Tuesday, March 15, 2011

numbers don't mean shit.

no really. I always thought that, but being at SXSW this week, my thoughts were confirmed. by a nerd.

short and sweet, so listen:

if any of y'all are on twitter, have you noticed the ones with only a few hundred followers are the better ones to follow? the funnier ones? the ones you converse with? the ones you actually want to meet in real life? I met a guy at a nerdy conference (I chose to be there, so it's OK that I call it a nerd conference). nice guy, semi-funny, little bit in common. so we decided to follow each other on twitter. my first question (yes, out loud) without really filtering (imagine that), was "how do you have 65,000 followers?" I wasn't saying I was better than him, but he didn't seem to bring all that much to the table (or the twitterverse)... he didn't have any recent tweets, wasn't overly funny or even informative. he was just kinda there.

so I started thinking... 65,000 followers doesn't mean shit.

just to explain my point on a different level for those not on twitter (which you should be).

if a woman (say 30'ish) claims she's slept with 20 people, that may sound like a lot. you may think she's a slut (who knows, maybe she is). but if that number is the total number of partners during her entire life sexual escapades, maybe that number isn't so bad.

then another girl you meet says she's been with 5 guys her entire life. then you find out she lost her virginity 3 nights ago and she's already nailed 5 guys. kinda puts the whole number game into perspective, hey?

(note, all girls lie about the number of sexual partners anyways, so the point is moot.)


Wednesday, March 9, 2011


There's no guide or rule book for the journey I'm about to embark on. Journey is a term I use loosely here, because this thing I'm about to do is something I've thought about since before I can remember. This post and the emotions it contains are about a subject I've alluded to in the past, but never had the right words or felt the right time to openly talk about. For the sake of full disclosure, I'm still unsure if this is the right time or forum, but here goes...

I've never met my biological father. Here I hesitate to use the word father, but by definition, that's what he is. When people close to me find out the dad I grew up with is not my biological father, they incorrectly assume, oh so he's your stepdad? Guarded and protective more-so for his well-being than my own, I bark back, no he's my real dad - just not a contributor to my stellar DNA.

I think we all knew the day would come where my curiosity and longing to meet the man that walked out on my mother and I 29 years ago would creep back into my life and cause the potential to break the heart of the only man that has ever stuck by my side through every trying moment of my twisted adolescence - the man who means the most to me in this world, my dad.

I remember the days of Jerry Springer when families would tearily be reunited on stage for the first time and all the happiness and emotion that came along with these talk show varieties. Even as a young girl when I imagined meeting my biological father, my dreams never went down that path. I was lucky enough to know from an early age, that no matter a man left me when I was young, another man stepped in when he didn't have to. But because he wanted to. And because it was God's plan for our lives.

Even at my highest possible level of anger and what I thought then was hate towards my dad, watching these shows and seeing girls run across stage with a barely audible sobbing "daddy" as they ran into their arms, never seemed fitting for me. I've yet to understand if this was all part of the talk show act or if these girls were really happy to find these strangers. Strangers -that's exactly what they are. These men that due to whatever circumstance had no ties to them other than a few genetic markers and perhaps an unlikely but potential kidney match.

I've thought about searching out my biological father more times than I can count and even started the process and mailed a few letters to what I hoped was his correct address years ago. Finding this man is not an essential piece of my happiness, as I can assure you I have lived and will continue to live a happy and fulfilling life with love from two supportive parents.

So when I do meet this man, and I hope for closure and the sake of understanding that it happens sooner rather than later, I'm not going to run to him with open arms calling anything other than his first name. I'm not going to cry or curse at him and tell him how walking out on me ruined my life. I'm going to ask for understanding, get to know him on whatever level I deem appropriate at the time, and then thank him. Thank him for walking away and allowing my mother to find true love. Thank him for walking away and letting me see what a long-lasting loving marriage looks like. Thank him for allowing this amazing man to let me call him daddy even when I wasn't deserving and didn't fully understand what that word meant.

While writing a blog post about such a personal and emotional topic may seem unorthodox to most, my dad and I have always had a special relationship. Delicate words and intimate moments are not so much our thing, but his feelings, his understanding and blessing of what I'm doing is of the utmost importance to me.

I want him to know, I need him to know that the word daddy is reserved for him and only him. That when the day comes to walk me down the aisle, there isn't even the slightest question or hesitation in my mind as to who will be by my side. My wish, my prayer tonight is that he is just as certain of those things as I am.


