How(E) It Is

Project Ride

2011-11-22T22:28:00.000-08:00

I have this thing with bicycles, or well, I have this thing with them being stolen from me... My first bike was a Specialized Hard Rock, (good money. good quality) stolen a mere two months after my move to AZ. That's when I was informed that I was living in the bike theft capital of the world. Not sure how accurate that is but I can attest to it's partial truth. After the Specialized was ripped from my heart, yes, ripped, I only purchased used and undesirable bikes, be it aesthetics or quality. A smart choice as each bike was subsequently stolen from me.

Will you take a moment and cross your fingers because I think I might just get attached all over again...

I bought a used Trek cruiser off of Craigslist two weeks ago and I'm super excited. I've been looking for a bike for several months. When I say looking, I mean scouring the internet, going to shops, reading articles, soliciting the advice of friends, test-riding. No joke. I thought I might purchase a new cruiser but I was hesitant because they all come in blah ugly pastel colors. Then a friend of mine, well versed in the bike world, deterred me from my original ugly options because they were low quality. I thank him on multiple levels, for saving me. Finding the Trek was a dream come true because it's much better quality and because with the help of another amazing friend (this dude can take your car apart and put it back together and it will run better), I'm breaking down my bike, painting it, replacing a few things, and putting it back together again.

This is going to be so much fun! In fact, we already broke the bike down and WOW! Bikes are ridiculously awesome. Here are a few pics.

Just wait till I sand it, paint it, and put it all back together again... I'm so excited.

Your finger crossing on my behalf is so helpful! You may uncross them now.

xoM

eleven.eleven.eleven

2011-11-14T08:24:00.000-08:00

Eleven Haikus For Eleven/Eleven

Here they are:

On it being 11/11/11

Sun up then rain down
Today’s elevens get wet
Let’s go for a walk

Twix philosophy

I eat in layers
First Chocolate then caramel.
The shortbread, my dream

I haven't the faintest idea what you just said...

My hearing is bad
so i just nod and smile.
A question? Wait, what?

Today

First I went to work
Worked and worked then came home
Ugh! But now, there’s pie.

On not fitting in

Sandra reminds me,
we are our own puzzles and...
we fit perfectly.

Are you thinking what I'm thinking?

My toothbrush is gone.
Strange, my brother is gone too....
This is a bad sign.

Portion control, What’s it worth?

I just ate fourteen
bite size snickers candy bars
note to self, king size

Wha' Happened?

Dear V, Where are you?
It's eleven eleven
We planned to party...

New Bed

This bed is all mine.
soft soft memory soft
I'm a queen daily.

What She Said

Patiently I wait
For all of you to realize
How awesome I am

Hello Atrophy

Oh, it's you again.
You come so quickly!
Just go! Leave me sore.

and two to grow on...
My life lately

I feel like dancing.
Kissing would also be nice...
Hmmm.... guess I'll watch Bones.

It’s not conceit if it’s true…

In this world, my friends
Are the luckiest people.
Because they have me

And, a special 11 syllable haiku 3, 5, 3...

Not the best scary movie partner in the world

What was that?
No, Don't go downstairs!
Idiots!

I promise, I can count. I just got carried away... )

Have I told you lately that I love you?

2011-11-13T21:39:00.000-08:00

Theoldman, (his coinage, not mine) likes to ask me that question every once in a while. Nobody else asks it of me and I haven't ever repeated it to anyone else. There's a sentiment in the phrase that is deeply connected to him and it's fascinating to type it out to you.

I was at a musical fireside this evening. Quite the array of performers and levels. Mostly piano, mostly a community enjoying music. In the mix was a young man of asian descent who completely captivated me. It wasn't just that he was playing great, but it was also how he played. I love when musicians become an extension of their music, the sounds resonating through their bodies. It's quite magical. And then, because I'm a dancer, I start envisioning the choreography I'd create for the piece. (female with short hair, black leotard, short black pleated skirt, barefoot...if only you could see the movements). I stray though... this young man was playing a familiar song from the soundtrack of my early childhood, which song came from a piano where my Dad sat and pounded out the years of our lives.

Theoldman is a lawyer. Or well, was a lawyer until he retired. Now he's a farmer. I guess he's also a musician... Really, he is a writer and a musician. Wait... he is an artist! This is the first time I've ever considered my dad to be an artist. It's true though, strange and true.

My mom is an artist, too. She denies it. She's like Maverick with her creativity. He takes a toothpick and a tube sock and builds a shopping mall, she takes a toothpick and a tube sock and builds a home, barbie furniture, halloween costumes, and science projects.

Wow, I did not begin this post thinking I would write a tribute to my parents. Instead, I was feeling a love for life and for art. It makes sense though, now that I think about it... I am my parents' daughter, both are artists. Life and art right there.

Sometimes you wonder why you ever thought things were unclear... In a split second everything can come into focus.

Who has cookies long enough to keep them in a cookie jar?

2011-11-13T21:05:00.000-08:00

My real problem is not keeping the cookies long enough to put them in the jar, it's getting the cookie dough onto the sheet before it detours to my mouth.

I don't know why but I feel I've just awakened from a long slumber...

2011-11-02T21:22:00.000-07:00

Recently I've been having my way with the way I see the world. My world that is...

Here for instance are my lampshades...once boring, now unboring

All the coloring I do on pages of notebooks, featured here, backlit.

I thought it was pretty cool.

Now my lampshade can wear my earrings when I'm not... and although you can't really see, there's all these designs from the holes I poked in the shade. Depending on your perspective the light sorta pops out at you.

I was walking through ikea one day staring at all their made up rooms and was like, "come on you guys, nobody has a bookshelf full of only white books..."

You know what I'm talking about because you've walked those showrooms and thought about moving in to those monochromatic, streamlined, comfortable rooms.. I really do love Ikea. Those color coordinated bookshelves are intriguing to me (along with most everything else), so beautiful. I went home that day, and, out of curiosity, began to sort all my books by color...

turns out some people do have shelves full of only white books... and red...and blue...

Last night I lay in bed awake with the darkness, all these words and thoughts and ideas swirling with the tick tock of my internal bedtime clock. I climbed out of bed two different times to scribble some scrabble with a pen I only hoped had ink onto the pages of a book that I hoped were blank...

Now I have this to decipher...

I am excited because I'm participating in a worldwide art project called The Sketchbook Project. A bazillion people do it, get a sketchbook and a theme and then soak those pages in creative juices. I'm curious what the outcome of the project will be... I wonder about a book I haven't even written in yet.

http://www.arthousecoop.com/projects/sketchbookproject

Please someone, join me in falling in love with Tom Rosenthal and all his quirky videos, especially the one below. I am recently obsessed.

http://www.tomrosenthal.co.uk/

Two last thoughts. 72 days of marriage for KimK... and I'm not surprised. 2 years for my favorite artsy couple: zooey and ben... and boo

Satisfied Yet?

2011-10-30T21:26:00.000-07:00

Today my friend mentioned that we live in a city where we seek to be entertained... we go out to eat, we go to the movies, we pay for tickets to a show. He wished to be somewhere in nature, where he could be the active person and not the receiving. It's later in the day and I find myself in front of the computer, seeking to be entertained... looking at art and design blogs, watching music and dance videos, reviewing the Halloween pics and posts of my FB friends, and it dawned on me that what he was saying was all too true. In fact, I don't believe this seeking happens just in large cities. Who among us hasn't sought after such entertainment? And then further, has gone home and sat in front of the TV and/or computer and poured themselves into the screen, losing their physical to exist in the mental?

Because of my recent surgery, I've spent a whole lot of time watching episodes of Vampire Diaries, Friday Night Lights, Downton Abbey, Grimm, Pan Am, The Colbert Report, Parks and Rec, Bones, and yes, one episode of Jersey Shore. I've pored over random blogs, and wandered through pages about avocado growth, how to properly paint a bike, the best bathrooms in the world, and a little boy who wants to be a girl scout... And while it's interesting, it's not satisfying.

All of this came to a point when I watched the following video. If you want to continue reading this, you'll have to commit to watching the video...

I loved this video so much. It's strange because it also made me very sad. I wanted to be the people in the video. This is the point when I realized that what my friend said was true. I am always seeking to be entertained in this format when I would rather seek the entertainment by my own doing. I don't feel like I'm living my life while watching others live theirs. And, I think that's just it. There is some hunger within each of us to live our lives and we spend too much of it trying to fill that hunger by watching other people live theirs via the internet as well as beyond.

What's ridiculous, is that I found that video in my wandering and it spurred me to think and to action. It's art. I love art. I am an artist. So the frustration in the way I seek to be entertained is also the path to this discovery and this blog, and creates the end product, my art. And isn't that the purpose of art? But that doesn't mean everything on the internet is art. It is all so intertwined. I love and hate the knots and paths of it.

I guess I'm just saying, I need to get out more.

All of this makes we wonder what we used to do for fun before our lives were all documented and experienced via the internet? Before we paid other people to entertain us? Before shows and movies and restaurants and amusement parks?

Being the entertainer is appealing to me now more than ever. The funny thing is that once I've put all this into action, no doubt I'll be back here to blog about it. It's a twisted world and I'm not quite satisfied yet.

Here are some of my twists and turns...

E-joy.

M

Forgive me, but I deleted this video because it always immediately started and then I had to go scrolling down looking for it. It's Robin Bacior's music video, Ohio.

Amazing dancing, editing, and music. And here's a link to the kind of atmosphere I want to create in my life...

http://www.booooooom.com/2011/10/26/jasper-wongs-little-shop-of-wonder-colouring-book/

sick

2011-09-28T22:11:00.000-07:00

I am sick this week. It's no good being sick. So instead of a lot of talking, here are a few pics from the summer. I spent a month in NY for work. While I was there I was able to see my sister Em as well as some pretty amazing art.

I love this. Beautiful how it can be so real and totally made of stone. Rodin is amazing.

Emily and I as art.

Van Gogh makes me happy.

Me and my Tracy crew spending summertime at the Hamptons studio.

Stacy, Chaz, and I at the film fest.

Time for my nightcap of sudafed and nyquil.

I dream...

2011-08-31T23:07:00.000-07:00

Last night I dreamed...

I was called onto the case of an historically famous unsolved mystery... I was working closely with this woman who seemed to be the Chief on the case. It was very much like a movie...low lighting, deep red velvety walls, dark woods, shades of heavy green and amber. Really quite fantastic color scheme...

Chief and I retraced all the steps of the murder. As dreams are, this was all sort of a blur so imagine a montage of me at the scene of the crime, at the murdered's home, speaking to her friends, sitting in some office in the late hours, midnight darkness except for a lone desk lamp...

Then I'm riding in the car with Chief and all the pieces come together in my brain and I look over at her (she's on the seat next to me) and I realize, it was her.

She's the murderer!

In that second she knows that I know and suddenly she's lunging towards me. She's attacking me. This is shocking to me. We're on the ground outside of the now stationary car. It's all chest and bones and shoving and pulling... She's reaching for her gun because she intends to shoot me. In my mind, I am blowing up, this woman plans to kill me? Then I'm reaching for the gun and somehow I get ahold of it...and for a split second I wonder if I'm going to shoot this woman. Am I actually going to pull the trigger? I do. There's blood. She doesn't die, but the gunshot somehow sedates her, which surprises me because I expect her to keep fighting, to run or struggle. But it's over and the truth makes her whole body sag, heavy and bleeding.

And I wake up.

This is the sort of dream that takes harbor inside me for the day. The emotions are so potent that they exhaust me. I told my sister about it and I almost started crying... how strange it all was.

When I looked up the images in the dream dictionary, it told me that it was a cry for help.

Woah.

who we think we are

2011-08-10T22:42:00.000-07:00

Have you heard people talk about how much stock they put into something...? How much weight you're willing to give an issue that is of importance... All of this in reference to how much worth or value is given to an object, character trait, issue, career, talent.

I think there are two things at stake here. Our perspective of the value given based on what we think the value should be and based on what we think society thinks the value should be vs. the actual value... this is a bit sticky as the value is based on society all of which is seen through our eyes, right? I guess, for me, the actual value has to do with God. This too can be argued because it's all my perception of who and what God is...does...

Blah blah about explanations though. I hope you have the gist of it in this preamble...

Today I was thinking about "where I am at in my life." I have been set up with so many ideas about how my life should be playing out right now and how I want it to be playing out and how it isn't playing out according to plan. I think I'm full of misconception. The way I see my life is based on what I think merits success. A life based solely on successes is not the perception of my life being on "the right path" that I want to have for myself nor do I wish it for anyone else.

Think of all aspects of your living as totaling 100%. You divy that percentage up based on the value or merit you give to any one thing... For speculation (not my actual calculations) , my job is given 30% because there's a lot of value in financial stability and all it provides, because it shows that I'm a capable human being, my income tells me what I'm worth and my job makes me hip bc it's super cool to a lot of people. Then I give 40% to my religion because it's my cultural outlook but mostly bc it has a direct effect on my belief system... Then having freckles gets 2% because they're ridiculously awesome and on the rare side, making me unique. 12% to my being a dancer because that's an amazing skill that I LOVE having. Although 20% to my lack of moving forward artistically by pursuing more dance and art related things, thereby cutting me down to only 80% of what I want to be. Cut off 6 more percent because I'm lacking in a slew of skills and because I left the dishes dirty in the sink and because I wasn't there for my friend and because I was selfish about my time but then add 8% because I can be hilarious sometimes and people love that.

You get the point. Isn't this screwed up? Seems strange that anyone would divide themselves up into percentages. I do it only to illustrate a point, which is that we are screwed up. Get a grip. Take a chill pill. Check yourself before you wreck yourself... it's all the same message.

