jake and layla make a dance...

jake and i have been talking a lot lately about owning our happiness. that idea (sometimes seemingly obvious... but if you're human like me, shit. making mistakes and learning how to be the layla i actually want to be isn't always my initial reaction...) that being happy comes from being inside of what really drives you. you. not what others validate as an acceptable form of expression. doing what i need to do to be happy is key for me right now. for as much as i think i know about myself, there's always more. and i'm usually the last one on the obvious bandwagon, you know?

so, as i mourn the loss of one great pal, i've got another who is allowing and encouraging me to own the things that make me, me.

jake and i are making a dance together. yes. our friend ryan asked if it would be an adventure with a lot of spinning/twirling... he's interested in that. i think we'll have to throw some in to keep him engaged,

but seriously, we had a rehearsal on saturday. i am a better person because of it. for so many reasons. being in the studio is always beautiful/exciting/challenging. and when it's with someone that i trust and respect as a collaborator... shit is magical.

basically, we rolled around for two hours. which, isn't too far off from what we used to do back when we worked in the same building... but intentions were different. it was like being in grad school again. we played with patterns and tricked our brains into moving in ways that are not our comfortable lexicon. pure joy.

i'll post some video one of these days... for now, i'm enjoying how high it leaves me. seriously... i can feel the effects for days. owning this joy (with a little help from my friends...).

ps... for about a year now, jake has been saying this to me: i was meant to be a dancer. me too, buddy.

it sounds so much better...

ben howard covers call me maybe...

breaking up is hard to do...

remember that song by neil sedaka? here's the thing, it was playing in whole foods on friday while i was buying the ingredients for a meal i was preparing to make for a pal. i hadn't heard it in ages, but somehow i knew every word... i be-bopped through the produce department and even kick-ball-changed my way to the meat counter. for a song about such an emotionally taxing event, it's got a great beat and a lot of doobie doo's to sing-a-long with!

the following night, i broke up with that same pal i was shopping for... as a friend.

have you ever done it? usually, when i'm ready to be done/need to be done with a friendship, i let it fade away. cowardly really. i stop calling. i stop responding. fade.

but this time i did it. i said all the things that i needed to say. the things that i usually wish i had said when i look back at the situation.

it was awful. and arduous.

you see. i love[d] this friend. but as much as we rallied our friendship around our mutual ability to be fiercely loyal, it turns out he couldn't hold up his end of the bargain. i think he fooled himself into believing that his untruths were true. that the issues he created were actually my issues. hell. no. m.f.

my usual nature is to ignore the issues. lie to myself and pretend its all ok, because when we're together, we have a great time. it's as though i'm telling myself that having a dysfunctional friendship is better than having no friendship at all. that's dangerous. last night i picked up my bravery and said no thanks. ok, not exactly that politely... whoops.

you see, we met for drinks, ate dinner and then had one more drink. when i was in the bathroom at the bar i thought to myself, leave. you shouldn't stick around for this shit kind of friendship. tell him his behavior is not ok and get the fuck out. but i didn't. instead i went back to the bar and ordered another drink, sat down and feigned interest in whatever we were talking about.

as big red pointed out... honey, that's a line in an eagles song... take another shot of courage, wonder why the right words never come. my liquid courage came in the form of rye whiskey.

but, after he walked me home. all the right words came. well, right might not be totally accurate. i could have been wayyy more eloquent. probably, it would have been more effective without tears pouring out of my eyes... but i did say it. don't call. don't be my friend. i don't deserve this mess that you've created. 

part of me hopes that he'll come to his senses and get it together... though, the realist in me (who rarely makes appearances) knows that it's highly unlikely. i will forever be thankful for the brief bits of lovely friendship that we did share, though.

xoxo. be kind. love your friends as you love yourself. and remind me to do the same when i forget, ok? thanks. find all these pictures on various boards on my pinterest.

you-neek...

