I'm speaking to you from the depths of my heart

            I am writing you this raw blog today in the middle of what most people would call a “really bad day.” Today reminded me of Murphy’s Law where truly “everything that can go wrong will go wrong”. After having the morning from hell, I finally arrived at the airport and realized that on top of everything else that was happening, I left my wallet (which was a gift from an old friend) in the back of the Uber car. I was fighting to stay positive but failing miserably. I wanted to cry. I wanted to scream and punch the windows of the airport and in my head I was dramatically curling up in a ball and eating as many cinnamon pretzels that I could possibly fit in my mouth at once. The reason why this was just in my head and not actually happening was because I had no money on me so even though I wanted to eat comfort food, I couldn’t. I sat down on the floor beside the glass doors and did the next best thing. I called a friend of mine and started to unload. I felt like in one day’s time my entire life was starting to fall apart. I just wanted to go home, cry, and hug my dog.

 After about 30 minutes of stressful searching, I finally found the phone number to the Uber driver and called him, telling him that I had left my wallet in the car. I could tell that he got nervous when he responded with the words, “I have another passenger in my car right now who is sitting where you were.” My heart dropped. My wallet not only was name-brand but also had about $60 dollars in it, my driver’s license, and my debit card. The driver asked me to hold on for a moment and I heard a muffled conversation of the driver asking the passenger if he saw any wallet in the car. My heart was pounding. I was terrified that I would be stuck in New York City without any way to get home or even buy a meal.

                The driver came back on the phone and told me that they found my wallet but he had to drop off the passenger first. As he said this a wave of relief came over me. After an hour, the driver drove back and handed me my wallet. Before he left, I opened up my wallet and saw that he hadn’t taken out any of my money and had returned me everything just how I left it. I was impressed with the kindness and honesty that this human who didn’t even know me, demonstrated. He didn’t have to return my wallet. He could have claimed that he couldn’t find it. He could have kept the money and sold the wallet but he chose to drive all the way back to the airport because he was kind.

In return for his kindness I gave him the $60 I had in my wallet and thanked him for doing what he did. It was the least that I could do for him for reminding me that there are still good people in the world. I felt blessed to experience this act of kindness on a day that I don’t ever want to relive.

                I am writing you in the middle of my hard day because I want you to see me at my rawest point. It is one thing to write about having a bad day after it happens and speak about positivity as though that is all I ever feel. I want you to see me at my rawest point because I am in the moment, now, as I write this. The Uber driver’s gesture is a light shining out through my storm of darkness.

 Yes, I am so stressed out that I did buy those cinnamon pretzels along with an overpriced coconut water to somehow lift my spirits. Yes, I am smiling with watering eyes while writing. I keep looking out the window and seeing how pretty the clouds look, distracting myself with their beauty. I am fighting to stay positive and it’s working. Yes I still feel like I have a pit in my stomach but I know that in the end there is a lesson that I will learn from this. I am thankful that I am learning. 

 I realized that yes, several bad things did happen today but that doesn’t make my day bad. Sometimes a bunch of bad things happen in our day but it doesn’t mean there isn’t still good. It is very easy to lose perspective. I am alive and I have so much to be thankful for, including my wallet being returned to me. I am taking a deep breath in and thanking the universe for teaching me whatever lesson it is teaching me today. I am looking at every little thing I have to be thankful for and seeing that there is still beauty around me and I am smiling from ear to ear, even though there are tears in my eyes because life is wonderful, even though at times it can be hard.

Diners and a Naked Elderly Woman

I have this bad habit, no it’s really a compulsion, to eat French toast at a local diner during inconvenient hours whenever I feel stressed or excited or honestly any emotion or hormone that I can blame as an excuse to eat these delicious slices of sweet, sweet heaven. I have even used the excuse, “Oh my god, I am alive today! I should celebrate and eat French toast.” I am not sure why for the past year I have been obsessed with this blissfully divine carb-fest and have often times realized that if society considered it a drug, I would be in and out of rehab right now.