We all fall to this madness, what do we do with it? Fight? Capitulate? Accept? Hide?

Now that we are all on google plus, what do we do with it?

2011-08-09T18:50:00.000-07:00

friends! i have so many random thoughts and i want to run them in your direction...please respond where you feel prone to do so...

Gmail tells me daily that somebody out in the world has added me through Google Plus. My little bro swears by it. Me, I rarely go there. I am not exploring that internet space at all but I'm part of it. It's all an experiment, right? We are a test group. It's like FB but better, they say. I haven't caught the bug yet. I'm not sure I'm the best for a test group.

On the topic of companies,

Dear Apple,

Every time I see the most recent Nano you created, I feel I'm going to implode. It makes me sick. I don't want to maneuver myself around a brain fart. Smaller is not always better. You've gone too far. Sincerely, Martha

Second, what happened in Londontown? The youth have gone mad. Where are the parents, I presume they're on vacation? Nobody wants to accept the blame. Instead people are suggesting that Blackberry may have had a hand in it. So we are likening a phone to a gun. Pretty powerful those bullets are. I understand that people are mad at the police for not responding the way they expected. Question, how come they aren't mad at the people for all going cuckoo for coco puffs...? Just because the world goes crazy doesn't mean it's now socially acceptable to smash in the windows of Foot Locker and steal those shoes you've been eyeing the past few weeks.

I can't get enough cookie dough in my life. I have an obsession. A serious craving these days. Can anyone explain it? I know it's not good for me, but I want it to be.

Third, when I was on Facebook today one of the ads on the side of my profile asked me, "Are you ready for a relationship?" And then it proceeded to tell me that one in five relationships starts online. And my first response was, "how many of those end badly?" "And what kind of relationship are we talking about? And, of course I'm ready for a relationship, is my profile page asking me out?"

When did I turn into a pessimist? Actually, I don't think I have. I do find it strange, the trickery of the advertisement. Who decides what ads will be on my profile page? Dear ad placers, I do not want ads for "promiscuous prints." Yes, that was on my page today as well.

Next, two lovely interesting musically talented groups out in the world and one amazing dance group...

For pleasure and joy and swelling of the heartness.

Donora: The Chorus

You'll need to have Google Chrome to take part in the interactive aspect of this video. Man, it's worth it. It's a delight. If not, you can watch it here. Still delightful. p.s. Went to school with Jordan, the blonde girl.

Ok Go: All is Not Lost

Or go here for the interactive experience. I love. Add your message and enjoy.

http://youtu.be/ur-y7oOto14

Which, this reminds me of Arcade Fire's brilliant interactive vid. Also requiring Google Chrome.

http://thewildernessdowntown.com/

Again, Love.

Okay friends. Love love love you.

Easter + Birthday = Me

2011-04-24T23:51:00.000-07:00

it's my birthday for nine more minutes.

the life i love

2011-04-03T22:04:00.001-07:00

April Fool's Day. Usually this day comes and goes with no major tomfoolery...but i've been spending way too much time with one of my always-up-to-no-good coworkers. No good in a fantastically funny, you're hilarious and ridiculous and we love you for it kind of way. So I decided I'd write a heartfelt letter to my family members and tell them that I'm lesbian. I thought nobody would believe a tall tale such as that. I was wrong. They all believed it or were prepared to believe it. There was no hype or drama, just acceptance. In fact, what I learned from this experience is that I have the best family. THE BEST. After telling my Dad it was all a joke, he just kept right on talking to me about how great I am, so amazing and brilliant. I stopped him and said, "Dad, I just played a very cruel joke on you and now you're complimenting me??" He started laughing. BEST Family!

Saturday I ended up at International Pillow Fight Day in downtown LA. Hundreds of people flocked the streets, pillows in tow, some in pjs, others in costume all headed to Pershing Square. It was a seething mass much like you'd see in a mosh pit...accept this was a softer version. Feathers were everywhere!! Floating in the air, inches deep at our feet. It was hard to breathe or to see because of the feathers and pillows flying at your head. We threw ourselves into the mix and I found I used my pillow to protect myself more than to beat on other people.

And then there was today, Sunday. Today I woke up, turned on my laptop, and watched general conference from the comfort of my pjs and the coziness of never getting out of bed. Later I received a call from a friend to come out with a group of friends for a walk on the beach. Unbeknownst to me, that walk on the beach really turned out to be a blind date. A blind date with a forest fire fighter poet who looked to be about 24, not LDS, and had a predisposition for asking questions without getting to the answer. Turns out my friend gave some guy her number when she really didn't want to and then consented to spending time with the dude but he was bringing a friend and so she needed to bring a friend also. I was that friend.

Things to do, that I never knew I should do until I was doing them, before I die:

1. International Pillow Fight Day: check
2. Long walks on the beach with total stranger: check
3. April Fool's lesbian confession: check

I love my life.

Although, I have to say that i've had really weird dreams about being a lesbian the last couple nights. They are the kind of dreams that stick with you the entire day, where you can't quite shake the feelings of disturbia. I think the joke is on me now.

M

TV, I think I get you now

2011-03-27T21:10:00.000-07:00

Confession: I look at TV with a level of disdain and frustration. I have never been able to comprehend how people might spend hours in front of it. What a waste of time. Other than a film here and there, I don't get hooked on TV.

Why do I dislike it ? After investing 45 minutes into the "personal" lives of non-existent people, I still have all the questions I had at the start. It's so unsatisfying! What's more, I am further disappointed and defeated when the next episode doesn't even hint at the stories and issues that were so paramount in the previous. The questions keep coming without answer. I am not sated.

That's not the only reason though... usually it's poorly written and goes sour after two seasons. Mostly though, I cannot comfortably watch TV. I'm always thinking of better uses of my time and then I get fidgety and then it's over.

Confession: I am hooked on TV. Being incapacitated as I've been over the past couple months of surgery and recovery has been rather difficult. I had to force myself to be okay with resting. For a couple weeks after I started going back to work, I made it mandatory to come straight home and lay in bed. Not so horrible because my body was really exhausted after the surgery, being in bed was the best thing and really the only thing I could do. I was bored though, until I pulled out my laptop and logged onto Netflix. And so it began...episode after episode after episode... hours of TV...documentaries, 2 seasons of Lie To Me, 1 season of Monk, 4 seasons of Bones, an array of movies.

Signs that I knew I had an addiction:
1. I was anxious to get home from work so that I could get in more than a few episodes of Bones.
2. I had a conversation with someone and started referring to an experience one of my friends had had when I realized that my "friend" was actually a TV character.
3. I have always loved reading myself to sleep and lately I only want to fall asleep to the sounds of TV.
4. If I get this written quickly, I'll have enough time to get in an episode of Bones before I go to bed.

It's BAD.
What makes this addiction even more difficult is that my non-TV-liking self is screaming objections...trying to guilt me into succumbing, but the indulgent TV-loving-side of me is using this surgery to her advantage and turning her deaf ear.

at long last

2011-02-22T17:07:00.000-08:00

I've been avoiding this place for some time now, because in my case... no news has been bad news. But today, we start anew my friends.

Most of you, by now, know that I've been undergoing serious trauma regarding my ears. And that last Monday...the most unforgettable Valentine's I've had to date, I had surgery on my left ear.

First, surgery sucks. It is really really horrible. Recovery too. HORRIBLE.
Second, let me recap what the doctors have told me needs to be done for my ears:

Left Ear
Surgery 1: clear out cholesteotoma, repair ear drum
Surgery 2: 6-9 months later, prosthetic ear bones to restore hearing

Right Ear
Surgery 1: (once left ear is in good working condition) repair ear drum

I've had looming before me...3 surgeries. After this last week the thought of two more wrecks me, just breaks my heart, because now I know what to expect.

But, there is good news.

And this is it, today the doctor did a follow up on my left ear and explained to me that he was able to do everything in one fell swoop.

(This is where you get excited and celebrate and dance a jig).

I had to make sure I heard him right... I didn't want to get my hopes dashed. But it's true, he cleared the disease, repaired my ear drum, and gave me my prosthetic ear bone.

I am so happy in this moment.

So, just one surgery to go... later this year sometime. And at sometime over the next few months, I'll actually be able to hear you speaking in my left ear again.

Celebrate.

And thank you, thank you so much for every prayer, fast, well wish, and pb delight on my road to recovery.

Love and prosthetics,

M

lemonade

2010-09-16T17:37:00.000-07:00

when life gives you lemons...right?

Click on the title above. :)

Tell me what you think...

ever moving martha sitting very still

2010-08-25T17:43:00.000-07:00

I have visions of throwing a large ceramic urn out my second story window with all my might and gusto. Seeing it smash to the ground, shattering shattering. And then I repeat the cycle...never stopping for a breath. A bazillion more urns one right after another each one airborne and approaching disaster. The sound of it all, the crashing and breaking, the split second change from order to chaos...

Today the kind Dr. told me some sort of gibberish about fluid and my ears and my hearing loss and what tests are supposed to look like and how my ears are not matching up to the results of the test. What normal test results show, what mine isn't showing. He told me that I must avoid excessive exercise that sometimes exercise is not good for you. He told me that I can go for a moderate walk and possibly do some light weight lifting, but if I'm still dizzy (which I am) to do nothing. Then he said, see you in two weeks. Oh, and of course, no swimming. No high altitudes...flights, mountains...

So basically, Martha, sit still.

That's it. No resolution

You think you're going to get more answers from me? You're wrong.
If you're feeling perplexed and confused,

welcome to my world.

good news

2010-08-20T10:02:00.001-07:00

I don't have a brain tumor.
I didn't have a stroke.
Nor did I have a brain aneurism.

Time to celebrate, right?
Except that,

I'm still dizzy, although now my doctor has placed me on medication.
I still have a slight tension headache.
I still have a significant hearing loss.
I have an appointment for next Wednesday. Until then, no alcohol, no tea, no coffee, no cola...brutal right :)

except, still no exercising beyond a light walk. (that's where the brutality comes in)

I'll keep you posted.

Thanks guys! Love you! m

this could be bad

2010-08-17T21:49:00.000-07:00

i went to the ear doctor today for the first time in what has apparently been, way too long. (i've been having dizzy spells). i knew it was going to be bad due to an history of bad after bad after bad.

i don't know what's wrong with me at all so i can't tell you or reassure you of anything, but the doctors were very straightforward with me about how i was an urgent case and i needed to get an mri done on my brain immediately. without the mri, they were blind. yeah, that's right on my brain. [enter "freak out" stage one: trying not to look freaked out]...they even took the time to define for me that i was not yet an emergency but that i was something along the lines of an urgency. [stage two: maintain hysterics, no quavering]

----------------------------------------------------
webster's take on urgent: calling for immediate attention
wikipedia's take on emergencies: Most emergencies require urgent intervention to prevent a worsening of the situation
----------------------------------------------------

when i was leaving the office they told me i was not to exercise, to which i responded that was my career and then they added "for at least a few days." [stage three: tears]

after i returned home, i received a call from the office to reiterate that if my headache increased or i started vomiting, i was to go immediately to the ER. And, as soon as i had my mri, i was to send it over to them.

[stage four: forget tears, open floodgates prepare for melt down]

i managed to set the appointment for the mri.

thurs at 2:15

[stage five: melt down]

so yeah,

not the greatest day of my life.

:( m

art! my heart beats for you.

2010-08-13T01:02:00.000-07:00

Hot like what?

2010-07-29T23:40:00.000-07:00

Today I was 45 minutes into class, sweaty all over, lying on a mat leading sit-ups, encouraging all the ladies to "flatten those abs" and "keep breathing" when Lady Gaga came blaring through the stereo. Ale-Ale-jandro....Don't call my name, Roberto... then she sings,

"You know I love you boy. Hot like Mexico."

HA! What a line! Hot like Mexico.

I was definitely feeling hot like Mexico, we work out in a studio that's always between 80 and 90 degrees, although she probably didn't mean it that way...

I think I'm going to implement this awesome phrase into my daily vernacular. Just consider all the uses:

"What's the forecast?"
"Oh, it's going to be hot like Mexico!"

"Was he cute?"
"Actually...He was hot like Mexico."

"I'd wait a few minutes before you take a bite, I just pulled it from the oven and it's hot like Mexico."

"Did you hear? That new mp3 player is selling hot like Mexico!!"

love and Mexican heat,

:m:

a win win situation

2010-07-24T18:20:00.000-07:00

if you hold the wishbone from both ends, your wish is guaranteed to come true.

so i decided to make an improvisational dance film

2010-07-19T00:05:00.000-07:00

There was a Tim Burton inspired film festival happening this past weekend. I wanted to create something for it, but with my life in a state of chaos, I had no time. Last Sunday I heard they were still accepting films so I texted JBW and asked if he was up for a little abstract dance film adventure. He said yes. Monday I put together a costume and we went to a few different locations I had in mind to film. Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday we edited. And, voila! Saturday it was shown.

The title comes from a fortune that is taped to the furniture by my computer. The music is Beirut.

The dancing could be a whole lot better (i.e. choreographed, rehearsed)... but whatevs. This is only the beginning. :)

you will discover an unexpected treasure
by j brandon welch and martha e howe

Whaaaa Happpened?

2010-07-18T22:30:00.000-07:00

Can you say M-I-A?

Yeah, me too. But can you say it while jumping up and down spinning around a baseball bat standing in a pool of molasses with 40 marshmallows in your mouth, your arms tied behind your back, and wearing eight layers of clothing on a very hot day?

No??

Me either, but that's what life has felt like these past couple months. Crazy.