i remember the scene so well. tony guest and i were driving down santa ana avenue, only one block from our house when he said it. you're real unique, bean bean. ohhhhhhh, i had a fit. had. a. fit. i crossed my arms tight over my chest, squeezed my eyebrows together real tight and flung my feet up on the dashboard of that big ass navy blue club wagon van. how dare he call me unique, i thought to myself. who the hell is he calling unique?! i'll tell what you are mister meanie-pants... 

wait, what does unique mean?

it was 1987. i was five years old.

i don't remember why he called me unique at that moment. probably, i was recalling (which in my case meant fabricating... i did that a lot back then) some account from the day at montessori school... oh ya, i'm one of those. 

when i was five, i had the most elaborate days of play with my pals. imaginary games, scenarios, characters and specific life events far too provocative and emotionally driven for the average school children. but what the hell did we care? 

often, we'd collect piles and piles of dried up pine needles... the really long ones that were great for practicing your braiding skills. then we'd sit between the bushes and a chain link fence and build walls of pine needles to either side and above us, making a cave. there were plenty of old cigarette butts, so we'd collect those, pretend to smoke them and use them as cash, a form of trading for goods and services, duh. oh, did i forget to mention it was the apocalypse and we were in hiding/protecting ourselves from robots and machines who were at war with our government? yup.

ps... 95% girls. usually the only boy that wanted to play with us was chris burns, bless his heart. we told him if he was going to play our game, he'd have to make babies with all of us so we could start a new world in our cave. he said he'd trade his baby making for five cigarette butts each. seemed reasonable at the time.

hmmm, i guess it's not so unreasonable that tony guest would call me unique. in fact, that was probably the most kind-hearted way to say what he was really thinking! seriously, i love this dad of mine.

here's to keepin' it unique. i think i'll wear stripes, polkadots and plaid today... and probably shout off some (workplace innapropriate) thoughts on gender-norms... all in a good day.

pps... i'm on a management team of six in-house managers. five of us are women. fuck ya. 

love you. 

nightime...

when the stars come out

the world begins

i don't know 

what the stars feel

                            -layla, 1985  

erte found here. 

that dear old dirty town...

recently, i've been feeling way less disdain for new york. hmmmm. i think there's a compliment in there somewhere. or perhaps some self reflection. it may be possible that being in graduate school and living in bonkers (that lovely stretch of neighborhood in yonkers proper, but still in the bronxville p.o. - bonkers, so correct) was perhaps not the very best way to take in the majority of my new york living experiences. christ, most manhattanites refer to westchester as upstate... or anything above 125th street for that matter.

somehow i found this blog, hither and thither, followed by this one, an apple a day. or maybe it was the other way around... can't remember now, so much clicking. at any rate, both are new york bloggers. hither and thither are a husband and wife and baby and very fancy. you know, the blog is sponsored and designed and very glamorous. i love it. and it lead me to this:

the story of 190 bowery is insane. for a long time most new yorkers (myself included... categorized as someone who's been to new york and spent time there, not a new yorker. guess that period of non-disdain is essentially over) believed that this building was abandoned. it's an old germania bank riddled with graffiti. who knew, though... it's a single family home! mom, dad, daughter. what?! somehow, my imagination of the people that could live in this bank are way wilder than what's actually going on. i picture the [fictional] tenenbaums meet tony, louise and layla. oh shit, that'd be awesome! read the whole article and see a slideshow here.

and the other lovely blog that's making me reconsider my hatred unpleasant memories of new york... an apple a day. she's really quite lovely. a florist and antique collecter/diy-er extraordinaire. you know how i've always said i'd like to be someone who can live in a clean, streamline designed apartment (shit, that ain't gonna happen)... her too, her too! she's got almost as much stuff as i do. remember the olden day episodes of project runway? i've got a knack to santino everything i touch. i think she'd be the same way.

i've been writing a bunch lately. did you notice? maybe i'll see you again later in the day. until then, read these blogs and that article. the piccy came from the article... all linked above (see how i'm trying to work this non-plagiarized post...?? i know, let it go... )

the northern line...