Yesterday I was heading back to my house after a long trip to San Diego with one of my friends, a Vietnamese social worker who is addicted to soup and coffee. I noticed that I was not hungry but there was the slight possibility that at some point in the next week my blood sugar might drop. My conclusion? Eat food now to prevent it from happening at that moment. After all an ounce of prevent is better than a pound of cure, right? I am a firm believer in taking care of my body and what it needs in order to delay my death for as long as possible. Turning to my friend I looked at her and in my typical slightly monotone voice and declared, “I want food.”

Smiling, she looked at me out of the corner of her eye and replied enthusiastically, “French toast?” As if it was even a question. HA! Of course I want French toast you fool! French Toast is my life support and today is my unbirthday! So naturally we head over to my favorite local diner to celebrate this festive occasion that only happens 364 days a year.

                Entering in the portal of my favorite diner, I am once again greeted by the familiar smell of feet and stale air freshener. Breathe deeply my friend, breathe in deep the aroma of Olympia. As we are seated in the booth, I turn to my friend and inform her that I need to go to the bathroom and to please order my food for me. The good thing about knowing someone who is both a clinical social worker and who is considered a friend, is that she makes the easiest victim to be my diner-French-toast-addicted superhero side-kick. I have dragged her to so many diners to eat French toast that she knows exactly what I will be eating at which location so I knew my order would be in good hands.

                Walking to the bathroom was an adventure in of itself. For some reason the late night crowd here is always the strangest and I noticed an obese elderly man with a long white beard who reminded me of Santa in summer clothes gave me a creepy stare down. Now normally people looking at me like I have a horn growing out of my head doesn’t bother me and I tend to ignore it but the facial expression of this off-season Santa reminded me of a menopausal woman that I have seen on an episode of “Snapped.” So of course since he is staring at me, I have to return the favor and stare back in an attempt to show that I am being harmonious with my environment; as the saying goes, “when in Rome, do as the Romans do.”

                Entering into the bathroom was an experience that I will never forget. As soon as I stepped through the doorway into the two-stall bathroom, I am greeted by a plump elderly woman squatting over a toilet with no pants on, clearly displaying her untamed lady bits. Completely unfazed by my presence, she begins to have a conversation with me and warns me not to go into the other stall because someone apparently left a mess. Glancing over to the other stall I am shocked and slightly impressed that whoever used the bathroom last had such bad aim that they peed on the floor in addition to the toilet, yet somehow didn’t get a droplet on the actual seat. I must admit that takes skill and true artistry. I thank her warning and contemplated whether or not I should just walk out of the bathroom, but my bladder demanded to be emptied and the elderly woman was still talking to me while peeing which made things extra awkward, at least for me. My mother always taught me to not interrupt, look people in the eyes and respect my elders, but in no way did she prepare me for this life experience and the last thing that I wanted to do was look at this half-naked woman in the eye while she peed. The only thing I could think of doing was turning around and facing the door as this elderly lady rambled on about toilet paper and other details of this bathroom. Finally, the flush of relief came and as soon as she exited the bathroom stall, I rushed in and shut the door.  

                This is one thing that I love about going to diners late at night. You never know what you will find or who you will meet. It is all an adventure and part of the rich tapestry of life.

Attack of the Killer Roach

Last year I moved from one city near Los Angeles to another near Los Angeles because I have a terrible case of the I-can’t-stay-in-one-spot-because-I-get-bored and decide constantly that a change of scenery is necessary.  I must have gypsy blood somewhere in my family tree. Finding a rental home in southern California that allows a giant English Mastiff with a significant drooling problem and a special-needs cat with vengeance issues is a bit of a challenge. I finally found a little one bedroom house located only five minutes from the beach. The landlord didn’t mind my pets and after a ten minute application submission, I was wire transferring the first and last month’s rent to him.

I was thrilled to finally live without roommates and the first few days in the apartment were quite pleasant until one day I walked into living room and saw the biggest cockroach I have ever seen in my life on my night light. This gangster roach didn’t run away from the light, no, he was on it.  He was all over it, throwing monster cockroach shadows on my walls. Now I understand that I am a firm devotee when it comes to the belief that all live life is equal, except roaches. To me, those nasty bastards are scarier than Lucifer himself and the one that was hanging onto my night light was the Lord of all Roaches- it had wings. It may have even introduced himself as “Gregor Samsa” and waived at me; I’m not sure, it was all a horrifying blur of a memory.  Wide eyed and terrified, I stood there in my living room realizing that I was all alone and the only one that could stop this mutant roach from hell was me.