Since last I blogged,

I purchased a new car
Spent a weekend as a youth group leader for a youth conference
Turned 31 and attempted to celebrate, but instead, fell asleep on a hardwood floor
Pulled double duty at work because the manager left the country for three weeks
Donated my hair to Locks for Love
Traveled to Boston as part of a Thirty-ONE-derful birthday present
Quit the dance company
Planned and orchestrated a young women girls' camp
Attempted recovery from said camp by celebrating Independence Day lying by the pool
Made an improvisational dance film in the theme of Tim Burton.

And these are just the big events.

Pictures and details are forthcoming...

love, m

Brown Sugar

2010-04-09T22:54:00.001-07:00

It's weird how you know the day is coming when you're going to have to let go. You try to imagine yourself doing it, releasing your grip, living your life without as a sort of preparation for that day. No matter that you know it's right, it's best. It still is hard.

Brown Sugar is essentially on life support right now and I have two options, (yes it's true, I am talking about my car) either I pull that plug and let her go the good way of the car by donating her to some organization as a tax write off or I find a new engine to replace the one she has now and try to drive her into the next 300,000 miles of my future. I think I know what I'm going to do, but honestly, it all makes me sad.

Yes, she is a car. But, she is and has been a huge part of my life these past five years. She was my first real car, not just some hand me down from my family. Brown is an Isuzu I-Mark. Most people have never heard of or even laid eyes on an I-Mark until they've met her. She's 25 years old. In I-Mark years, that's ancient. But she's got spirit like you've never known a car to have. She's a manual. I learned to drive stick at her driver's seat. We've stalled out, camped out, and rocked out together. She is my car. She is my thick and thin.

I won't deny that I know my mechanics by name, that we greet each other as old friends, but I also can't deny that the same mechanics have asked to purchase her and always remarked on her uncanny ability to thrive.

I know her seats are tired of sitting, that within her cab you can smell the 80s, and that her doors are freezing up and refusing to open, but when your friend lacks an eye you look at her in profile, right?

Any one of you who know her well, know that she is a gem.

Today was just going to be a spa day for Brown. We'll get an oil change, a new air filter, and a complete diagnostic. We'll spend some time working out the kinks and then we'll be back on the road. That was the plan, then I found out that she'd blown a head gasket.

I tell myself it's a good way for a car to go, dressed to the nines and ready for adventure. I realize how just last night we ran that red light together. I try not to think that it was our last red light run, but the thought lingers.

And so I grieve for my car, my little Brown Sugar.
I think I'll be sad for a while.

ditto

2010-04-09T17:07:00.000-07:00

I was probably seven when I found out. My sister Rachel, she was nine. Our older brother Jess, he was 11. So you know: a little older, a little wiser. Jess had a paper route and he was a boy scout. Eventually there came a weekend when the two conflicted. Jess would be away on a scouting trip and so Rachel and I would deliver the papers.

The route covered an area of apartments a few blocks from our home. Jess showed us exactly how to fold the "papes." In thirds and then folded once more and bound with a rubber band. He told us where to go and when they should be delivered. He left us a printed list with all the addresses.

I'd say Rach and I were doing pretty well. We got the papes. We folded and bound them. We dropped a few off. We were on our way! But then we started to see these double lines all over the page. No addresses, just lots of little marks and a whole lot of white space where the addresses should have been. What a sad pair we were. Two little girls in striped shirts, pig tails, and pink cotton shorts poring over this list, seriously perplexed. I kept looking at that page like I might be able to understand what it all meant. Where did the addresses go? Could Jess have forgotten to type them in? Rach was no better at it than I. We stood there forever, just studying those pages with all those marks and nothing changed in our minds. I started crying. I didn't understand why I couldn't understand.

It never occurred to me that we could just go home and ask. Oh no, we were there to deliver the papers and that's what we were going to do. It wasn't until Mom started receiving phone calls from disgruntled customers that she even knew to come looking for us.

Oh how sweet a rescue by Momma! She pulled up to us in the red truck; us, two forlorn girls on the sidewalk of a sunny day, and she proceeded to explain the meaning of a ditto mark.

Happy Easter????

2010-04-06T22:40:00.000-07:00

Whodunnit?

I'm thinking it was the Tooth Fairy...

Motive?

Either he took a stand against her teeth obsession, she had him dealing out HFCS infused candy to all the kids with the hopes their teeth would rot out faster. He would support her drug habit no longer.

Or, as my roomie suggested,

A romance gone wrong, she caught him flirting with the peeps.

You tell me.

If I were a Playlist: An Art Project

2010-03-21T12:32:00.000-07:00

Yesterday I was thinking about mixed tapes and playlists. What a beautiful gift of art they can be; creative and soulful mixes of music and lyrics that say something collectively. Be it soundtracks, workout mixes, dance party tunes, "I'm sorry" and "I like you," themed on food or color, events or sunshine, I love them all.

I have a friend who is a mastermind at this art (James, this would be you. You know I love your mixes). His knowledge of music is vast, so much that his music library can be played for months straight without repeating. Mine, on the other hand, can only be played for 10.1 days straight without repeating. Nevertheless, I adore the concept.

Yesterday as I mused over this idea, I realized I wanted to make a playlist that personified me. A very introspective project that had me applying different songs to different aspects of who I am and, as a result, left we wondering what my friends and cohorts would say to what I'd chosen. What would they choose if given the opportunity? Hence, I've decided that we should be involved in an interactive art project.

The parameters:

1. You post a song that for you, personifies who I am: Song Title, Artist, and reason for that choice (if you choose to divulge or think needs further explanation).

2. At the same time, I am creating a list based on my knowledge and perspective of myself.

3. Once I've compiled my own list and you my friends, have collectively compiled your list of me, I post and share.

Interactive Art Projects! Yes!

I have this vision of each of you doing the same thing. Then suddenly there will be this musical interchange from a new perspective that concludes with something that is pleasing to listen to on multiple levels.

So, if I were a playlist...what songs would I sing?

Happy song hunting! :M:

What a thing to behold

2010-03-21T11:56:00.001-07:00

A marathon.

Throngs of people are currently running through the streets of LA: Dodger Stadium, Downtown, Santa Monica Boulevard all the way to the beach...
A constant flow of determined faces, hooked into ipods, sporting their fanny packs of energy and H20. Some of them in obvious pain, others in a zoned out state just pushing forward. Occasionally an Elvis will pass by or a barefooted man; a team sporting country pride with flags and balloons. Others, older than I imagine would be able and willing to take on those miles are in fact, pounding them out. It's a colorful and seething mass, over 25,000 people rhythmic and pulsing. Each one separate, fighting their battle to the finish line and yet each one so very much apart of the next. The collective energy being fueled continually by the personal decision to be there running and by those on the sidelines encouraging with posters and cheers, shouting out positive affirmations to anyone and everyone within the sound of their voice. A drummer just freestyling on the side, sending his beats and rhythms out into the air. Lovers and compadres lighting up when their runner is spotted, some of them jumping out into the street and running along side for a spell, dousing their participant in water and high spirited cheers.

I wanted, for a moment, to be running with them, to be part of that river of sweat and determination. Together they made it look so easy, as though they weren't actually running but propelled forward by a moving walkway beneath their feet.

It is interesting to me to think that in each one of them resided a different force: a tribute to self or country, to people past, present, or future, a political agenda, to raise awareness, to health, to that beating heart that resides within each of us and refuses to stop.

It was awesome and beautiful.

3.14

2010-03-14T22:52:00.000-07:00

It's Pi day. And I've decided that the slice of pie I'll be enjoying is slack. I'm going to cut myself some slack this week and remember happiness. Thanks Dad for setting me straight.

2010-03-04T18:07:00.000-08:00

Being the Camp Director for an entire stake is hard. Thankfully I have a huge bag of kettle popcorn which I am prepared to eat all by myself. I know it'll help me feel a little better. Will all of you pray to the heavens above for miracles of and related to campground availability June 28 to July 2, 2010 for about 50 young women? Don't hesitate to be specific. I think Heavenly Father likes that.

How to Take a Woman on a Date

2010-02-28T22:31:00.000-08:00

I just thought there might be some men out there questioning the whole dating thing. Here is what I've learned from my experiences on dates with men.

Know where you're taking the woman.
What this means: Plan ahead.
If you would like to include her in the planning, give her some options. A "Choose Your Own Adventure" date can be fun but still needs a structure.
Options as in, would you like to do Chinese, Italian, or Mexican? Great.
Options as in, I couldn't think of anything to do tonight so what do you want to do? Not Great.

Prepare her.
What this means: You have provided her with information about the activities. If it's a surprise then either give her a clue or have a cohort (possibly a friend or roommate) prepare the necessary items.
This does not mean that you take her out for a laborious afternoon weeding gardens when she's wearing heels.

Find something fun for both of you to do.
What this means: You choose an activity that you think she'll enjoy and that you might like as well.
This doesn't mean you assume she shares all your interests. Sure you think German films are interesting, but will she enjoy that double feature?

Have transportation.
What this means: You've got a working car (yours or borrowed), or have planned and prepared the woman for a bike ride, or are going on a bus ride scavenger hunt.
This does not mean that you arrive at her house and tell her that she's driving.

Start and End the date at the door.
What this means: Walk up to the door of her domicile, give it a good knock, and greet her with a smile. This does not mean calling her from your car, facebooking or texting your arrival.
At the end of the date, park your car and walk her all the way back to her door. Say something nice ONLY if you have something nice to say. If you'd rather eat chopped liver than be with her again, don't say something nice. Just say thanks for the date. Make sure she gets safely inside, then leave.
This does not mean you pull up to her house with your foot on the brake and automatically unlock the door while saying "see ya." Nor does it mean that you linger longer uninvited.

Feed her.
What this means: If your date falls in the evening, morning, or mid-day, she'll probably be hungry. Women assume that eating is going to be part of the adventure. Provide her with food she can eat. If you won't be eating, inform her ahead of time. This does not mean you take a vegetarian to a Brazilian BBQ joint.

Pay attention to her.
What this means: You wait for her as she gets out of the car. You open the door for her. You find out if the night's activities are suitable for her. You ask her questions and listen to the answers.
This does not mean you stare at her (or any of her body parts) awkwardly. Nor that you flood her with compliments. She doesn't need your schmooze.

Leave the negativity at home.
What this means: You think positively. You say positive things. Perhaps you had the worst day of your life, well sure it's okay to discuss it but don't let it taint the date. If your day was beyond horrible then reschedule the date. Women want to have a fun time out. They do not want to do an hour of pro bono therapy.

Dress nice.
What this means: Put on clean clothes that fit you. Shower. Brush your teeth. Make sure you smell nice.
This does not mean you should wear your stinky old running shoes and clothing with obscene or inappropriate messages.

Turn the cell phone off.
What this means: Your phone is either on silent or completely off. If you're on a date, be on a date. If it must be on as part of the date or because you're waiting to hear back about some emergency situation, inform your woman. If she's a good one, she'll understand. This does not mean you are taking calls and sending texts. It doesn't make you look popular, it makes you look inconsiderate.

Put the checklist on the back burner.
What this means: Your preconceived notions of who this woman should be and your list of requirements for the evening should be tossed. The "benefit of the doubt" is a prized possession, keep that with you instead. This does not mean that you write her off because she's a non-blonde or because she failed your tried and true test by not reaching over to unlock your door after you unlocked hers.

I know that sometimes you don't want to do all these things. But I also know that you want to find someone absolutely amazing with whom you can talk treason and drink lemonade. If you're asking yourself what went wrong, check your actions. If you took the gal out on a blunder-less date and you still don't get it, perhaps she's just not interested. Sucks to hear, I know. But remember, that's okay because you both deserve someone that will fall into deep smit with you. Nothing less.
Hope this helps!
:M:

p.s. There isn't a whole lot of black and white in this world. Let's both sides play nice.

camping means...

2010-02-28T22:19:00.000-08:00

Being Outdoors.
Sunshine.
Dirt.
Green Grass.
Smelling like a campfire.
Roasting marshmallows.
Crickets in the night.
Stars in a really dark sky.
Hobo dinners and Hotdogs.
Creeks and Streams.
Hiking Sticks.
Dirty clothes.
Sticky hands.
Bedhead.
The zipper sounds of the tent.
Early morning sun.
Squirrels.
Board games, books, cards.
Wood picnic tables.
Warming next day's clothes at the bottom of your sleeping bag.
Oh Camping,
How come you will not show yourself to me?
I've got 50 girls that need you
and a president who would like to stay at the Beverly Hilton.
Come quickly and stay awhile.

2010-02-27T18:51:00.000-08:00

I was not impressed when the fortune from my fortune cookie told me to compliment three people everyday. I was expecting a mysterious conjecture about my future, not advice on how to influence people and make friends. While it is sound advice, sometimes I just want to be left alone to my orange chicken and beef curry.

2010-02-24T08:21:00.000-08:00

Today my cereal box told me to "Make it a Good Day!" I'm going to acquiesce although I must admit...they've been few and far between as of late. Thanks Kashi. I'll try.

2010-02-13T13:45:00.000-08:00

I often go into the kitchen looking for a man as though I'm going to find him in the cupboards next to the oatmeal and refried beans...

When you're pregnant, you can use the carpool lane right?

2010-02-13T01:11:00.000-08:00

2010-01-30T15:15:00.000-08:00

Poets are such thoughtful people. Sitting on park benches, by rivers, analyzing clouds and light and the soft breeze. Drawing us into a single moment that always ends for me with, why aren’t you living that one life you’ve been given?