i fell in love on the train once. it was in london. on the northern line. i never spoke to him, but we stared at each other for a long while. from angel station to waterloo. then i just got up and left. but, i swear, i loved him for about 18 minutes.

there's something so romantic about a train ride... at least in london there was. it was the first time i used public transportation on a regular basis (la baby, remember). everyday i got on the underground and rode from bounds green to king's cross for classes. and at the weekends i would ride down to the south bank... gabriel's wharf, the book market, the tate modern and all of the shops and alleyways that became my 'hood.

perhaps since i've lived in new york and now san francisco, the train riding event has become less eventful and more practical. though... there is still some magic.

ever since i started working on the peninsula, i've been getting in my car and driving. yes, that big ol' hoopty girl of a car and i ride down the 101 everyday. and really, there's no reason i shouldn't be on the train. caltrain, that is... caltrain is its own beast, but one i'd be happy to conquer... if i'd just get moving on it already. jeez. i've just become so comfortable in my car. gross. and embarrassing. spending all that gas money is not sexy. though, i do love that guaranteed alone time. i listen to npr and occasionally try to stay up to date on popular culture (equally as gross and embarrassing).

the thing is... by the time i've rounded the corner from duboce/13th st to s. van ness i'm already shouting shitfuckdamn at some brilliant act of dumbassery. i hate that part.

and muni... ah muni. muni would take me to the train. i hadn't been on muni for a while... but a few weeks ago, i hopped on an m train to get downtown. it was so early. the old man across from me smiled his toothless grin at me and the little asian woman next to me was definitely listening to beyonce. get it gurl.

when a man leaving the train dropped his beanie, half the train leapt up after him... heaven forbid he lose that acrylic blend, machine made piece of textile genius. but after the man and his beanie were reunited, everyone sort of looked around and nodded. very pleased, indeed. go team.

so... i gotta get my butt on the train. walk to muni, muni to caltrain, caltrain to the peninsula, peninsula is work. if i had no other option, though... i'd be a trooper. dang car.

think i can make some pals on the train?

rearranger...

i've become a fog lover. i know. strange. especially if you knew me when i lived in new york. that shit wasn't right. i couldn't get behind the change of seasons and that white stuff falling from the sky. just. not. me. i prefer the sun. i prefer the way the world looks in the sun. oh, and yesterday... at 6:15pm... there was an eclipse happening... the most beautiful light was shining down 16th street that i have ever seen. but, i digress. i'm talking about fog.

this morning i woke up and my little bay window was almost opaque. i could hardly see the street below, there was so much fog. so, when i picked myself up and drove to work down on the peninsula, i was mildly disappointed by the sun. what?! yes. trust, i still love the sun. she and i will be friends till the end of time, but everyone deserves a rest, you know? few days of sun, then maybe some fog and/or rain. heaven. san francisco is heaven.

the fog makes me feel like nesting. and boy am i a good nester. i can snuggle myself in juuuuuust about anywhere. and these days i've got a lot of energy for rearranging my apartment. to make it feel just so. xavier and i have tried many variations, and think we have found one in which the view from the bed is just right and we can still hear the record player. of course, i've put about 83,000 too many holes in the walls and have absolutely zero paint with which to cover said holes. oh, one project at a time. i've never received an award for being speedy at anything... no need to start now.

so, i was pretty darn pleased when i was driving over the hill this evening at 21st on church to see the fog was covering my beloved little castro neighborhood. beautiful. the park was still crowded. kiddos on the new play stuff, but no sight of downtown, no ma'am. 

it means i can hunker down and do some more work... make some more design choices (but then, of course, change my mind and take everything down, spackle the holes and hope i can find something large enough to cover the damage!)

also... this came in the mail today. reason #2 is my personal fave...

probably, you should all listen to young the giant today. it's making the rearranging so sweet. oh, and throw ryan adams' cold roses in there for good measure! i like how every time i close my apartment door, one of those pictures you see up top wiggles out of alignment just so... i've decided to leave 'em askew. it's much easier to find books by color, don't you think? xoxo.