I know I only stood there for a few moments but the horrifying daydreams of that goliath roach making roach babies who then become a gang of goliath roaches attacking me in military formation swarmed through my head like a horrible nightmare. I could feel their thousands of tiny feet crawling over me as I shivered in disgust.  As I stood there staring at my sworn enemy whose very existence mocked my soul, I decided to play God. This roach had to die.

Getting out my trusty can of Raid, I stretch my arm out as far as physically possible to maintain distance and still be able to press the button. At first I missed but thanks to my immense amount of practice with water guns at the fair, I was able to soak that creature down like a bra-less woman at a wet t-shirt contest. Little did I realize that Raid was merely a power source for this creature; it practically laughed so hard at being splashed by Raid that it stumbled off my nightlight and on to the floor.  As it fell to the ground, it turned and ran towards my bedroom faster than any roach I have ever seen! We’re talking Bonneville Salt Flats land speed record fast!

I had to act instantly. Grabbing onto my broom I raced after this behemoth roach only to find it climbing up my bed sheets like it was scaling an obstacle course rope wall.

“OH HELL NO!” I yelled my battle-cry at the top of my lungs like a gladiator ready for war as I began to slap the roach off of my bed with my broom; which wasn’t well a well-thought through plan on my part because instead of this roach just falling to the ground like normal roaches do, it took flight and attacked me. Okay well maybe it didn’t attack me, but I screamed a blood curling scream of sheer terror and mid-air bitch-slapped this beast with my broom. This action got it to the ground where I repeatedly slapped it with my broom and when that didn’t stop it, I pinned it down with the bristles took off my shoe and started pounding everywhere I thought that there may be hidden roach parts, but to no avail.

“Why wont you die?!” I cried out in frustration. Luckily for me beating the bristles with my shoe slowed it down enough to sweep it out of my front door like a hockey slap shot. Even though it was slower, the roach kept trying to run back into my house and I transformed from wing to goalie and played defense. Luckily a savior in the form of my neighbor (whom I had not had the pleasure of meeting yet) who ran over to me and asked me if I was okay.

“I heard you screaming, did something happen?” He asked in concern.

“It’s not dying.” I reply while pointing to the giant roach right outside my door.

This caused my neighbor to laugh. Apparently when he had heard me scream, he thought I was being brutally attacked and considering how old he was, it took him a moment to be able to move his arthritic body as fast as he could over to my house for the rescue.

“I was ready to get my gun when I heard you.” He mumbled as he leaned over, took a large rock from the gravel pavement and crushed half of the roach’s body under it. In shock and absolute astonishment, despite half of its body crushed to a messy pulp by a rock, the roach still was dragging its body across the cement like a zombie towards my apartment. I wished he had gotten his gun.

“Please get rid of it.” I pleaded while looking down at this mutant creature and crept back into my house with chills running down my spine. Needless to say, even though I haven’t seen a giant cockroach since then, but the image of that roach has been burned into my head.  

 

 

 

 

The worth of a Human

       

           Perhaps the most important phrase ever written by Thomas Jefferson and edited by Ben Franklin was, “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the Pursuit of Happiness.” It is the cornerstone of our American experiment and the bedrock of who we are as a nation. Sadly, I have found that humans tend to view others by a very different societal yardstick. I was having a conversation the other day and explained to someone that my worth is equal to that of both a homeless man and of a billionaire. What I meant by that was that often times humans look at those that are considered by society to be successful and see them as being close to a “God” status. Then they turn around and roll their eyes at a homeless man searching through trash for a bite to eat or asking the person next to him/her for a dollar. They use the accumulation of money as a shorthand means of measuring true worth of another human being, yet the truth is that we are all human. Some of us have more privileges and opportunities because the universe blessed us in our personal or professional lives while others of us have had seemingly been handed a bad deck of cards. Many times it comes down to luck or being in the right place at the right time and seizing an opportunity. Life sometimes takes us in crazy places but our worth as a human will always remain the same; society tries to make the rules but we must actively choose whether or not to believe them and accept that simplistic, if erroneous way of thinking. I personally believe that it doesn’t matter what color skin you have or how rich or how poor you are, your faith or lack thereof, whether you are a man, woman or child, in the end we are all human and all deserve an equal amount of respect. We all have dreams, we all want love, and all of us at one point were born and at some point in the future will die, and you cannot take all your money with you. The best you can do is be remembered as a good person who played an important part during your time with humanity and cared for your brothers and sisters.
         I will never be worth more than a homeless person. I will never be worth less than billionaire. Society has brainwashed us to believe that the homeless are less deserving than the celebrities we create and worship on television when the truth is how much you make shouldn’t matter when it comes to the worth of a human life or the amount of respect we give to our fellow travelers here on earth.  Two of our most intelligent founding fathers knew it over two hundred years ago. 