Or maybe they aren’t so thoughtful, maybe they are just avoiding all that is behind them and yet to come...

like me they’re in their cars driving, annoyed and cursing all the cars ahead for not accelerating.
Or at work wishing their co-workers would grow a brain that they might learn the ethics of hard work and of Emerson’s success.
Perhaps this morning they were on their knees in the shower unclogging the drain?

Even if they are running from something into that sky filled park
I do like finding them there. I’m so glad they made it.
It’s nice to search their thoughts
for phrases that resonate in my being,
phrases that I write on scraps of paper and attach to my calendar and notebooks or scribble on my skin hoping they’ll be absorbed into my blood stream and fixed in my memory
so that when I am everywhere else but on a park bench serene as the summer sun I too, can still be seeing the moments and feeling the presence of light.

I dislike the Mall.

2010-01-20T21:16:00.001-08:00

Every now and then I have this urge to replace items in my wardrobe either because I want to change something about myself and I think clothing and accessories will somehow facilitate that or because the clothes in my closet are unwearable (unbearable).

Today was both. I needed work clothes and I wanted to do something for myself---although I'm not really sure what that was and I don't know why I ever thought the Mall would be the place to do it. UGH!

It's weird. I was actually excited to go to the Mall. The thought of wearing my grungy pants and sweaty smelling t-shirts had me wanting to vomit. If you don't sweat for your profession I bet your clothes smell nicer and last longer... In fact, I threw out most of my work attire two days ago because YUCK. You can see why the thought is an appealing one. But why did I think I was just going to waltz into the MALL and get exactly the three pair of pants and three shirts I needed leaving with only a slight dent in my bank account? (how did i forget the aimless walking around in a daze of over-stimulation, wasting time in a cramped mirrored and stark dressing room over analyzing my worst assets)? I detest having to spend hard earned money on soon to be the narstiest smelling most foul clothing.

The Mall sucks the life out of me. Does it do this to you? I walk into that great building and bam bright lights, loud music, perfumes, the pizza and fried foods of the food court barraging the senses. I can barely breathe. I can barely put one foot in front of the other. And then I am bombarded by young salespeople at the free standing boutiques lining the center of the mall. (How did they ever consent to these jobs anyway)? I don't have a minute. I don't want to answer your questions. I don't want to try your lotion. I don't need a new phone. And I certainly don't want you to straighten my hair with your uber-advanced thingamajigger. I was there for over an hour and aaaaaahhhhhhhh. I entered a mauled out comatose state, having completely lost sight of the goal at hand and realizing for the bazillionth time that I hate this place.

And so, I fled. Two work t-shirts in hand. Hallelujah.

NewsWorthy

2010-01-09T10:25:00.000-08:00

I just accepted an invite to join a dance company.
www.datugandancetheatre.com
Rehearsals start Monday.
I am p-u-m-p-e-d!PUMPED.

I feel like Sarah Jessica Parker in Girls Just Want To Have Fun,
when she says,

"And I love to dance."

Happy Saturday,

:M:

what hard work adventure is... -dunn

2010-01-06T20:49:00.000-08:00

Holidays are high maintenance. I love them, no doubt, but they waste me and I come out of them looking for a bed and a comforter (despite the fact that I do sleep a lot during them). At the beginning of the year there is no time for sleeping in though, there is only a long list of To Do Better or To Start Doing or To Stop Doing.

Resolutions aren't about what we've decided to do differently, they've been around all year, it's just that there's a fresh energy and a new motivation stirring about us.

I find my life exciting, but I don't expect you to. Here is what I've discovered:

I saw my nephew born and Woah! There is a God. He knows us well. He likes art.

Magic is exciting sometimes but then it also creeps me out. It's all an illusion, I know. But, I want answers and explanations. I can't walk away accepting all that trickery. I am left unsatisfied.

Nothing resonates like a good conversation (or a bad one).

I always thought Watson and Sherlock were a pair, a dynamic duo. I sure was disappointed when that relationship wasn't portrayed as expected. Why wouldn't Watson want to be galavanting about solving crimes? I want to. I want him to want to, too.

My Christmases need a turn on the treadmill. They are too sedentary.

The LA temple lights need an upgrade. Salt Lake City's got it in the bag.

Snow is delightful and so are art galleries. They go really well when paired together with someone you love and hot cheesy pizza.

All that celebrating needs are a few good people.

Let's put more trees in our homes. They are so odd there. And so fascinating.

Sudden bouts of domesticity freakin' rock. I really like using my hands to make things. cards...food...jewelry...photos...I'm like a walking boutique.

I am an artist but I can't draw.

I am as comfortable on the dance floor as you are sleeping in your bed. What is silly about this statement is that I'm always amazed by it. You'd think the knowledge of it would have settled into my body the way breathing has.

I find that when I want to experience the moment, I do not pull the camera out because I don't want to be viewing it so much as I want to be experiencing it.

2009-12-04T18:35:00.000-08:00

Listen; there's a hell of a good universe next door: let's go. e.e. cummings

In (insert noun here) We Trust

2009-11-30T19:31:00.000-08:00

In 1789 George Washington issued this statement regarding the purpose of the Thanksgiving holiday. He said it was “. . . to be devoted by the people of these States to the service of that great and glorious Being, who is the Beneficent Author of all the good that was, that is, or that will be; that we may then all unite in rendering unto Him our sincere and humble thanks for His kind care and protection of the people of this country..”

Sometimes I wonder how we managed to stray from our beginnings. We, the people, are out of control. We can't control our government, our government can't control us. And God is fading out of the original picture. When was the last time you looked at a coin and thought about God? It's still written, "In God We Trust." Is it still believed? And if it is believed, is it vocalized or are we trying to be politically correct for someone out there in the world who does not believe and might take offense in our belief, our stand that we just may have come from something greater than we know? I believe. We are the stuff of God. We have someone who believes in us, who loves us, who created us. In God I Trust.

it's not good to be overwhelmed.

2009-11-29T12:55:00.001-08:00

Your heart starts beating faster.
Everything seems skeptical.
You feel like Atlas gave up and passed the world to you.
There's all this anxiety, like currents of energy shooting through your veins.
Dreams get twisted up in the night and you spend the rest of the day in this bound half awake state of unease.
Duress.
The thought has crossed your mind that you might literally fall to pieces.
As it is, you can barely keep a false smile on your face.

I haven't written and I'm sorry

2009-11-18T19:38:00.000-08:00

No, I'm not apologizing to you for the lack of words lately. I'm apologizing to myself for this backup of words tumbling around in my head. They seem to swarm my thinking and cloud clarity. And then I come here to this screen and start typing like a madman to get all the words out but formulating sentences gets to be such a difficult task because all these extraneous words are getting in the way...bed, sleep, graph, tofu, sickle, iris, complete, yuck, curly...

see what i mean???

and now look what i've done, the floodgates are open...

and...
hmmph
nothing

because there is so much to say, I am saying nothing at all.

oh look, a picture.

maybe i'm just constipated...

The Black Sheep

2009-11-18T19:05:00.000-08:00

Halloween 2009: Black Sheep. Most people thought I was a dog. Oh well.

killer sheep

i take credit for the s'more

true to form

cereal kills

sheep <3 candy

All Hallow's Eve

2009-10-31T17:47:00.000-07:00

I love costumes! I love candy! I love Halloween!

at the end of the day i hope you feel good about yourself

2009-10-27T23:02:00.000-07:00

I work in a fitness studio. One wall, the longest of the walls, has a full length mirror from end to end. Throughout the day I glance at my reflection, sometimes I'm just watching myself and my clients as I teach class. I wonder how many hours I spend just scrutinizing myself? When I look at myself there are magnifying glasses over each problem area, arrows pointing this way and that at everything that could look better. It's sad how microscopic I can be and how micromanaging we all are about making changes to lift here, pull there, flatten this, and tighten that. I am sucked in. I know that people do not see me as a two-dimensional reflection, arrows pointing out each flaw. I know it because when I look at these women I wish they could suspend their obsessions over flappy arms and sagging buttocks to realize that they are really beautiful. They have great bodies and they are great people.

Consider what you see when you look at a person. I know characteristics are not visible but somehow we see them or have a surge of emotions about the individual such that when we see them, we see something more. We don't really look at each other all that often, do we? And we certainly don't look at each other broken down as a 500 piece jigsaw puzzle. Each piece separate, jawline, fingers, thighs...

It's too bad that we break ourselves down into physical pieces that, when looked at separately, give no clue as to the full character of a person, their capacity to love, their work ethic, their sense of humor, or even their physical beauty.

I'm tired of this poor reflection of self. It stinks. I would like to put an end to it. So, tomorrow I will go to work and I will...see that same reflection with all its arrows and magnifiers. I will watch the puzzle pieces scatter across the room as I answer questions regarding exercises that target love handles and slim thighs. I will be inundated by the insecurities all over again. But, I will remember these thoughts and I will want it to be different, even if it's ever so slight of a change. Maybe it's what I will say tomorrow or what I won't say. You, my phantom reader, will do what you like with these thoughts. You are welcome to join me in an attempt at suspension though, tell someone something good about themselves, preferably something you haven't told them before. Don't allow them to not accept the compliment either, we show our greatest talents in self deception. Let's have a day where what we are and what we see is beautiful.

:m:

Dates to remember...Jared and Neil

2009-10-19T09:05:00.000-07:00

I met him in the garage, if you can call it meeting. It was a summer night and we were shoulder to shoulder dancing, packed onto the makeshift dance floor. The music filling the sweaty humid air about us, the lights dim. He was rocking out. In my life, I can recall only three men that have worked it at this level. It was amazing. It was love at first sight: killer moves, red t-shirt, brown hair. At this point, the only introduction is to dance. So that's what I did. And then we were friends. His name was Jared.

The following week Jared and I were on a date, it was a double. He told me he had tickets to this awesome concert. Sweet. We arrived, parked the car, and met up with his parents. Yes, his parents. They were cordial. They had cheese and crackers. As soon as we sat down, they left. Smart parents. We ate quickly and headed into the amphitheater.

There were gray haired women dressed in black sequined party dresses everywhere! Hmmmm. We grabbed our seats. The music started and onto the stage walked Neil Diamond. Or well, his look-a-like.

Yes, I was at a Neil Diamond impersonator concert. It might just have been the happiest day of my life!

Sweet Caroline...dooo...dooo...dooo...

He was wearing tight pants, a white collared shirt that may have been bedazzled by a ten-year-old girl and that was unbuttoned just enough to reveal a tuft of chest hair, mmmmmm. He was making eyes at all the old ladies, who seemed to be equally entranced with this man, his lyrics, and that wavy hair.

I was in a state of shock and awe. Jared knew all the lyrics. All the lyrics, which he was singing from some place deep down in his chest. He was the picture of glee. I shouldn't have been surprised when he suggested we go to the front of the stage.

Uh....

Lest you forget, we were in an amphitheater where everyone was happily seated. The demographics suggested that we may have been the only young adults in the crowd which is probably why nobody was standing at the front, they couldn't. I, of course, went along with it, although I was beginning to feel more and more awkward. Not only was I too young for the event, but I also had no knowledge or connection to any Neil Diamond music other than Coming to America and Sweet Caroline. But Jared was all smiles and this weird obsession was kinda cute.

So we danced and he sang our way to the front of the stage. He put his arm around me and started speaking the lyrics to me...you don't sing me love songs.... If I had known what he was doing, known any lyrics, I would've responded, you don't bring me flowers, but I had no clue. So I babbled something back, kept dancing, and tried not to let on that I was feeling somewhat out of place. It's amazing how comfortable he was in that arena. (His parents were there with us and no, we weren't 17, I was 25).

What an experience, both awkward and awesome. The cherry to top it off came as we exited the theater. This gaggle of old ladies came over with eyes that sparkled as the dresses they were wearing. One of them grabbed Jared by the hands and exclaimed that it was "such a delight to see you young people appreciating good music."

Oh yes, it was a delight.

Later I found out that the tape deck of Jared's family car had been broken for the majority of his life. It did have one tape in it though, and should they try to eject it, the tape would have been ruined. I bet you can guess which greatest hits tape it was that they listened to for years on end. :)m

we interrupt the previous blog post...

2009-10-18T21:26:00.000-07:00

I just got off the phone with my mom. Today is her birthday and because I have no gift to give or party to throw, I am sending this tribute out to her.

I love you, Mom.

*My mom is not a liar, a thief, or a cheat. All really good characteristic for a momma.
*When you’re hell bent on going your own way, which sometimes happens to be the wrong way, kind words are so much easier to hear than screaming, fighting, angry words. Momma's got that down.
*One day I turned to Mom and said, "I think I’d like to move to NYC." Within 24 hours I had three books, a subway map, a list of 5 great places to eat, and travel options.
*Never overbearing. Never. No, not even a little bit ever. This probably happens to all those other children of mothers out there, but not to me.
*She knows how to say, “it’s going to be okay.” One of the most important phrases of all time.
*Yes, she makes chicken soup when I'm sick. But even more important, is that she flies to my home when I am so swamped and stressed and on the verge of meltdown and cooks two 9*13 dishes of the most amazing lasagna, which she then divides into meal size portions and places in the freezer so that I can eat for the rest of eternity, or at least until the meltdown is over. It is rare to taste an act so delicious and a dish so heart-warming.
*She is the constant fixture in the bleachers, whether they are in front of a track, a soccer field, the basketball court, a gymnastics meet, or the dance floor. She's there.
*A believer in potential.
*A huge fan of songs, poetry, and art created from love and lacking in skill. To love it all and keep it all, even though it’s awesomely horrific, is real love.
*So loyal. My momma doesn’t go out and adopt other people’s kids. She doesn't ask, "why can’t you be more like so and so’s daughter?"
*I still remember eating a peach with her after school one day. We talked, just the two of us (she has 5 kids) about life and school and peaches and friends. I am still her only Martha.
*Although my momma thinks she is not creative, I venture to say that creating five children is proof that she's mistaken. Especially given the fact that each child is uniquely their own.
*The Macgyver of all moms. She can make a costume out of a toothpick and a tube sock, Barbie clothes from ribbons, building blocks from old wood, and a good time out of a car ride.
Mom, YOU CAN'T BE TOPPED.

love, Martha

Dates to remember...Symphony Ride

2009-10-18T19:06:00.000-07:00

Some things aren't worth forgetting...

