The Ballerina Broad

I met a 71 year old ex-ballerina tonight and she was such an inspiration. We talked about letting go of our past identities as dancers and embracing our new lives and bodies. I think it is incredibly sad that so many artists confuse addiction with creativity.

Using drugs certainly made me thinner, but it in no way made me a better dancer. I wonder why we get stuck in belief that in order to create we have to be under the influence of something.

I remember hating my body and mostly myself while I was performing. I don't want to go back to that ever. I'll take fat and happy any day. And I realize that had I ever had an acting career I would never have met the kids, or any of the wonderful people who make up my life.
So thanks ballerina lady, I'm present and I'm grateful.

Acceptance

Everyone keeps saying that acceptance is the answer to all my problems.

True to form, I am having a hard time accepting that. I am trying.

Today I will accept that my financial situation sucks. That my house is a disaster. That I have no clothes. That all in all I have nothing to complain about.

Then I will move on with my day.
I will. I will. I will.

At least I'm not drunk, so things are looking up, right?
PS- I am also in acceptance of the fact that I am now one of those people that drinks OJ straight from the container.

She still cries.

I was moved today by the fact that after four children and forty years of marriage my mother still cries while waiting to pick up my father at the airport.

She cries! As many times as he has left and come home again, as many times as they have fought and made up, as many times that days have turned into months into years. She still cries.

I often joke that my parents love has ruined me because it is this impossible love that doesn't exist anywhere else and I am fool to expect it. But I will keep looking.

Because in forty years I want to cry when the man I've shared my life with comes home.

Dreams of school bells.

My summer is officially winding down.
I have more work than vacation time this week. I am looking forward to school only because I miss my kiddies, but I am seriously struggling with the having to wear regular clothes thing. I have been walking around in flip flops, tank tops, flowy dresses, and mini skirts for a little while now and I am loathe to give it up. I tried wearing regular teacher clothes today and got frustrated after a half an hour and ended up back at home in a tank top and leggings. Oh well. Never mind about going to sleep early. . .

In other news, I had a great time this past weekend randomly running around LA and meeting up with people. I went from spot to spot having coffee with Bird, Number Two and his wife, Number Three and his wife, and my friend LisaLi. Good times.

Number Two and I went to the LA County Museum of art on Sunday and saw a great exhibit called "Your Bright Future." It is a collection of twelve Korean artists. My favorite one,the piece called Your Bright Future, consists of huge room filled with incredibly bright lights. That's it. It was exciting and I definitely felt optimistic. But how can you not be when you spend the day with your brother at the museum and eat French dipped sandwiches and pie at Philippe's?

Ok now, back to work!

The Knee with a Knee

So I went out surfing with my tired self today. (Last night, against my wishes, I was roped into watching the bizarre cartoons on the Cartoon Network that come on after the kiddies go to sleep).

However tired I was, surfing was on my mind. And progress was made. I was getting better and almost up when. . .I fell. Hard.

Instantly I felt the knot forming. I thought for a minute that I would get up and go again, but laying on the board felt too awful. Captain Chaos was a great teacher and said after I showed him my rapidly expanding knee, "Isn't surfing awesome?" I limped up to my towel and after three seconds I could feel my knee swelling. Since I think I am an eight foot tall Maori warrior, I toughed it for about a half an hour. I told Captain, "Whatever I'm a dancer I'll be fine." Which translates to, "I'm a stubborn idiot and I am going to see if this knee explodes, if not I might go screw it up even more." In any case, after said half an hour, my knee developed its own little baby knee in the form of a huge, rather unsightly bruise and a knot. It looks like I got knee capped by some crazy ice skater who wanted to improve her chances of winning an Olympic medal.

So far this week, I am sore from trying to balance while paddling, have a bruised shin where the board hit me, the knee with a knee, and a bump on my head from, you guessed it, where the board hit me.

And yes, surfing is awesome. Totally awesome.

Come Here to me

This week has been a blur of Bs: beach, books, and boys.

Well dreams of ex boyfriends, memories of ex boyfriends. Ex boyfriends on my phone and in my life. As well as the usual B-boys- The brothers and Bird. I haven't been writing much as I've been occupied with trying not to drive myself crazy and learning to surf.

I like where my life is today. I was able to walk through a difficult situation this week with grace and dignity. The Ex-is still angry at me, at the world, at himself, no doubt. This week I let him him be angry, I didn't cry. I didn't shout, I really didn't care. My new mantra: It's not my business.

He gets to be upset and cry and rage and I get to come home, drink tea, laugh, love, and fall asleep with a whispered, "come here to me."

Fear and Loathing in Los Angeles

Plagued by insecurities as of late. Can't stop getting out of my own way. What the hell?
I went Downtown to the Pirate Bar last night and let me tell you, nothing makes a girl more insecure than watching a guy she's kinda seeing perform on stage than get swarmed by groupies in cute outfits.
I dated a jazz musician once, and this never happened. I suppose rock and roll is just more appealing than jazz to the groupie types. Or perhaps I was just cuter and younger than his groupies so I didn't care as much. For the first time in my life, I was insecure about my age! Again I ask you, what the hell?
Twenty-something girls suck. I never thought so when I was one of them. So ladies who are now in your forties, I apologize profusely for flirting with your then thirty-something guys. And I will stay away from your forty-something guys. I've learned my lesson.
Karma is a bitch.