How to get over someone after you break up

                I remember being in relationships where I would genuinely love and care about the person but I knew that being with them was toxic. Don’t get me wrong, it would always start off well and then we’d end up bickering over something silly. I realized that I would hang on to my original idealized image of who they were and try to find all of the positive things about them while looking past the realities. When faced with the worst parts of their character, I would rationalize them away or try and live with them as best I could or a combination of both. Finally it would end with me staring at myself in the mirror and repeating the break up line until I could finally gather the strength to say it to their faces. I would still have feelings for this person despite the heartache that I would go through when dating them. When the dreaded time finally came, I would say the line, “I can’t do this anymore,” and immediately feel a wave of guilt when I saw how upset they would become. I would hear things like, “Please no, I promise I’ll change,” or “I’ll do anything. I just don’t want to lose you.” It was hard to stand my ground. I hate hurting people, but I would put up a wall and say “No.”

Once I left, I would find myself still thinking about them; just because I couldn’t be with them anymore did not mean I did not care about them. I would wonder how they were doing or see something at a store that would remind me of them. My heart felt heavy and the day would usually end with me curling up in a ball on my bed and staring at the wall with tears in my eyes.

Finally one day, I figured out the formula on how to get over someone the quickest way.

1.      When you want to lay down in bed to cry, DON’T! Go outside and hike or take yourself to a comedy. Do everything that you normally enjoy doing, even if you don’t feel like it.

2.      Block your ex. Block them off of your phone, your email, your social media sites. You need to take time for yourself and to separate yourself from this situation. Talking to your ex will just add more drama to your life and keep the open wound from healing.

3.      Do a cleaning. Remove all images of them off of your phone and out of your house. First get a giant trash bag and fill it up with all of the items that your ex ever gave you. Throw it away. Then take white sage and burn it in your house. It helps eliminate negative energy.

4.      Don’t cyber stalk your ex. I know it’s hard not to want to check your ex’s facebook or Instagram to see what they are doing. Although it feels like that is the thing to do in order to get over them, it’s not. It just reminds you of the pain that you are trying to get over. You cannot win: if your ex looks great and doing fine, you feel bad that they’re doing fine without you while you’re miserable. If your ex looks terrible and distraught, you feel worse for making them miserable too.  Just don’t do it. Focus on something else.

5.      Write down a list of all the qualities that you want in a man/woman. Don’t hold back and write down all of the details. Then read it to yourself every day and know that you just wrote down all of the qualities of your soul mate. Do you like sensitive? Do you like artistic? Do you like serious or funny? Emotionally what do you like in a woman/man? Physically what do you like in a man/woman? Remember that the reason why it didn’t work out, was because the person that you were dating was not your soulmate, which means that your soulmate is coming! 

6.      LOVE YOURSELF! Remember that you are an amazing person who has a lot to offer. Treat yourself the way that you want someone else to treat you and treat others the same way. Do you want to be respected? Then respect yourself and others. Do you want someone who is giving? Then be generous to yourself and to others. The energies that you put out are the energies that you will get back.