Friday October 13th, 2006
Spencer has been calling and emailing me about an impromptu date to the symphony. I've just arrived home to these messages, it's a little past seven and I'm exhausted from a long dance rehearsal as well as overdue on calories. Need sustenance and a nap now! But...how can I pass up a date with Spencer? I call him, "I"m in." We decide, given the current state of our cars: broken down and not working, to bike. It's only a couple miles away and it starts at 8. 7:35, there's really no time for dinner. I do a rush job of making myself look presentable, grab an apple, and hop on my bike. We meet at the corner and head on down the road. Pedaling the bike and eating an apple (it was a gala: crunchy, juicy, and so starvingly delicious). My foot slips, I feel myself falling forward, but, apple in hand, I am unable to grip the handlebars. Instead, I miss the bars, they shift left, the apple goes flying and BAM, my head smacks the street. I'm sprawled out across the pavement, arms, gears, legs and bike. The apple is long gone.

Holy! What just happened?

Suddenly Spencer is standing over me. Am I alright? Uh...I don't even know. I move to the curbside (thankfully). It's dark and I sit staring at a gash on my shin and blood pooling in my shoe. The skin on my face is tight. I recall seeing flashes. "I don't think we're going to make it to the symphony..." I say to Spencer, who is on the phone hurriedly calling for help. I get up and start walking back to the house. Spencer grabs the bikes. Luckily my roommate is home. Noticing the blood streaming down my leg and the welt on my face, she ends her phone call and we are on the way to the hospital. Well Megan, I'm glad you could join us on our date...

Sitting in the ER with Spencer, eating a very stale Twix bar, still starving, thinking that people probably don't eat when they're in the ER. Megan has gone off to find us food. Just as she arrives, they call my name. Just swell, "you two enjoy the dinner date, I'll just be in the next room getting stitches."

Cat scan. The woman next to me is sobbing. The hospital volunteer is bringing me a pillow. I am staring down at my leg, the blood has clotted. The gash is swollen. It reminds me of an overstuffed bag that won’t zip, the fat tissue sticking out. It's grotesque but I can’t help but be fascinated. It’s just like those forensic shows on TV. The PA has applied the numbing ointment. He picks up the needle and thread and starts sewing. It pulls and tugs on my skin, but it's not painful. I find it odd that I can feel the needle but that it doesn't hurt.

A few hours later I'm sitting at home alone in my living room, leg propped up. The lights are off. Spencer's roommate has since joined us. The three of them are in the other room talking design. Their voices rise and fall. Outside it is raining, the rhythmic pattering on the roof. The AC unit is humming.

So this is my date to the symphony...Did I mention it's Friday the 13th?

Best Date Ever!

Nothing Compares To Youuuuuuuu

2009-10-15T06:41:00.000-07:00

Yes, for those of you born in the late 70s early 80s, I was quoting Sinead O'Connor. I used to love that song and I distinctly remember my sister hating it. I could never understand why... :)

Tuesday I took a dance class again! Exclamation Point! Yes, it's redundant, but it's the only way I can express my excitement over dancing after a toooooo extremely long hiatus. SHIN SPLINTS. ugh. To all the nurturing types in my life: I did not jump, I stretched, I wore leg warmers the whole time (you thought they were just a fashion statement, didn't you) so you don't have to worry about premature dancing on unhealed shins. I was very careful.

If only you knew how truly great I felt while taking that class. In that moment you would probably see God. I know I'm dealing in hyperbole today, but I cannot be blamed. I do feel closer to God when I dance. It truly was the brightest of stars in my starry night.

happy:happy:happy:happy:happy:dancing, nothing compares to youuuuuuuu

We should all do things that we are passionate about, we'd all be singing from the insides out.

okay...i did not mean for that to rhyme, but I'm going to leave it as is

:marth:
p.s. back to that Sinead thing, I might be looking like her soon (in the next six months). I'm going to donate my hair to locks for love. Ten inches. That's a lot of hair my friends. This is what I want to know, after they've taken my hair and stripped and oxided and cleansed and prepared it...will it still be curly? Or does everything that makes it curly get stripped out?

On being sick

2009-10-05T14:55:00.000-07:00

I tripped on my shoelace
And I fell up-
Up to the roof tops,
Up over the town,
Up past the tree tops,
Up over the mountains,
Up where the colors
Blend into the sounds.
But it got me so dizzy
When I looked around,
I got sick to my stomach
And I threw down.

-Falling Up by Shel Silverstein

Nothing like being sick to remind you how great it is to be well.
I spent last night sleeping on the pad of our papasan chair for fear that I might fall off the loft bed and break an earlobe in my attempt to hang out with the toilet. What I can tell you is that toilets are dirty. If you can avoid it, don't get sick. Definitely don't eat food that will poison you. It truly wrecks vacationing. When you do get sick which is inevitable unless you're my sister Rachel, surround yourself with nice people.

Keep Your Eye on the Moon

2009-09-25T08:48:00.000-07:00

Last night, as Mckenzo and I were heading out to see an awesome improv show, I caught a glimpse of the moon. It was orange, yellow, and red, huge in sizez and its crescent shape hung down low on the city. It was the most beautiful sight and I was insistent that Kenzington see it. Of course we were headed in the opposite direction and the moon quickly became hidden by buildings, lights, and trees. I told her to keep her eye on the moon, that it would appear suddenly and take her breath away. It never did.
Thus, our night began...

The majority of our ride over to "excellent improv show" was taken up in discussion that "keep your eye on the moon" sounded like the next big country hit. And so we sang many lyrics and laughed. It was quite a delight.

We arrived to the show excited, ready to laugh, and already prepped with our own improvisational renditions. When the lady at the door asked us for our ballot tickets, we gave her a confused look and said we didn't know about these ballot tickets. To which she replied that we wouldn't be allowed in without them and due to the popularity of the show, they were sold out. It's a free show. I had no idea we would need tickets to a free show. The woman then told us that this was the first time they'd sold out and, had they not just recently gotten in trouble for violating fire codes she would let us in, but alas we were out of luck.

Kenz and I left with our feet dragging, hearts heavy, and energy sucked from us. As K puts it, we weren't just bummed, we were "cuddle-bummed" which means that we were grieved-beyond-doubt-heartbreakingly bummed. We could not be consoled...for at least three blocks...and then it occurred to us, keep your eye on the moon!

We would not let this travesty spoil our night out in L.A. We live here, there is plenty to do. And suddenly, we were in the car, driving, and singing our hearts over to Millions of Milkshakes. MckZ was about to experience the best shake of her life!*

We slurped our delight, went into sudden shock, (the shake is, as McKay put it, "a heart attack in a cup") and sang ourselves all the way home to the tune (or tunes) of "Keep Your Eye on the Moon."

It's a hit single and it's coming your way. ;)

:pb cookie dough + failed attempts at improv:

lurrves, martha

*disclaimer: M of M isn't the best place for shakes in this world. It is a yummy shake making good time though, and I suggest that the way you approach this life can make a normal shake become the best time ever. Don't be disappointed when you realize that they make shakes and that's it (sometimes they offer popcorn or hot dogs)...they do not hand out eternal happiness and free cars, nor do they give you the shake for free. It is a store; your experience depends entirely on you.

p.s. stephen, that's for you. ;)

skipping states

2009-09-22T20:09:00.000-07:00

In Wyoming I felt the stars in my freckles.

I know. I know. Mumbo-jumbolio.

But it's true. There is something so right that I feel subconsciously deep when I'm in the great outdoors. When I look at my Dad in this homeland of his, it's as though he is breathing again, as though all those years I knew him as a California resident he was holding his breath.

I loved being with my parents. I loved being with Sarah. I loved making all my decisions based on how I was feeling and what I wanted in that given moment. Vacation is...

...actually vacation comes from the latin word vacare which means "to be unoccupied."

Exactly what I wanted.

Twas a lovely unoccupation in Wyoming and Montana...

(the only unbeautiful place: port-a-potty)

P.S. Want to scare a dog? Get a llama. We have two llamas that hang with the cows to keep the dogs from riling them up.

P.P.S. traffic

all things that are floating at 1:27

2009-09-11T00:48:00.000-07:00

I was shredding the largest zucchini tonight (thanks V) thinking about all the individual puzzle pieces of my life that make the overall picture so beautiful. If you look at each one individually, it doesn't necessarily seem coherent...necessary...beautiful, but somehow, in context it becomes coherent, necessary, and beautiful. I think I'm too blessed. (I shouldn't say that...but I feel that way). I have so much but I disregard it in that way we do when we stop noticing the houses on a street or the faces at school/church/work. At one point everything was so exciting (whether positive or negative)...even if for just a moment, but now I'm so used to it all*.

*I'm one of those people that wears out songs. I play them over and over and over so much that they get winded and then I find my way to a new one. I might be like that with people...I want to know everything about a person (what they're eating, the color of their socks, the sundries as well as the passions) and then somewhere along the way I become satisfied and move on. {this can't be true of me, i still have friends from a long time ago that i will never exhaust .blue.v.tu.k.rspen.}

Did you know that ostriches don't stick their heads in the ground? They do eat rocks to help food digestion and have been said to hide their heads in bushes making them feel hidden while they truly are not. I often feel that way when I'm wearing sunglasses, hidden. Yet, I'm not. Even when I'm not wearing sunglasses I often feel hidden, but I am so positively physically right there. As soon as you know people, they make you responsible to them.

Why are we so addicted to lists? Why do I feel better when I've written it all down in phrases one below another? And why don't lists go left to right the way we read?

In 6 hours my flight takes off for Montana. I'll be in that wide open tundra that is Montana and Wyoming for an entire week and I am more than excited. My heart seems to be hovering above my head. This is a vacation; much different from a trip. As I've recently learned, on a trip you are go go go. On a vacation you are not. I am not this week.

One thing I hate about myself: I'm too hard on me. I'm sure that you, my friend might be too hard on yourself. Life thus far has been more + than -. And you haven't killed anyone yet...

I feel like kissing someone.

debate exposes doubt-death cab for cutie,

m:

Loofah for One

2009-09-07T01:33:00.000-07:00

Sometimes you run across people who just didn't ever get the memo...I love this one dearly so I've changed her name and I hope she understands.

I was sitting at the dining room table waiting for my ride when Deb walked in with a basket full of purchases from Target...towels, soaps, loofahs. She dumped the basket of goodies onto the table and began to place them back into the basket in a very Martha Stewart craft-tastic way. I watched and we talked as this all went down. A few minutes into it, my friends, Angie and Dan, came walking through the door. I introduced them and we all got to talking about the very crafty Deb and her stellar skill set in arrangements. Upon finishing, Deb picked up the basket. Angie, noticing that there was one lone loofah still sitting on the table, asked Deb where that belonged in the arrangement. To which Deb, turning to me, responded,

"Oh Martha, I bought us a new loofah."

Us.

"Us?" I asked processing this new information.
"Yeah. Ours was getting old."
OURS!
She said that word with such ease, as though sharing a loofah was as normal as sharing a pizza. I glanced at Angie and Dan to see if maybe I was losing my mind. Had she really said what I thought she said? Both were wide-eyed and smirking, clearly affirming that this nightmare of disgust was true, Deb and I were sharing a loofah and, news flash Martha, had been for some time now. Really? Really, Deb? You've been using my loofah the entire time we've been living together!!!!!AAAaahhhhhhh! My skin itched. My throat was tight. I felt completely violated imagining that loofah and where it had been....

I turned back to Deb and said as politely as I could,
"That is my loofah and I would prefer not to share."
"Oh...okay." She shrugged, "well then, you can have that loofah I bought." She smiled! It. didn't. even. phase. her!
Nonchalant yet completely stunned, I said, "Okay...cool. Well, see ya."
And we walked out the door.

I stopped using the loofah.
It still gives me the willies.

Facebook went prose on ME

2009-08-26T22:10:00.000-07:00

Facebook is always asking me "what is on your mind" sometimes it is hard to put it into words...

Martha Elizabeth Howe... wants to be the extremely most amazing yes that inhabits her [every other] thinking. Why not live the embrace of loving you this much?
I scream when I’m not.
Here’s my back...
Life! You are not my friend sometimes!
I wish to lead myself to the answer of you but my shins hurt and my arms are
heavy with rain.
Mist-free, I’m heading to your heart and holding onto gripped tight every fleeting heartbeat on this avenue that screams I can, I did, I'm doing.
They have felt your darkness.
I am overflowing.

:M:

class

2009-08-26T22:06:00.000-07:00

Don't trust a tomato you haven't grown yourself.

2009-08-06T17:51:00.000-07:00

It's absolutely amazing to me that I have eaten all the tomatoes you've seen in these pictures for I was once a tomato hater.

Abhorred! Disgusted! Ilk! Yech!

And yet, I ate these tomatoes. I think I may have figured it out...the secret is in their creation, they grew up right here on my LA porch and not on some dirty pesticide, germ infested grocery counter. (little martha, urban farmer). According to me, there can be no other explanation. They do not taste like those slimy grainy tomatoes I've had to swallow in the past. Oh no. These are like candy. Well...almost...but pretty darn close to a lovely treat. I had these homegrown gems with homegrown basil (thanks julia) and my homegrown heart melted into a thousand sunshine filled pieces. It's all over now. The walls have crumbled down. Tomatoes ARE good.