ps. spell check tried to make the word spackle into sparkle. ahhhh. i think i've developed a little crush on the spell check machine.

act right...

you ever get that suspiscious feeling? for no reason other than you feel it in your gut? (i forget which rule it is, but i'm pretty sure it's one of gibbs' rules... always trust your gut). you know... you walk in a room and the conversation stops. immediately, i think they've been talking about me... probably, they've been talking about something private... classified if you will, and i don't have the appropriate clearance level (forgive, i did fall asleep watching ncis reruns). that's one of those silly ones. a get over it one.

but the real one... especially when you're an artist. when you think... i've seen that before. i've read that before. i've written that before. and the thought goes flying through your brain: shit, gurl, did you just plagiarize me?!

it's tricky territory, i know. intellectual property is so nebulous for us human beings. we thrive off the exchange of ideas, the transfer of information and the simple (though often complicated) interaction with one another on a daily basis. but when someone inspires me to create something new, i say so. (and ps... when i see your beautiful photos, i pin them and then link this here blog to my pinnie-poos, that way you'll get credit. the point is, i'm trying... through technology, i'm trynna get it right... you know?!)

just give some cred. say, i was inspired by someone to make this new (for me) thing. otherwise, we get into that beyonce territory. it becomes stealing, and when there is more than six degrees of separation, not everyone gets that you've been inspired by someone else... and then maybe you inspire someone else... and on and on and on. and there's no history. there's no lineage, no way to say thank you to whoever thought of it all in the beginning. i know... i'm getting emotional.

pardon the rant. 

i'm craving reciprocal respect and positive human interaction. and i promise, i will write a letter to beyonce soon.

and act right. 

these pics can be found on my pinterest... the board is called words.

guts...

oh shit... i can feel it. something's brewing up in my belly. no. not because i had garlic and brussel sprouts last night... just that feeling in my guts. like, change. need for change. always. i know, didn't i just get all the change out of my system?

so, perhaps it's stability. could that be it? that i'm craving something solid... the need to feel safe. to feel ok.

don't be confused (big red), all is well. but maybe, in 2012, as humans, we are sort of trained to question things when they get comfortable. when all is well, we look for what's wrong. ok, change all of the we's in this paragraph to i's. 

i had dinner with my friend mia last night. we cooked and danced around to prince and simon and garfunkel on vinyl. it was lovely, really. but, as we are both sf transplants (christ, who isn't?), we had a conversation about creating circles of friends. there's all this beauty about san francisco. because most of us are wandering in from some other place, we have no one. so everyone becomes our someone. and everyone is open and welcoming to newcomers. but, there are always newcomers. so, has san francisco forgotten how to create the kinds of close-knit friendships and communities that some of us (me, mia...) are used to or perhaps, even craving?

we all know i can be a leeetle on the overly sensitive side... so i generally like to sit with these feelings for a minute or two. to see if they hold any merit, or if i'm [over] reacting to some nasty email from someone i don't particularly enjoy... patience. geez. these are days when i've been known to cut my own hair, eat the entire contents of my fridge and rearrange my apartment. i'm doing only the last. go me! except, at 7:58pm on a sunday, i've got an enormous mess in my one room apartment and i've spilled white wine on both myself and the cat. sorry cat.

oh... and if you've got any crafty projects for me, send 'em over. apparently, i've got lots of wall space and hardly anything to put on it!

i also look at blogs a lot on these days. this is my new favorite. all of the photos came from it. aren't they absolutely the most beautiful people in the world?! i always think i'd love to have friends that look like this. but, then i wouldn't be much fun... very non-interactive, as i'd be drooling at them all day long. xoxox. oh, i've got hella new music to share too... i'll do that soon, i promise.  oh, and that last photo... long hair, i think i'll ask him to marry me. i love you for reading.

on repeat...

all day e'ry day:



i think i have a crush on her. lp. from ny, livin' in la. it's called into the wild.

you're welcome.

punctuation...