7.      Meditate on good things and good things will come. Often times we get trapped in a negative mindset and tend to find ourselves trapped in an endless loop of sorrow. Cut the loop and raise your vibrations. (Negative=low vibrations: Positive=high vibrations)

8.      Learn to enjoy your own company. It’s hard not to jump right back into another relationship once you get out of one. Being in bed alone can be a bit lonely at first. Just remember that staying single doesn’t mean that you can’t find someone to date, it means that you are waiting for the right one to date. When you get in a relationship it means that you will either spend the rest of your life with that person or you won’t. You can never be too picky. Be realistic but don’t settle. 

9.      Spend as much time with friends as possible. That is what friends are for! Lean on them when times are hard and enjoy the time that you have with them.

             A break up is just an end to something that was never meant to be. Take this time for yourself. Love yourself. Being single can be an amazing experience if you allow it to be and you never know, just at the one moment you aren’t looking, perhaps something amazing will turn up. 

My dog, the asshole

So often I read things about dogs being “man’s best friend.” I admit, my dog is my world but it hit me the other day that despite the love and the kisses that I shower him with, my dog is an asshole.

For so many years I have always thought that my cat was the asshole who walks away when I try to pet him or just stands there unmoving, staring at me with a dirty look when I try to call him. I have seen countless videos on why cats are dicks but never once have I seen one where dogs are called to task on their behavior. So here is my blog about why my 175 -pound English mastiff named Bear-Bear is an asshole.

                It all started off when Bear-Bear was a puppy. One morning I was peacefully sleeping, when around seven a.m., I suddenly awoke, gagging on a long dog tongue scooping the inside of my mouth. Although most people say that he was just trying to show love, I have learned this military tactic is used only when he wants food.

This less aggressive, more loving approach only happened once. The next morning he found a new tactic that I call “the bitch-smack.” My dog will wait till I have slept for about four hours before he decides that once again he wants love and he wants love now, along with a bowl of food. I’ll be soundly dreaming about lollypops and happy things when suddenly I feel the weight of an enormous paw slam onto my face and the claws dig into my cheeks as he slowly slides it back off. Of course I’ll wake up yelling out in pain and shock only to have my eyes fall upon my behemoth dog who is innocently sitting down wagging his tail so hard that his body rocks from side to side.

 

If that wasn’t shocking enough, his latest military wake up tactic, “the concussion,” is by far the most effective. When Bear-Bear decides that he is hungry and I must wake up to feed him at an ungodly hour, he walks up to my bed, stretches his neck over as far as he can and slams his head into my face. His head is so large that I wake up to a face full of neck, gasping for breath with the weight of a boulder resting on my head. Does he release me from this death hold? No. My dog waits until my arms are flailing in the air before lifting up his head and giving me a surprised look that says, “Oh you’re up? Wow, what a coincidence, so am I. Breakfast time?”

In addition to my furry alarm clock whom I have now learned to block with a pillow, my dog has another quirk that makes me come to the conclusion that he is in fact an asshole. Bear-Bear does not agree with me going on vacations-ever. In the select few times that I have left him with a pet sitter even for two days, he has taken it upon him self to “stick it to the man,” and teach me a lesson about how he feels when I return. The first day that I come home, he showers me with love an attention- I have learned this is the honeymoon stage. When the honeymoon stage is over, which happens to be the next day- my very well-trained dog (Who never has potty training issues until one day after I come back from vacation) will wait until I am calm and rested before looking at me with a vindictive look, lifting his leg, and peeing an ocean on the one thing I love most. This can be anything from my favorite couch to my bed. Have you ever seen how much an English Mastiff pees? It’s the equivalent to Noah’s flood. I have learned to guard my belongings like they are the Ark of the Covenant for 48 hours after I return from vacation.

As if the post vacation pee isn’t enough to prove that my dog is an asshole, he does yet another move that I call “The trampoline.” My dog lays on his own memory foam dog bed until he sees an opportunity to take advantage of me. When I am at my sickest, laying in bed with the flu or a terrible cold, my dog waits until I am at my most nauseous point before preceding to jump on my bed and bound on me like Bambie leaping through a forest. After feeling my body get thrown around on my bed as if I was on a trampoline, my dog will finally get off, then take his squeakiest squeaky toy, bring it to me, push his head as close to my face as he can and precede to squeak this toy as rapidly and loudly as possible for an extended period of time. If I am still unresponsive to his advances, Bear-Bear takes things to phase 3 of torture- dropping his drool-covered, very heavy bone on my face.