Tuesday, March 8, 2011

life doesn't always match. (and neither does the paint)

tonight a friend came over for painting party part deux. last week he helped (and by help I mean pretty much did it all) paint an accent wall in my living room HOT PINK and tonight we worked on a wall in my bedroom and painted it turquoise! (I've lived here almost 3 months and had done nothing to make it feel like home, so surprise...it didn't feel like home. at all. and that needed to change.)

as soon as he threw the first blue stroke of paint on the wall, I shrieked, it doesn't match! pointing to my turquoise antique dressers like it was the certifiable end of life. like a guy, and a pretty simple guy at that, he calmly responded, so? life doesn't always match.

so in the middle of painting (remember, he was the one actually painting) I sat down to write this post. I knew his simple words held so much value.

I'm that girl. The one known for wearing neon purple heels with a blue dress and a yellow scarf and wearing it with pride. I'm all about mixing it up and making myself look like a human color palette, and my friends tease me incessantly questioning whether or not I'm color blind.

but what drives me crazy is someone wearing different shades and variations of the "same" color and pretending the pinks are exactly the same, but each shade really sticks out like Ron Artest on fan appreciation day. I cannot stand to clash, which is why I panicked when I thought my new paint color clashed with the dressers that have become a staple to my bedroom style (yes, I have a bedroom style, just ask the boys! relax mom, it's a joke...).

lets take this paint lesson and apply it to life:

first off, it's paint. five letters in the alphabet strung together to form a word. paint is cheap, and so is Mexican labor here in Houston. it can be changed. quickly and often.

second, what fun is life if it's all color coded? because I can't ever turn down a fitting sport's reference, let's use Oregon and their numerous uniform debuts. Historically the Ducks are green and yellow, but they strayed from their marketing pantone color chart by adding silver to their color repertoire (last year on jerseys and this year on helmets). by throwing a new color into the mix, it keeps things fresh. hence the reason throwback jerseys (changes from the norm) are so popular now. it's refreshing.

third, and kind of back to the first - there are do-overs in life and I'm a prime example. I have messed up more times than I'd like to count. I've failed more than my share of math tests, sabatoged relationships, said hurtful things I wish I could take back. I've burnt toast, colored outside the lines, gotten fired, used the wrong word at the wrong time, even laughed at a funeral. I've done a lot of things that I'm not proud of or moments I desperately wish there was a rewind button for, but life really is like paint. It can be the perfect color that has you inviting all the neighbors over, but just as easily, it can turn out a murky green that reminds you of your last hangover. but luckily, neither the paint nor the hangover are permanent.

fourth, like life, there are so many choices when it comes to paint. just the pink variety alone can come in hundreds of shades, different textures, paints made for different parts of your house, and so on. even adding an extra coat can dramatically change the way the color looks. what I'm saying is it's easy to pick the wrong color. or to change your mind. that's what life is all about. rolling with the punches.

remember, if you mess up just paint another coat over it, or learn to embrace the color. it's really that simple.

thank you Sherwin Williams for that life lesson. it came at a much needed time.


Monday, March 7, 2011

Happy 2 Month Anniversary To Me..

from getting laid off. I found/still find myself in the same shoes that Lauren was in some eighteen months ago which prompted me to write a post of my own...

and wouldn't you know that without having accomplished much of anything during these two months (even sleep, sadly), the time has still managed to fly by and I've been busier than a street filled with hookers and drug dealers during a Charlie Sheen drive-by.

Up until recently, I'd been stuck SMACK DAB in the middle of Corporate America, the unsexiest of cubicle laden jobs for the most part, and I've always said that if I worked for myself, or if I had time to do anything, well, I would. but now that this coveted time I so longed for has arrived on my doorstep (sans health insurance), I don't know what to do with it. I need some help streamlining things and getting myself organized. I am L.O.V.I.N.G. this whole no-working thing, but truth be told, I'm working myself to the bone. Traveling like crazy because I damn well deserve it, pretending to write, stressing myself out for not pitching a single article, trying to keep a charity afloat, going to the doctor every other day, promising myself I will start running again, painting my apartment hot pick and turquoise hoping to make it feel homey, trying to meet my friends for happy hours but never pulling through...all those things plus a slew of others.

Needless to say, I haven't been nearly as productive (which is not the same as busy...you can certainly be busy without being productive, TRUST ME) as I should be during this time.

And. That's. Going. To. Change.
Starting in the morning.

I managed to take the harsh reality of being laid-off like a man, now it's time to take this down time like a man and do something good, productive and fruitful with it.

Now I come to you for help...what have YOU done during your time of unemployment, or what have you heard of others doing to make the most of their time? dreams they've had that they finally had the time to do? ways to organize their thoughts, their job searches, those same dreams that have been on hold for decades on end. please share...for the greater good.

blogger's note.. I managed to post this entry with 3 minutes left on said anniversary.. at least I met my deadline of "sometime today"!

image courtesy of someecards.com