How To Be Rude

2009-07-13T22:59:00.000-07:00

If you want to be rude and you still don't know how, here are two ways to improve your game:

1. Engage someone in conversation. Get them going on a topic and really have them feeling like you're interested, you're there experiencing life with them. Then, right at the climax of the story or conversation say to that individual in a soft warm voice, as though you really mean it, "well enjoy the movie/show/night/insert event here. It was nice to meet you." Your soft warm voice works on them like the frog in water, they don't know it's boiling till it's too late. They never see it coming. Plus, the shock of what you're actually saying to them is too much for them to call you out on it. They just mumble a closer back to you and walk away stunned.

2. Flirt with the close friend of the cutie you've been flirting with for the last month while said cutie is standing right there. In fact, you should keep the cutie in the conversation while you shamelessly ask their buddy out on a date. It totally works! In fact, this has a guaranteed 100% success rate. It's foolproof. ;)

I know it's not much but I hope these bits of information will really help you in your pursuit to true unadulterated full blown impudence. Please keep me posted on your progress, your success inspires us all.

So...what do you do?

2009-07-08T22:49:00.000-07:00

I hate this question. Why do we resort to it in social situations? Who ever remembers and how many of us really care? Think about your handful of closest most awesome, held in the highest regard peeps---who are they? Give it some time...now, is all of the respect due to their day job? Is that what draws you to them? Does it really matter whether the person is a dentist, a social worker, or an accountant? It's the last thing that comes to my mind. Instead I think of their quirks and their jokes, their mind processing problem solving techniques, their outlook on life, it's what floats their boat that floats mine.

Every time I enter a new social situation though, I get stuck in the "what do you do" conversation. It's mindless and boring. I even, when I feel really at a loss for words, find myself painfully asking the question. I swear I've never made a good friend by it. I do remember a pact I made with a new friend, to never discuss professions. I still don't know what she does. It's great.

I need an alternate to the question. I think I'll ask, what's your story? Or what's your favorite cereal? Or have you been stuck in an elevator lately? Or what superpower would you choose if you could have just one? Or what book are you reading? I've got to find an alternate path that leads me to the heart of the person. I'm tired of this loitering about. It's all surface tension.

If you have any suggestions, I'm all ears.

:M:

Blog Backgrounds Make Me Sick

2009-06-30T23:44:00.000-07:00

As you might have noticed, my blog now looks like a creative memories scrapbook. It was my intention to post something of interest today, actually tell you something important about my life...like how I woke at 5:37 am and practically leapt three stories from my loft bed into my car so that I could make it to work by 5:45. Hardly likely I know, but I have "lofty" dreams (i know, i know). Instead of telling you how remarkably good I am at falling asleep at work while Britney and Rhianna scream from the speakers (head dropping, body slumping good), I'm going to tell you that I spent the last hour dressing my blog up in a variety of backgrounds. It was a sickening act, all those pastel crafted pages. I half expected to find bows in my hair when everything was said and done.

I wish I knew why I have such an adverse reaction to scrapbooking. My skin itches. I become very perplexed and disgusted and ugh!!!
So curious...
Who would've thought that feminine flowery polka dotted craftagious stuff with all its sunshine and sparkles would be the thing to incite me?

Nails on a chalkboard? No effect. Subject me to pink frou frou nonsense and I'm all up in arms.

Since I spent all my time dressing up bloggie:
Cliffnotes Me
-I started a photography class last Thursday. the f16 rule...somewhat confusing, hmmm.
-My shins still hurt and I've done nothing more to change that. :(
-I just realized all my "vacations" for the last few years have been weddings. So I've decided I want to go on a real vacation where I don't have to wear a dress, entertain people I'll never see again, and fill the punch bowl.
-I'm going bold in the dating scene. You have someone you think I should date? Call me.
-Good is the enemy of great. I heard it from an author and it has me thinking that my life can be better if I don't succumb to the fact that it's good enough.
-Cinnamon Pecan Special K on sale this week for $2 a box...I bought ten in the name of food storage although I doubt it'll last me long.
-I'm over hearing the accolades and basic facts of peoples' lives. I want to know the personal, the living breathing gum-chewing, toe aching, boss bugging, idiosyncratic stories. What gets you up in the morning when the alarm clock fails to go off?
-Write more, listen more.
-The fitness world is giving me a skewed perception of myself. I've been feeling overweight lately and today I put on a pair of pants I've owned since undergrad, that was ten years ago when I was the same size and not feeling overweight. I'm frustrated that I grant such control to media, scales, nutrition labels, and the pant size of strangers.
-I'm excited for summer which was the inspiration of the great blog background change, it's called summer bliss. I hope we all get a little this summer.

palm fronds,
marth

Rock{ME}HardPlace

2009-05-26T23:04:00.000-07:00

It's very possible that I have a stress fracture in my lower legs. It's not confirmed by an x-ray or a team of lab coats with gel-schelacked hair and black spectacles, but for my sake I'm going to call it a stress fracture because it's true or will be in the near future if I don't take hold of my body and my circumstances.

Before I can move forward with my thoughts, here's the back story. I work at a fitness studio full time. A couple hours daily I teach classes that are high impact cardio. The studio floor upon which I do all this high impact is really just a layer of wood over a cement foundation. I know full well the repercussions of dancing and jumping on cement...it starts as shin splints. I did study all of this in college so knowing that I know all this just makes me want to punch myself for being such an idiot about the situation.

~Deep breath~

I bought the two hundred dollar shoes with special insoles and shock absorbency.
I wear leg warmers like it's 1985.
I warm my shins up properly.
I ice the bad boys as regularly as is possible.
I have ibuprofen pumping through my veins 24/7.
I learned how to tape my shins for extra support.

None of this prevented that sharp pain from shooting up through my legs last week to the point that I had to stop moving and tell the class what to do verbally.
None of this prevents me from hobbling around like an 84 year old.
None of this has given be a good night's rest.

This morning I realized that if I were me hearing that you were suffering in this manner, I'd grab you by the shoulders, look you straight in the eye and tell you in the most stern manner that this has got to stop, NOW!

That's what I did today...instead it came out in tears at 5 am on the freeway with me blubbering about how ridiculous I am.

I am unable to prevent the frustration I have with myself for not taking action sooner. And then I think about how my employer hasn't provided a safe environment for her staff and clientele. And the frustration just builds!

Today this frustrated version of myself spoke to her manager, to her mother, to Heavenly Father, went to the temple, had a priesthood blessing and is now talking to you.

Rock: quit the job, weather the storm of finding a new one, be impoverished and possibly have to move in with family members to support yourself, test your faith, let your legs heal, and find a place to dance as you've been wanting to but haven't due to a certain pain in your legs

OR...

Hard Place: keep your job, see how long you can keep up verbally teaching a dance cardio class, pray that they replace the floor (there's rumor of it), have money, allow your shins to become an endangered species.

Neither option looks good. I need a miracle.

I'm in love with Jason Bentley

2009-05-22T22:44:00.000-07:00

Here are a few of my recent addictions...

1. Jason Bentley-he's the music director for KCRW here in LA, the station that broadcasts NPR. He has a show, Morning Becomes Eclectic, and the loveliest voice. If it was a drink, I'm sure it would be packed with vitamins. I saw him at an event the other day, the real live version of himself, and I stared unabashedly. It's usually very weird to put a face to a voice. I don't like to know because it never seems to be right, but his was right. I don't want to know him too well though, because that would ruin everything. I just want to listen to his voice as though I'm the only one that hears it.

2. Microwave Kettle Corn-ugh! who makes this stuff? It's so genius, it makes me mad. I pop the bag and the smell alone is so truly satisfying, but then I take a bite and it's madness. I eat the entire bag. And I know about those 100 calorie small serving bags...but really, I always want more. Even now, I've finished the bag I popped tonight and I still want more. The creators are genius! They're brilliant. I hate them.

3. Alone Time-yes, I love it. This may have to do with the fact that the last five weekends have been replete with the loveliest guests. In fact, they have been some of my favorite people. I must admit though that I love to be alone. I love the quiet time. I love the reading a book all day long. I love the sitting at the beach. I love the still evening when I get to write about my addictions, eat full bags of popcorn, and think about Jason Bentley. Only a small portion of me feels guilty, that portion that tells me I need to get out and meet people, as though I haven't met enough already. More often than not, my guilt comes from not feeling all that guilty. Silly perhaps, but I imagine my life will one day have people in it that I created (with the help of a certain individual we'll call "future husband") and that this alone time I have now will be but a dream.

On turning 30...

2009-04-23T15:04:00.001-07:00

I am the same, only more so... -Ayn Rand

Happy Earth-Day Birthday!

2009-04-22T00:49:00.000-07:00

Get out and go green!
Recycle Reuse or Renew something!
Turn the water off, the heat, the electricity.
Eat some dirt, plant a flower, hug a tree!
Conserve gas, play in the park.
Wear organic cotton, sit in the dark.
Bring a tote, don't do paper or plastic!
Happy Earth Day Birthday my peoples! I wish you a sustainable fantastic!

Three moments

2009-04-22T00:09:00.000-07:00

i drove to work this morning,
the slivered moon suspended over my head
waiting amongst a few stars
preparing to set
and the colors of the sunrise
the purples and blues subtly lit in the pale dawning sky
met it
wished it well
and i felt singing in my heart, The Cure,
"the pictures I almost believed were all i could feel"
And in that moment
i felt i was going to be alright
there was clarity
there was sense
---------------------------

Something about this shot has me believing it belongs in a Seuss book; the flower in the foreground is the main character who has the down low on the flowers in the background.
---------------------------

I went to The Moth this evening. It's an open-mic event, happens twice monthly, where people can share their personal stories. Its title derives from the idea that people are drawn to each others' stories as moths to a flame. Each participant has a five minute limit to tell their story, there are 10 stories total. Each night is given a theme. Tonight's was "Pinching Pennies." I absolutely loved it. Loved hearing others' stories and sparking memories of my own spendthrift poverty stricken lifestyle.

Upon arriving home I began to snack on granola. That's when i found the moth and a baby maggot living in my granola. You know you're poor when you actually consider eating the food even after you've found the bugs. Oh the irony of it all!

I'm turning 30 and I have something to say...

2009-04-14T16:46:00.000-07:00

This is the oldest I've ever been and it has me thinking about all my previous years. Did I learn anything? Am I where I thought I'd be? What have I to say for myself?

Here are thirty things I have to say for myself after evaluating success, expectation, and progress:
I have...
1. Overcome my fear of proselytizing. I went with the sister missionaries and we talked to people for two hours about The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints.
2. Eaten vegetables that I’ve grown myself.
3. Taught a class of Chinese students how to do push-ups.
4. Read The Good Earth twice.
5. Ridden Sarah’s mountain bike down this rocky hilly trail when it was my very first time mountain biking and I thought I might crash and break something important. Just the fact that I went for it, even though I swore the whole way down the hill, makes me happy. ☺
6. Created new jewelry from broken and old jewelry.
7. Given almost everything I own away to a complete stranger.
8. Written Love Letters.
9. Driven stick shift.
10 Never done drugs, had sex, or drank alcohol (okay, once I had a sip of wine with my mom on mother’s day, I was probably 14...it was gross).
11. Camped for an entire month with Rachel and grilled filet mignon under the night sky.
12. Still been standing on my head.
13. Never made out in the “shaggin’ room” of an apartment I lived in during my undergrad especially when I had a boyfriend and all the roomies were doing it.
14. Stood on Santa Monica Boulevard in support of my beliefs.
15. Boiled the water right out of the pot.
16. Won 1st place in the sixth grade physical fitness competition for pull-ups, beating out all the boys.
17. Enjoyed watching the sun set over the Grand Canyon only to wake the next morning and watch it rise.
18. Sang several solos to a Singing 101 class despite the fact that I have no gift whatsoever for it.
19. Choreographed and performed a Christian inspired solo for a Lutheran Transfiguration Sunday event.
20. Still quoted lines from the movie Pretty Woman.
21. Spat my gum off the top of the Empire State Building. Sorry Mom.
22. Danced on The Great Wall.
23. Worn neon green jean pants with neon orange t-shirt in 1994, and wore them proudly.
24. Castrated, branded, and vaccinated cows on my grandparents’ ranch.
25. Swallowed a quarter, well almost.
26. Completely surprised one of my dearest friends on her birthday.
27. Kissed a complete stranger.
28. Cut my hair pixie short.
29. Fell down a set of stairs while wearing a skirt during the intermission of a performance.
30. Shot dragons and monsters with my nephews.
And, of course, one to grow on...
31. Claimed I broke the window when a boy had done it because he was afraid he’d be in serious trouble for it.

A Rebuttal to Yesterday

2009-04-04T15:12:00.000-07:00

In order to understand this post, you'll have to read the one previous.

Today is Saturday. It's beautiful. The brightness, the breeze, the warmth of the air, the kettle corn I'm eating...all add up to perfection. I've just finished listening to the second session of General Conference (a series of speeches given by the leaders of the LDS church twice yearly) and, as always, it is an indubitable (new word meaning unquestionable) buffet for the spirit, my spirit. I may have mentioned my not so pleasant week this week. I wasn't so keen on it as I wrote yesterday, and within reason, who wants to have negative experiences that lead them to self doubt and deprecation?

While I am not about to rescind my feelings about the week. I do want to share with you what I'd like to be able to do someday, my two cents on the week, and method for battling yesterday's Martha.