the first time big red ever sent me a text message it said:

i love you comma too

she couldn't figure out how to get the punctuation marks to show up and wouldn't dream of sending a text without proper punctuation. i'd say not!

we've come a long way though, big red and i. in fact, recently we've had entire conversations via text. well, perhaps conversation is not entirely accurate... usually they look something like this:

layla: hey gurl hey!

big red: hey gurl. i'm just sitting here on the beach talking to the universe.

layla: of course you are. i love you the most. let's be friends till the end of time, ok?

big red: ok!

big red: ps. did i tell you that raquel [welch]'s Total Beauty and Fitness is on YouTube?! The whole hour and 26 minutes! I'm in heaven!

layla: ya gurl!

tonight we had a text "convo" regarding how unhappy we were about the ncis season finale. what the wha? totally not satisfying. and jamie lee curtis as gibbs' new love interest? not. too. thrilled. i know, you probably don't care about that as much as we do... and we do. 

there are too many word and things in my head today. i can't get them to slow down enough to make sense of. so have a great weekend and use that punctuation like you mean it! would you please send me your favorite blogs and tumblrs?! i plan on doing nothing but sit in my panties and read words and look at pictures all day sunday! thank you in advance for your cooperation in this matter. xoxoxo. pic at pinterest.

learn to listen...

what up. have i ever told you that i am not perfect? like, way far away from perfect. i leave dishes in the sink for days. i rarely fold my clean clothes. i hate proof reading, but i do it, reluctantly. imperfect is where i'm at. most days i super love all these quirks and... irregularities that i so tenderly hold on to. but, there are days y'all, when a gal's gotta strive for what doesn't come au naturale. like, listening. ok. for real, i can listen... and i'm actually quite good at it, but in a certain way. perhaps one might call my style of listening as... interactive.

i'm an only child. ha! if that weren't abundantly obvious, now you know. and the guest family, party of three, is one that takes pride in communicating. we were the type of family that ate dinner together, at the dinner table, every night. no tv. no phone calls. no hats (manners, duh). if one of us came home with an issue, we'd sit down and talk that shit out. come up with a solution. interactive. contributory.

now... i'm aware of many things. here's one: some people don't want to talk it out. they want to throw up (proverbially, and vocally) on you and then walk the eff away... you solve it. oh, here's another: constantly talking... not necessarily communication (i think kate winslet's character, clementine, in eternal sunshine said something to that effect. brill). this is a big one: i listen with my whole body. i respond. kinesthetically. and hella facial expressions come out. it's 100% something i need to work on, 'cause, as it turns out... not everyone loves that about me (go figure). this last one, ain't no surprise: i'm good at talking. chatting. discussing. proclaiming. stating. exclaiming.

listening is this thing that seems so easy. open my ears and take in the information. but it's so complicated. there's the act of processing the information. making sense of it all without projecting my own story of what's being said. being a set of honest ears is tough. especially when i've got opinions and my own sensitive ego to deal with. shit ego. let's not get into that just yet. another day.

for now, i'm practicing. my boss said to me today... just keep doing it. listen to something every day. i practice too. thanks, boss. i so appreciate the sensitivity of a good listener... read: big red. jesus. every day i've got another reason to honor that lady. striving to be the best of her. all in time. she's had more time to practice being awesome than i have... hopefully, it means i'll get there too!

oh, and hey. thanks for listening! you are beautiful and so good at it. say things to me. you can help me practice m'skillz. don't these little ladies look like amazing listeners... all in their own very special way???? pinterest. it's where i found 'em.

i spy with my little... nose...

you ever get a whiff of something and it sends you somewhere else completely? often, i smell rome in the air. but, perhaps that's just the combination of exhaust and cigarettes on a warm day. today i got a really good one, though. while i was searching for a flip flop in the bowels of my closet. on hands and knees, i smelled heart's bend.

