steady wish for the loved person's ultimate good as far as it can be obtained." But, here's the trick to it all. Something happens, something small, something that frightens or upsets us and we retract that wish. We say to ourselves, how dare you be so selfish, how dare you be so unfeeling or uncommunicative. And little by little, just as we gave, we take away, until suddenly we realize that we don't love them anymore, we don't want them to succeed in their dreams and aspirations. They are supposed to be filling my wish, not theirs. There are all these roadblocks, these impediments that hinder us and the worst part is we put them there.

So what do we do then? Stop, breathe, pray. Realize that no matter how selfish I become in my heart's core, ay, in my heart of heart, I truly do wish for their success. In fact, I beg for it daily. Oh...what I would not give to see you succeed. What I would not give to see you reach the pinnacle of perfection. I have not always been your champion and God knows I will not always be, but for this moment, this moment that contains all other moments, I will wish and you will triumph.

Tonight I can write the saddest lines...

2007-09-20T23:21:00.000-07:00

Puedo escribir los versos mas triste esta noche.

Es tan corto el amor, y es tan largo el olvido.

I found hope tonight in the most unlikely of places. Thank you Juice.

Summer in the City

2007-09-20T00:06:00.000-07:00

Constantly living shrouded in fog, you forget that there are seasons that encompass the spectrum. Here we have foggy, sunny, windy and wet; usually all of them are occurring at the same time somewhere or other in the city. However, today an unusually cold wind blew that reminded me of autumns in Virginia where it was still sunny but as the wind blew there was only a remnant of summer joy. Winter is on her way and I grew sad. There was so much I failed to accomplish this summer, so much I promised myself that I would do while the days were long and the nights warm. I'm the grasshopper that played the days away, always putting off until tomorrow. As I sit freezing in my bed, I grow jealous of the ants who prepared. My only saving grace is that there will come other summers in other years. Decay is always followed by rebirth and in that there is hope; hope that maybe next year I will be a little more prepared by making sure the moths haven't eaten their way through my cashmere. I will buy mothballs. I will buy mothballs. I will buy mothballs.

Escaping from the Rock yet again

2007-09-16T17:23:00.000-07:00

I know this post is a little behind the times, but I can't help to feel that I should wonder at the awesome power that is the ocean. I am astounded by its beauty and am in awe of the sheer power contained in a wave. This statement was thought only after swimming the 1.5 miles and having to push against the most punishing tide. C'est la vie. Here are some stunning pictures though of the island after the race taken at the celebratory b-b-q.

Death to Import Car Owners

2007-09-16T17:08:00.000-07:00

Living in the city presents you with challenges that one normally wouldn't have elsewhere. Elsewhere you park your luxury import in your garage, driveway, or at the very least on the street and that is only if so many of your other luxuries are taking up the space. Not so in the city. In the city you park within a 1/4 mile radius of your apartment and very rarely, interpret never, in front of your residence. So at 2am when a car alarm sounds and continues to sound until 6am, you begin to wonder why the hell the owner doesn't come shut the stupid thing up. Why? Because she is laying asleep in bed several blocks away and can't hear a thing. Meanwhile, I am pondering whether or not I will get arrested if I take my longboard and beat that beautiful Beamer until it no one would recognize it, let alone drive it. My guess is several well-meaning citizens would join me in my quest for a perfect night's sleep. You have to love San Franciscans and our sense of entitlement.