Richard G. Scott spoke of losing his wife 14 years ago. It broke my heart for him, but he said that while he sometimes mourns her loss he doesn't question "Why?" Instead, he questions what he can learn. He said that it's not about complaining but rather, giving thanks for the opportunity to overcome the challenge that the Lord has entrusted in us.

Isn't that amazing? Can you do that?

Another speaker, Rafael Pino spoke of a family losing their daughter (not sure if it was his family/his daughter). The father, though grieving, was able to say to his wife that they need not worry, because of their beliefs they knew they would see and have the opportunity to raise their daughter again.

Here are two life trembling events and two examples of perspective weighted in faith and understanding.

Maybe one day I won't be so stubborn and frustrated and view life in parallel with them.

TWO CENTS on why the week was so crummy...

$0.01 It could only go downhill after having the best time of my life in Arizona. I mean seriously, I had a permanent smile from Friday to Monday. It's called opposition, we all need it. If you're like me, you are a little wary of those people who are always happy. Does that not read red flag?

$0.02 I was so inspired by my friends and my experience that I came home and spring cleaned my bedroom and my life. I wrote down all of my goals spiritual, financial, social, cultural, mental, and physical. And then I started to implement them in that very moment! OF COURSE the adversary was going to try and break me down. I'll admit, he got to me and he does that quite frequently, but I wasn't duped for too long.

And now, Martha battles her yesterday self:

Being stood up led me to attend FHE where I passed out fliers about General Conference and even invited a few people I don't even know to come. This is something I had committed to the missionaries that I would do. I can sleep peacefully knowing I did what I said I would.
HI-yaaWWWWWWWWWW*****
Losing those classes at work means that this week the pain from shin splints has started to subside. The sooner they heal, the sooner I can focus on dancing again.
@@@*KaBLLLLLLaaaaaaaaaMMMM<0**%
The time I spent not teaching classes was invested in researching free and cheap things to do in LA. My calendar is now scattered with a variety of events that have me excited.
PPPPOoooooWWWWWWW++^"##$%@
As for the loss of money, it requires of me more faith and less doubt. I can definitely use more faith. I hate how doubting makes me feel.
////ouch!

Final Score? I think I won.
Here, my friends, are a few pictures for your chicken soup souls...

Taunalee + Martha + Papago Park= Amen

Sari bought me a non-alcoholic margarita because she knows I don't drink. I love when people are willing to accept something whole-heartedly especially when it is foreign to them.

Nothing but love for you, Zachary!

and here perhaps is the best poem I ever wrote, Parts of Hearts

Parts of hearts
Puzzles of two
I like you.

-Martha Howe, Age 8

Peace and Tigers,
Martha

Stood up and out a few hundred dollars: the week in (sarcastic) review

2009-04-03T22:05:00.000-07:00

Monday I sat in the Phoenix airport waiting for my flight, delayed of course. It had been the best weekend, I saw my most favorite people. Leaving them was sort of destroying me and sitting there didn’t make it any better. It hurt. The only thing I could do was to acknowledge that what I was feeling was the down side of loving (blah...blah...blah). At least I had love (why do I have to be so optimistic all the time...). So I plugged somebody’s words into my ears to distract my own.

A few hours later, I was back in my LA apartment preparing for a date that evening. We were going to The Moth. It happens twice a month and is an open mic night for storytelling. It has been on my list of things to do in LA for a while, so I was psyched to actually be going. Except that, despite a few phone calls and a text, I wasn't actually going. He stood me up.

Next morning I woke at 430 A.M. (yes, A.M.) and could not shake sleep from my eyes. I caught myself mid head drop on the way to work, at work, and even on the way home. A little scary my friends. I don’t know what it was, but I was seriously beat.

Wednesday back at work talking to my only client of the morning. I drive all the way out to Studio City for this lady, for a single hour of work. It isn’t so bad except that I have to be back at work at 630 to teach a few classes. And this is my “day off.” She tells me she wants to stop doing privates and try semi-privates. She had mentioned this when I first began training her several weeks prior and so it didn’t come as a shock, only disappointment. At 515 that evening I left for work for the second time. I have to give myself an hour because traffic is so bad. When I arrived I found out that I wasn’t teaching those classes anymore. They had been given to my coworker (just trying to give everyone their fair share of hours...yada yada). Wow! I drove an hour through crummy LA bumper-to-bumper traffic to find out that I, 1. Didn’t have to be there and 2. was suddenly out all that money. Just swell. How about some traffic for that drive home? Yippee.

Thursday things started to look up. "Martha, can you stay a few extra hours? Can you teach the class today? Would you be willing to teach three privates this weekend?" YES, YES, and YES! Then, a few extra hours turned into one and someone else was given the class. I left dejected and went to my bro’s house to do some part time work for him (A martha's work is never done). At least I had three private training sessions lined up for the weekend....

Friday morning my manager calls, “Martha, they’re flying somebody in to teach those private sessions I lined up for you. Come to work anyway and I’ll get it straightened out.” I arrive and sure enough, there’s a trainer taking over my private sessions for the weekend.

Did I mention that last week I lost two classes because other trainers needed hours?

How much money is that? Losing my regular client, four classes, a few hours of normal floor time, and the weekend privates...weekly? Only a few hundred dollars. No big deal in this economic crisis.

So...no, it has not been an easy week for me to swallow.

But hey, I cooked an artichoke. Here’s a picture...

and some haiku for old time's sake. ;)

bought an artichoke
cut, halved, boiled the raw out
devoured its heart

Love and some sarcasm, Martha

p.s. do you think the haiku might be reflective of a certain girl's life? I don't know. You tell me.

Your Catfish Friend

2009-03-15T12:00:00.001-07:00

This poem by Richard Brautigan rocks my world.

If I were to live my life
in catfish forms
in scaffolds of skin and whiskers
at the bottom of a pond
and you were to come by
one evening
when the moon was shining
down into my dark home
and stand there at the edge
of my affection
and think, "It's beautiful
here by this pond. I wish
somebody loved me,"
I'd love you and be your catfish
friend and drive such lonely
thoughts from your mind
and suddenly you would be
at peace,
and ask yourself, "I wonder
if there are any catfish
in this pond? It seems like
a perfect place for them."

My Milkshake Brings all the Boys to the Yard

2009-03-01T00:31:00.000-08:00

Natalia and I went off sugar in January. So when February rolled around, we were seriously sugar starved and long overdue for that sweet sugar fix. To cure this unthinkability, we planned an adventure to Millions of Milkshakes. The Coldstone of milkshakes. We couldn’t just go to MofM though. Oh no, first we researched it online (they have their own website), second we planned the exact date, and third we got dressed up. Yes, I wore heels to a milkshake joint. This was a big event.

MofM is right on Santa Monica, so the parking is tight and they only have one space allotted to them. Of course destiny had her hand in us getting the spot. But just as I pull in, this little Asian man with a plastic bag on his head (it was raining) comes up to the car and sort of gestures at us. Let’s not forget that it’s dark and we’re in Los Angeles; Natalie and I are a little apprehensive about his motives, but he keeps saying something so I role the window down a crack.

“You can’t park here, this for MofM.”
“Uh yeah, that’s why we’re here.”
“I security. Ten minutes.”
“But wait, that’s impossible! It’s Millions of Milkshakes! It’s going to take at least twenty minutes.”
“Okay, but you bring receipt.”
“Um...there are literally millions of milkshake options! It might take 25 minutes.”
“No! Ten minutes.”
I give up and we walk through the rain into the store hoping he doesn’t do anything rash. Ahh! What a blessed sight. The brightly lit counter offering just about everything---nutella, ferrero rocher, toblerone, mars bars, mango, granola, capn crunch, brownie, cookie dough...they have it all. And, they put the entire candy bar in your shake. No skimping here. I ordered a peanut butter, nutella, pb choco chip, reese’s pb cups, froyo based shake with whipped cream on top. Holy PeanutButtery Cow! Nat ordered hers---chocolatey brownie something or other. We took our “here I am at the counter, Nat at the storefront, together with our shakes” pictures and began our slurp. I have never slurped heaven before but I’m positive it tastes exactly like my shake. "Little Asian bag on his head" man let us off the hook when he realized that indeed we were two single women, dressed to the nines, on a rainy Friday night, in the mood for a shake and nothing else.

Oh those shakes! What that sugar did to our sugarless bodies!!! Natalie was dancing jigs. I was standing on my head and jumping up and down (not wholly uncommon, I know, I know). We were through the roof in hysterics and completely unaware how extremely hyper we really were. All was clear the next day though when we found ourselves in bed at five o'clock because we just couldn’t move. Our PHD seeking roomie informed us that we were suffering from sugar hangovers; that our insulin had dropped so much to compensate for the shakes that resultantly, our bodies were in a state of distress and lethargy. After some discussion, Nat and I decided that for the betterment of ourselves and our community we should limit future MofM trips to once a month. We also decided preparation is key. Therefore, we’re back to eating sugar.

The Five

2009-02-28T00:29:00.000-08:00

After being at church here in LA long enough to get my bearings, I compiled what’s known (and joked about) as Martha’s Five, just an ever-evolving list of men that I may or may not want to date, get to know, meet, make out with.... ☺ It surprises me that I have compiled such a list. Five bona fide men! Wow! (Originally it was four and two halves: one I’d only seen in the directory, another I sat next to at church but never saw again—thus halves).

For clarity, this is just a list. I have no claim on these men. I just have my curiosities about them. In the past few months I’ve added and subtracted from the list, but usually equaling five.

A recent addition, QWE, was at church one Sunday. I told my roomie RTY, that I was going to introduce myself. She joined me. QWE, RTY, and I started talking and it was immediately clear that QWE was paying no attention to me and that every question and statement was directed at RTY. Boy did my little heart sink. (Sadly, it wasn’t a great day for Martha’s Five, earlier I’d seen JKL hanging out with ZXC which meant he was up for removal). This conversation with QWE was a downward spiral of rejection and I was looking for a quick extraction plan. Of course as we excused ourselves to class, QWE joined us, sat with us, and set up a QWERTY date. Oh swell! Clearly not what I had planned!

I’ve never figured out the power of men in effecting my emotions, that particular day in that particular moment I felt like s-h-i-t. And poor RTY had no control and then felt bad about it and said she wouldn’t go if I didn’t want her to go. Sweet of her, but mostly, that’s ridiculous. They went out. I was at work that night so I didn’t witness any part of the event. The next morning I woke in the pre dawn black and stumbled into the bathroom to find our toilet clogged; just not what you want to see at 445 in the a.m, @#$%. Yay! As I had no time for the $#%%, I left the toilet as it was. Later during normal waking hours, I asked RTY about the toilet. “That’s what I was going to ask you!” Turns out we both thought the other had something to do with it and were both wrong. Then, the pieces of the previous evening fell into place... It was QWE, in the bathroom, with the... We busted up. Suddenly QWE wasn’t looking like a Fiver anymore. We still had the issue of the toilet but of course no plunger, no time. RTY insisted she’d take care of it, but ironically, hours later it was me standing over the toilet, plunger in hand. Me! Screaming, and laughing, and crying as the nasty feces sloshed around and rose higher and higher while I plunged and plunged and prayed for the madness to stop. The joy of a crystal clear feces infused moment! I can’t get over the hilarity of it all. No worries my friends, I’ve moved on from this moment. The toilet works and the vacancy has been filled. ☺

Trash Day

2009-01-25T21:55:00.000-08:00

oh laura, someday, never...
when you lift your head from that dream soaked pillow
collect sleep from your eyes and place it on the nightstand next to your little black clock (with its flashing red numbers and siren that only I have an ear for)
I hope
(from my seat in the next room) that your focus lands
on the tumble of shoes whose foot-printed socks spill out like marbles across the floor
joining discarded envelopes,
caps to plastic bottles (who’ve long since recycled themselves as secrets of the living room),
and deflated bags pock marking your only escape route.

Then, when your eyes are wide and open I hope reality swoops in and sets with superglue force shaking from your mind the crowd of fairytale creatures and haloed angels.
And you, in the clarity of early morning light decide to send with them
the dental floss scraps, mixed up tapes, and tired hangers.

then maybe
when I come to the door trash bag in hand,
you’ll invite me in.

Obama and I save the world

2009-01-25T21:35:00.000-08:00

The night before Obama’s inauguration I had the following dream:

I was the Vice President, dressed in black pencil skirt, collared white shirt, and pointy black stilettos, speaking with President Obama in the dimly lit 7-11 parking lot. Barack was relaying the covert operation that I would embark upon in order to save the world. I had to protect a child prodigy who lived in a foster home. This boy was the answer to the economy and to our future generations; he was to save us. Unfortunately, he was in grave danger, staying in the foster home was a girl sent to destroy him with the kiss of death. I was to pose as a foster child in this home, befriend him, and keep the girl from kissing him.

Right as Obama was finishing up, we saw the boy walking down the street towards us. In a moment of quick wit and brilliance I pushed Obama hard and started yelling, “You never listen to me” at the top of my lungs. I had to convince the kid that I too, was a troubled adolescent. Despite my very professional attire, my age, and the fact that I was hanging with the Pres, he believed. I’m thinking it was too dark for him to really tell.

A few days later I entered the foster home. I don’t know how I managed to make everyone believe I was 15, but they didn't say anything. The boy and I were immediately friends as he remembered me from the other night. Kiss of death girl was always hanging around though, so we snuck out of the house to get away from her. Thankfully he had no desire to kiss her. It was obvious she knew that I knew who she was. Then after several nights of sneaking out and many more hours of video gaming, she disappeared. That’s when I woke up.

Just a few shots from Christmas..