heart's bend was a truly magical place. the first summer camp i went to, '91 and '92. six weeks each glorious summer. no parents. no rules, really. tucked into the back roads of newfane, vermont... a stone's throw from my grammy lou's house over on hill road... you know, just before you reach the old round school house. people in vermont talk that way for real, y'all... old trees as mile markers and old so and so's place as play boundaries. magic.

i'm not sure what, exactly, gave me that swirl of heart's bend, but it triggered so much imagery. my blonde bowl cut (modeled after chyna phillips. you know, from wilson phillips. duh), crabapple trees, a sweat lodge, the well we sourced all of our water from (hence the one shower per week rule... awesome at ages 8 and 9), the tiny pond we took baths in with dr. bronner's castille soap (for those weeks when one shower simply wouldn't do) and our outdoor amphitheatre in the woods. man, shit was amazing there.

it was the first place that i was introduced to music beyond the records of my parents... we would lay in the fields near the leantos for hours... wishing on stars and counting firelies, listening to the soupdragons, the red hot chili peppers, the beastie boys and weird al yankovic... i know.

a few years ago, i reconnected with the camp director. she sold the land not long after my final summer there. we reminisced about the magic. it was a place for everyone. truly. we had representatives from almost every continent. people spoke to each other in two different languages at a time. who knows if we ever actually understood each other, per se... but we communicated. you know?

we ate family style - eating what we grew in our garden. we made epic horror films with the college student counselors. we had camp color wars and peace talks. talent shows. overnight camping trips. joni mitchell sing-a-longs. we fed our farm animals and milked cows. composted. we went cliff jumping at the swim hole called indian love call. endless memories.

but, what i am forever grateful for... for the gift my dad and his family tradition of summer camping gave me... storytelling. every night, every day... we told stories. sometimes one person at a time, other times in groups... contributing as a community. magic. magic. magic. instilling a quality of imagination-promotion that was exactly what i needed as an 8 and 9 year old.

if you have time, read this from vermont woman newspaper. the article, about our camp director, nina meyerhof, speaks to the nature of what heart's bend was. pretty beautiful.

newfane road sign from here. that group photo is from heart's bend... but before my time. i found it here.

try new foods...

that's something we say in our family. a lot. try new foods. when i was a kid it was a literal statement. usually, i only wanted to eat bread, pizza, pizza bread, noodles, pancakes or generally anything that could be traced back to a grain... mmmmm. so, whenever something foreign came across my plate (read: fruits, vegetables, vegetables and vegetables) my dear old dad would say bean bean, tryyyyyyy new foods. in that sing-songy, look at me from the corner of his eye, mischievous smile on face kind of way that only my dad can master. inevitably, i would. generally it was ok, except for that one time with the cooked carrots. but, i try not to think about that too much. bad.

later in life, try new foods became metaphorical. for new experiences, adventures and challenges. it was our guest-family way of encouraging one another under the radar. it's our tagline now. sometimes tony guest will leave me a voicemail that says only, hi doodle, try new foods.


all of this has become so much more relevant lately. every day i have to try new foods. and every day i think about this little blog that i am continually ignoring. i hate ignoring this here bloggy-poo. if you've read more than one post, you've maybe noticed a few things. 1) big red is a major player in my life. (and it should be said... tony guest is infinitely as important... but in a more subtle manner). 2) this family of mine holds hell of importance all 'round. 3) i am this way because of these crazy ass people... and i am super into discovering the little details that i notice in my life that i can trace right back to big red or that tony man.

so... here we go again friends. change does a body (and a blog?) good. mother/father's daughter. we can find about 18 trillion blogs about being a new parent, being the best mommy or coolest daddy... but here i am doing what i know how to do, but also what i don't. writing about what i know how to write, but also what i don't...  most days i'm figuring out new ways to make it all make sense. being a daughter. knowing only what has happened so far... in close to thirty years. anticipating the next thirty.

so try a new food, won't you? mother/father's daughter... that's me. and here's who made me:

i know, right!? this is the late 70's in brookline, vermont. when my mom met my dad's mom for the first time... you can't really tell, but big red's wearing hot pants! what what. trust.

i love you.