In addition to all of this, Bear-Bear is a physical barrier to any opportunity of human love what so ever. He believes that the only one that is allowed to be physically close to me is himself- of which he demonstrates frequently by stomping or sitting on my feet and rubbing his drool covered lips over me when I am wearing my nicest clothes- or clothes of any sort for that matter. If a friend ever comes over to my house and tries to even hug me, Bear-Bear does a strange move that reminds me of a grizzly bear and shoves the person off of me by body slamming them.  Then he sits on my feet, between my friend and me, gives me a sweet look before shooting them the stink-eye.

Despite the fact that my dog can be an asshole, I love every thing about him. He will never judge me and is always happy to see me no matter how I look. When I dance like a crazy person to techno music, he always dances with me. When I am crying, he leaves his favorite toys on my lap and when I need a friend, he is always there.    

 

Listening Inside

            It was around 5:30 in the morning about a year ago, when I found myself driving down the interstate in New Jersey. I was exhausted. One of my friends had just gone through a rough patch and I spent most of the night trying to comfort her. She lived near Atlantic City which was about an hour from where I was staying. Seeing someone that I care about so miserable was emotionally draining. I felt like my vacation was a lot “heavier” than I intended for it to be.  

            With heavy eye lids, I glanced at the golden rays of morning light bursting over the blue horizon. I could tell that it was going to be a cold but beautiful day, yet one that I was planning on sleeping through.

 As I drove down this empty road, I realize that I was slightly hungry. My eyes lit up as I pass by a cobalt blue sign alerting me that a 24 hour “Wawa” is just a mile away.  

“God that sounds good,” I said to myself with a watering mouth as I thought about the quesadilla that they sold there.

Although this food sounded amazing, something was telling me to keep driving. I felt this strange pull to instead wait another thirty minutes until I arrived at the doughnut shop by my sister’s apartment. I didn’t feel like eating breakfast food but I couldn’t shake that feeling that I should go and that I needed to get my food from the doughnut shop instead.

I felt silly as I passed by “Wawa” and continued down the road. I had no idea why my gut was telling me to go to this doughnut shop instead of the place that I wanted to eat.

After half an hour, I finally arrived and stepped through the jingling door. Immediately I am greeted by a sweet smell of pastries and fresh muffins. Although this carbohydrate-packed sugar-coated food is normally very appealing, I was more in the mood to get a quesadilla.

 I didn’t know why I felt the need to go to this store, until I peeked over to the dining area. Immediately my eyes fall upon four homeless people, sleeping soundly on the chairs. Looking at the cashier, I realized that this man had been kind enough to allow these three men and one woman to sleep in a warm building during the cold night. I was touched.

When I went up to order my food, I ordered extra four egg bagels, four muffins, and four coffees for them. The cashier smiled, when he saw me glance in the direction of the people soundly sleeping. He quickly scurried to the back to get the food ready and as I waited, I observed each of these people, quietly wondering to myself what their stories where. Three of them looked like they had been homeless for a while, but the fourth one was a reminder of how quickly your life can turn upside down. With his head resting soundly on his arm, he had fallen asleep with newspaper opened to the job section in front of him. I feel such a sad energy coming off of him, as he slept, wearing his worn out suit and an old cell phone resting in his hand.

When the cashier approached me with the breakfasts, I thanked him for being kind enough to let these people sleep here for a night. He shrugged his shoulders and said with a thick foreign accent, “Where else would they go? It was cold.”

One by one I handed out the breakfasts, placing each one on the tables in front of them. One man woke up and grunted, looking half asleep while he pulled open the packaging to the egg bagel.

As I walked away, this wave of relief came over me. I am blessed enough to have food on my table every day. I have gone hungry in the past, when I couldn’t afford food, and to be able to share with someone who is hungry is such a fulfilling experience.

             Today I want to talk to you about listing to your gut. Sometimes the universe asks us to go somewhere or do something through that little tugging feeling inside. We may feel silly at first but when we realize the reason that we are doing it, the silly feeling goes away and immediately we find ourselves doing something beautiful for someone else.