2009-01-15T20:27:00.000-08:00

From the Southern Baptist Nativity Scene to our very own
Gabriel's bottomless stomach to beard covers
Spontaneous kickball to collapsing gingerbread houses
The non-dairy to the weenie roast
Homemade gifts to "skipping" rocks at the lake
Christmas was a spectacle, a marvel, a chaos.
It felt so good to be home.
Love you, Martha

WHAT was I thinking??

2009-01-11T01:23:00.000-08:00

I'll tell you exactly what I was thinking, "if I'm not supposed to go to this audition, then stop me." Well, that's exactly what He did (you better believe I'm blaming this all on Him. He is, after all, Master of the Universe. I know, I too was bamboozled into believing He-Man was the Master). Within two minutes of that thought, mid left turn onto busy street, my car died. I was literally stopped. Raise your hand if you think HF chuckles at us from time to time. And, thank you Dad for this fail proof technique at getting your prayers answered. It definitely works. Too bad all the fervent prayers I sent up after this unassuming one weren't answered in the same literal sense. Instead I found myself stranded amidst traffic in the red zone next to a fire hydrant.

It wasn't the actual event of breaking down so much as it was the final event in an onslaught of less than pleasing events taking place in my life recently. I became a veritable fire hydrant, were there really a fire I'm sure i would've offered a lot in the way of water works. But, after I screwed my head on straight I called a few choice people and asked for help. Four hours later I was safe at home. Brown Sugar on the other hand will be spending the weekend with Kirk the Mechanic.

Candidly, this event boils down to the seemingly simple fact that we are all dependent creatures. We humans do not like to admit to dependency. Why is it so hard to ask somebody for help, yet so easy to offer help? I love being the benevolent and self-sacrificing one. I do a decent job of it, but receiving help is not one of my talents. I hate it hate it hate it, really though, I hate it. Why? Because I have to admit I'm weak? Because I need to remain humble? Because somewhere out there is somebody that needs to be needed? Needs blessings through service? I'm sure it's all of the above and more. I am never over the shock and amazement of my Heavenly Father, the great Choreographer of space, time, and energy. He's so invested in the deep seconds of my life (and yours and yours and yours). On one end I wonder how it's possible such a power exists, and on the other, I wonder how anyone could ever deny His presence?

The adventures of Natalie and Martha

2009-01-08T15:24:00.000-08:00

I find my room roommate Natalie hilarious. I don't know what it is, but whenever we are together something funny is happening. Take for instance my previous blog about the couch that almost was...Natalie was part of that hilarity. Or the day a few weeks back when she was totally going to hold the elevator for me and then didn't, which seems like a joke, except for the fact that it was mentioned in jest but not intended. I could hear her laughter all the way down to the 1st floor and back up again. Today is not lost on our adventures together. Just a few minutes ago she says aloud, "whose underwear is in my bag?" as she pulls a pair of spankies from her purse and holds them up for the whole room to see. They were mine! Ha ha ha. What makes it even funnier is that I had all but given up on seeing them again. I was certain they had fallen out of my bag at the fitness studio, and there was NO WAY I'd be asking around to see if anyone had come across that. Eww. As to how they got in her bag...she thinks she mistook them for her shinguard covers. In that case, it's a good thing she pulled my underwear out at home rather than out on the soccer field. :)

Niephs

2009-01-07T21:38:00.000-08:00

Because to some I am Aunt Martha...

It's probably time

2009-01-07T20:26:00.000-08:00

I updated you on something...as in something that really is happening (or happened) to me.

Perhaps I'll tell you about the time (two days ago) when my roomies and I were informed that we would no longer have a couch to sit on. No problema! I run home and tell Natalie, "hey, I just saw a couch on the street a block over. Let's go check it out." Natalie and I do just that. We, in our Uggety boots go tromping down the dark LA streets to this couch sitting all pristine on a patch of grass. We claim it as our own and take to carrying it back to el apartamento. Well, I wish it was so easy. We had to stop every few steps or so because of its bulkiness and because of the fact that we aren't body builders or testosterone enhanced (thankfully). We finally make it to our building after several bouts of laughter, nearly breaking the lobby door, and a sprinkler wash. And...it doesn't fit! We can't get it into the elevator. By this time we have a third (and very kind) party who wants to help. We refuse to give up; we'll bring it in through the back! We three take the couch back outside, through the sprinklers--in the process picking up a fourth helper, and around to the backside of the building. Natalie goes in, sets off the emergency exit alarm, and lets us through. After lugging it through the gate and up the stairs, it still doesn't fit. In fact, the back door is even more narrow than the elevator. So, we left the couch on a piece of grass in front of our apartment and went inside to sit on the floor. :) I wonder what the original owners would be thinking to themselves upon seeing their couch a block from where they left it?

p.s. we have a futon. we're fine. i added that bit about sitting on the floor for effect. :)

a tree quickened by love takes flight

2008-12-15T22:40:00.000-08:00

I dropped down and leapt up, eyes to sky high
(in my heart) I was expanding.
Birds fluttered inside,
my roots uprooted shook,
the dirt from them fell.
I didn’t watch as it hit the ground.
Oh, from that deep moist darkness
I met the dry wind, turned to the sunlight,
exposed myself
smiling (for all my rings) blind.

Haiku for the road

2008-12-15T22:20:00.000-08:00

Blazing hot black wheel
Power steering please I beg
Isuzu says, NO.

True Love

2008-12-11T19:31:00.001-08:00

My Addiction.

If only I had a GPS system...

2008-12-11T18:35:00.000-08:00

I've been thinking a lot lately about how wonderful it would be to have a GPS for my life. But it dawned on me this past Sunday that the problem with having this is that I have to know exactly where I am going and unfortunately I don't. In fact, I want God to be the one that says, "Hey Martha, here’s the exact address, avoid the freeways, there are high tolls, and check this place out along the way—great sushi." (Not that I really like sushi, but that's what I imagine He'd say because He is hip and so is sushi). So, I decided to write an ode to the GPS that would revolutionize my world. Here it is in the style of film noir.
-------------------Enjoy-------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

Recalculating!

I’m wandering down the street. I see a sign,
“New and improved Global Positioning System ON SALE NOW! Only $99.95! Guaranteed to change your life forever or your money back!”
I wonder out loud to myself, “Could I pass this offer up?”
I look to the left...I look to the right...I look up to the sky (I see a bird)...No!
Cha-ching, the sound of change. My change, pouring from my fingers.
Life makes cents again! 9,995 cents to be exact.
And now, I Tess L. Finkelstein, am the proud, the new, the amazing owner of a very special global positioning system.
Say it out loud folks: Global Positioning System. Doesn’t it just speak joy to your heart?
Within minutes of plugging it in, a classy woman’s voice is telling me:
In thirty minutes go to this store, purchase item on low shelf of aisle five...
In 3 hours go online, submit resume to this website, receive call, set up interview...
In 5 days attend dance class, network with tall dancer wearing blue leg warmers...
In 2 weeks meet the man you’ll marry on southeast corner of these streets, fall in love...
Ecstatic about these life-altering events I move forward boldly with my life!
No fear blocks me from my destination!
Keeps me from seizing the day!
I am in control. I am confident. I am independent. I own a global positioning system!
And...
I end up on aisle 4.
Forget why I even got on the computer.
Speak to the dancer wearing the scarf.
Arrive on the wrong corner as the love of my life disappears down the street.
But...
Have no fear ladies and gentlemen for I stand there with bated breath,
no frustration mounting in my heart as it might have done previously, because her clear resounding voice speaks the greatest word of peace one could never imagine...wait for it...
Recalculating.
And then, she tells me Make U-Turn in 200 yards...Head south .5 miles...Arrive at destination on right.
And there he is:
Unkempt. Malodorous. Begrimed. Barefoot and...pushing a cart.
I look left. I look right. I look left.
Is it too late to get my money back?

Control X

2008-12-01T00:37:00.000-08:00

In kindergarten, cutting a circle was hard, even with a guiding dotted line. Mine were always jagged and multi-sided. I was aware of this inability to a fault. When the report card said, “Needs to work on fine motor skills” I heard, “Martha is a terrible circle cutter, because of this she will never amount to anything.” I guess you could say the words cut me. Cutting along the dotted line on book order forms and permission slips was different. Those were simple easy cuts. Sometimes the dotted line was perforated making it easy to rip out, no scissors required, just fold and tear.

At twenty-one, I dated a boy. It was deep smit, maybe love. He told me that to truly love someone, I had to put my heart on the line. Unfortunately when I did, he took his scissors and started cutting along that line till he had removed my heart in, what felt like, it’s entirety. There are no dotted lines to love, but maybe away from it...

In the game Operation, the object is to remove all the organs from the body without touching it or a sudden zapping sounds. This noise shook my nine-year-old nerves. On a bad day the game comes to mind. How nice it would be to cut out pieces of myself just as the game does. I could forgo hunger, worry less about kidney stones, or avoid heartbreak...but inevitably my hands would shake and send the loud zapping reverberating through my body.

I fell off my bike when I was twenty-six. There was a huge cut, a gash, right across my shin. I was in shock and awe as I watched the blood pool in my shoe. Luckily none of my body parts fell out. What if dotted lines were scattered across my body at every spot I’d ever be cut? Would I leave the house? Probably. Destiny isn’t fooled by cheap tricks.

I have a friend who says, “You cut me. You cut me deep.” She’s joking of course, but I know there’s some truth to it. I can still recall some of her double-sided words.

At eighteen, I worked in a print shop. Customers came by with thick stacks of paper that needed to be cut. We had a huge machine for cutting thick stacks. 1.50 per cut. No mistakes allowed! There were no dotted lines, but thankfully no circles. I won’t say I didn’t ever make a mistake.

Lately I’ve been cutting myself out of pictures. I notice that when I do, the lines are jagged, crooked, and sloppy. Inevitably I cut my arm or my fingers, maybe a toe. At least it doesn’t hurt. There’s no blood. No scar (emotional or physical).

At twenty-nine I’m cutting and pasting this document. On my keyboard I press “Control” and “X” or “V.” There are no scissors, no dotted lines. No blood and scars. Mistakes are a thing of the past. Just press “Control” and “Z” then Voila! Undone.

Although...

There’s nothing to show for the distance my words have traveled. There’s no recalling thoughts, no scratches or margin notes. Have I done a disservice by allowing these words to come to you pristine, as though born to the page mature?

Someone at the door

2008-11-17T22:16:00.001-08:00

If you know me, you know that I'm big on experiencing the moment. For a long time though, I have been avoiding this particular "start a blog" moment. I feel like I'm inviting you into my home when I'm not there to see you. Despite this, I am here at this blog moment and I'm inviting you to join me from your voyeuristic spot. I know you're out there on some weekday shifting from blog to blog, link to link getting caught up in the lives and experiences of so many that sometimes you wonder, How did I get here? Why did I get on the computer in the first place? Well, I'm glad you're here even if I'm not. I've left a few thoughts and photos and frankly, I'm hoping they'll strike something within you...a chuckle, a frown, a thought, a memory. And, in so doing, maybe this moment will last longer and be more far reaching because we're each aware and motivated by the fact that the other is out there somewhere really living. That said, hang your hat, put up your feet, and stay awhile. I'm glad you're here. :)Martha

I don't want you to read this...

2008-11-17T22:09:00.000-08:00

I don’t want you to read this because I’m not very good at writing it.
The words frustrate me, the way they’re sprawled across the page, legs hanging heads flying. I can’t imagine how they make you feel. So indifferent they won’t interest themselves in Meaning and Context.
I don’t know how to motivate them towards Brilliance.

When you’re an amateur the last thing you want is for someone to read your words and say,
“That’s really good!” You know it’s what they’ll say, adding the “really” in an attempt to make up for the hollow sound that “good” makes, when REALLY they know that you know that they know
it’s shit.
From there you’ll shift to the weather. Every topic from awkwardness shifts to weather or baseball or “how’s your sister?” I know because this is what you know when you’re an amateur.
And I’m an amateur.
I don’t have a sister.
Someday I’d really like to write at a level beyond this, where in complete sincerity, some dude looks up from my words and says,
“DAMN, you wrote this?”

Cravings

2008-11-17T11:48:00.000-08:00

Tonight I am eating Romaine lettuce. It’s wrapped up in a paper towel and I’m slowly pulling the towel down and taking bites. No dressing. No tuna, tortilla, and cheese. No bread to sandwich it. Plain old lettuce.

Who am I?

For the record, this is not a matter of circumstance, I happen to have a cupboard full of food right now. I even have homemade cookie dough in the fridge!

Also, this is not my first weird craving. In truth, I have had several this past month, and not just the glucose and fructose variety. Rather, these are odd, freakishly odd. One week I ate, on average, a tomato a day. I DON’T EVEN LIKE TOMATOES. I told Rachel, (my sister for 29 years, of which zero of these years I have liked tomatoes) she was flabbergasted. Imagine the food you dislike, it’s slimy, disgusting, mushy, tastes gross... Now eat a healthy portion of it everyday for a week, not out of force, but out of desire. Have you gone mad? Now, think of your second disgust ridden, strongly dislike, or rarely ever eaten blue moon item (EGG). Scramble it, omel-ify it, over easy, medium, and hard it, learn to poach and benedict that item, then tell me, do you want seconds?

What is my body trying to say to me? Has this happened to you? Do you know? Body? Body, if you are out there reading this, please let me know. I’m here. What do you need? I honestly want to help. And you, my friends, if you see my body will you please help me, grab it, shake it, plead with it on my behalf. These cravings are getting out of hand. Something must be done because you know what's next, CHOCOLATE. Help!!!