Happy Tuesday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers! Yesterday, I declared it "New Product Wednesday on a Monday" and today I am declaring it "New Product Wednesday on a Tuesday!" You are very lucky ... or I need to get a calendar. If you are a regular reader of LilyOnTheLam, you will know that many times my posts are pretty much "what you see is what you get and what you get is crazy and wacky!" I could write about myself in a self-aggrandizing light, but self-deprecating is a wee bit more true to form in a "why do these weird things always happen to me???" way. So in other words, why waste my breath or my fingers' typing away by trying to make myself sound better than I am? It's better to just tell the truth and laugh along with everyone else ... who are laughing at me, hysterically laughing at me. Sigh! (LOL!) In that viewpoint, I will admit to those of you who do not already know that I ... watch ... reality television. As in, my TV is permanently tuned to Bravo TV. (Side note: Hottie former Marine male Kelley from "Below Deck" favorited one of my tweets, which I think means he is in love with me. Yep, pretty sure of that.) Now in my free time from being perma-glued to the reality TV line up, I also like to shop. Yes, I am a walking stereotype. I know it. I own it. Now the reality TV stars of Bravo really do know that their audience loves to both shop and watch and there are all these side items they are constantly referencing on episodes. I feel like it is one part reality TV, one part HSN home shopping informercial. I've never had a burning desire to buy Nene Leakes' clothing, Ramona Singer's Pinot Grigio, Vicki Gunvalson's vodka or have any of my pets buried and/or eulogized by Phaedra Parks or Sonja Morgan. (I have tried Bethenny Frankel's Skinny Girl Margarita but found it too sweet.) However, there is ONE product that has been touted AD NAUSEAM on "Real Housewives of New Jersey" that I was slightly curious about ... I give you... the Manzo Boys' marketing company promoted BLK water!
It's water. And it's black. It is "alkaline fulvic trace mineral infused water" which basically to me sounds like the Swedish Chef talking.
Unfortunately, we live in a world where in most settings appearances count. I know you should not judge a book by its cover, but I was really having a tough time looking at the BLK water, When I look at a bottle of black liquid, I don't think "refreshing" or "hydrating." I think "murky" and "swamp-like." But I was also curious ... So when I saw a bottle of BLK water on the shelves of Southern Season in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina; I gave out a shriek of reality TV joy! I may have to work 9000 hours in NC on a business trip, but there would be some BLK-water drinking time squeezed in there too! I chilled the bottle to icy cold temps. Not so much on purpose but because the refrigerator in my hotel room was straight outta Antarctica! I opened the bottle and just stared at it. Black water. Hmmm. I slowly raised the bottle to my lips and took a sip. It tasted like water with an earthy aftertaste. It tasted like water from a really old house's kitchen sink. It was ice cold and yet tasted tepid. How is that possible? I have been in mud baths and thermal pools in Pamukkale, Turkey and hot springs in Taiwan and Malaysia, so I am not afraid of some minerals in my water. But BLK water was not in the same vein. It's hard to explain but I felt like it was anti-hydrating. One sip and I didn't feel quenched or refreshed. My mouth actually felt drier. I have had alkaline waters before (I'm still looking for Shahs of Sunset's Asa Soltan's Diamond Water!) and have not had this sensation. I forced myself to finish off the bottle. When the bottle is empty, one sees that there had been black writing on the bottle that is only clearly visible once the bottle is empty. It said "DEFY EXPECTATIONS" on the bottle. Did BLK defy my expectations? Sort of, but not in a good way. I actually had high expectations for a mineral-infused water. I was thinking that this might be a "good thing" for my body ... and maybe it was, but it certainly wasn't a treat for my taste buds. Plus for some reason "DEFY EXPECTATIONS" made me think of "SURRENDER DOROTHY" from "The Wizard of Oz."
Side note: My Mother bought me Wizard of Oz bed sheets when I was little, a real life picture of the green Wicked Witch scared me so much that I ripped the sheets off my bed, balled them up and shoved them in the back of a drawer. The life lesson there is: "Don't go to bed with things that scare you." Which should be handed out on cards to people leaving bars at 3 a.m. with strangers. Just sayin'. Side Note #2: I am pretty sure I think of "SURRENDER DOROTHY" when I see "Defy Expectations" because of the song "Defying Gravity" from the Wizard of Oz musical wicked.
I'll take Idina Menzel singing over drinking a bottle of BLK water ANY DAY OF THE WEEK. Ms. Ohio and I saw her both in a one woman concert and in the pre-Broadway showings of her musical "If/Then" in Washington DC with a one Mr. Cardamom Monroe. While I ADORED Idina Menzel in concert, I found "If/Then" to be rough, lackluster and uneven. I hope it was polished more before it appeared on Broadway. Anyway, I found BLK water to be like my reality TV show watching. Full of sturm und drang, signifying nothing. Which also has been an appropriate metaphor for my dating life recently. I had high hopes for "The Commissioner." A man who kept telling me how honest, forthright, caring and compassionate he was. Did I also happen to mention he works in sales? Lots of words about how wonderful he was and little action to back it up. You're a bottle of black water that tastes crappy and leaves me dehydrated! So buh-bye Commissioner and on to the next one!
Happy Tuesday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers - thanks for reading!
Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers: Happy Monday! To start this week off right, I am declaring today "New Product Wednesday on a Monday." It's like Christmas in August, people! I am back from a week in Raleigh-Durham, North Carolina where I worked my arse off round the clock for my job and any free time I had was filled with sleep, Southern food and cocktails. The one week felt like sixteen weeks and I am very glad to be home in Florida. A few weeks back, Ms. Wrigleyville and I had been shopping at one of my favorite stores in the world: Cost Plus World Market. We do not have one in Tampa Bay, so I must make a pilgrimage any time I want to go for some low cost "world goods." On this particular trip, I slipped something into the shopping cart trying to be "discreet." I might as well have had a Polish tuba band behind me with banners saying "What is Lily doing?" as I tried to be "discreet." Ms. Wrigleyville caught my not-so-sly, not-so-ninjaesque movements and said "What are you putting in your cart?" BUSTED! I threw up my hands and said "OK now listen, DON'T JUDGE ME!" Which I think is pretty much the international way of saying "I am pathetic, judge away!" In my cart, I had put a spice/sauce packet for ...
Red Fork Brand "Best Sloppy Joe Skillet Sauce with roasted tomato and garlic." My name is Lily and I like fancy Sloppy Joes. In my defense, I have to say that naming something "Best Sloppy Joe" is really a teaser that no mortal even with superhuman strength could turn down. I mean, who wouldn't want to see if this truly was the BEST Sloppy Joe ever? And my point is proven, because Ms. Wrigleyville didn't judge me. Instead she asked me which aisle I procured this packet of nirvana and she promptly ran over and grabbed one for herself. Proving once again why we are friends. Now let me tell you how I am with sauce packets and spice mixes. Whether at home or abroad, I love to buy seasonings. I then put them in my cupboard, forget all about them and then five to ten years from now throw them out in a "ohh I forgot about these" sad moment. But when something says "BEST Sloppy Joe," you can't just leave it lingering in the back of the pantry! Side Note: The unfortunate placement of the "H" key next to the "J" key on the laptop keyboard combined with my devastatingly unfortunate FAT FINGERS means that I keep initially typing "Sloppy Hoe" instead of "Sloppy Joe" which makes me laugh hysterically (I have the maturity of an 8 year old boy) and then I correct the typo and move on. After a long business trip, I cleared my weekend schedule to do some serious recuperating. I did make time to see Jamie Kennedy at Sidesplitters Comedy Club with friends and to volunteer at a local theater. I had been wishing I had cancelled my volunteering because I was so tired and would rather just sit on my butt watching a mini-marathon of season one of Bravo TV's "Below Deck" television show. But once I was at the theater, I felt reinvigorated. There were some local celebs at the show as well as some colorful characters and I enjoyed talking with them all. Reinvigorating! I know it is difficult to find time in one's schedule for all the things we need to do, but it was a good reminder to me that volunteering really does fuel my soul. It is something I need to spend more time doing because not only do I pay forward the opportunities I have been given but it also nurtures me as well. When I headed home, tired but happy; I remembered that package of Sloppy Joe mix and stopped at the store for ground Chuck, a large yellow onion, a large green bell pepper, a can of fire roasted tomatoes and a pack of Publix French Hamburger buns. I'm not really sure what makes a hamburger bun "French" other than it has a funky carved, egg-washed top that sorta looks like a slashed baguette. But I do know that they taste good and tend to hold up better than your typical hamburger bun. The sauce mix was fragrant. The ground beef-vegetable mixture smelled heavenly. I settled in to eat my "Fancy Sloppy Joe" while watching the new "To Be Takei" George Takei documentary on iTunes, which I highly recommend. Apparently right now the movie is only in 1 theater in the country -- in Manhattan, so I appreciated being able to watch it on iTunes. Thank you, Apple!
The Fancy Sloppy Joe was good. A little on the sweet side. I added cayenne pepper and alder wood smoked sea salt to balance out the sugary taste. While I enjoyed the sauce mix, I probably could have replicated the same flavor with less sugar by using some tomato paste and garlic. But for ease of use, the sauce packet was great. So Fancy Sloppy Joe: B+. The George Takei documentary: A+++++++++++. Happy Monday!
Happy Friday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers! So I was having dinner with Kiki Von Vellum, the personal assistant of a one Mr. Cardamom Monroe. The aforementioned Mr. Cardamom Monroe may have been feeling a tinge guilty (or grateful) that I have now traveled three times from Tampa to northern Orlando to help him house hunt. (I say "Northern Orlando" to emphasize just how far I drove for Mr. CM.) I believe Mr. CM was feeling guilty/grateful because he dispatched Kiki Von Vellum to hop on his motorized scooter and high-tail it to Tampa after a long day of work to take me out to dinner. I enjoy spending time with Kiki Von Vellum, as there are so many great Tampa hot spots that he has not had a chance to see/enjoy. However Kiki Von Vellum and I also have a long-standing blood feud. Because Kiki is all man, he has that annoying male trait of trying to tell independent, free-thinking fabulous divas like myself what they should or should not do! "Kiki, get yourself back on your scooter and putt putt yourself back to NO - Northern Orlando!" For what seems like 17 years, Kiki Von Vellum has been criticizing the monkey picture on LilyOnTheLam. These are two adorable monkeys in front of the Red Fort in Agra, India. Kiki Von Vellum refers to them as fornicating monkeys. I think Kiki Von Vellum needs a hobby! My thoughts are: "I write this blog for me and my own personal enjoyment, so if my blog or its pictures offends you - DON'T READ IT!" Why should I change something in my personal extra-curricular activity to satisfy someone else? This is not all about you, Kiki Von Vellum!" So after the 900th time, Kiki Von Vellum told me I need to switch the header picture on LilyOnTheLam; I looked him in the eye and said "You do know that every time you complain about the picture, I resolve to keep the monkey picture up an extra year!" Evidently that did not phase Kiki Von Vellum, because he's "advised" me about 20 times since then that the "Fornicating Monkey picture needs to go!" So this past week over the roast pork stack, tater tots and grilled shrimp lettuce wraps at Anise Global Gastrobar, Kiki Von Vellum once again climbed his soap box and began his on-going boring crusade to get me to change the header picture on LilyOnTheLam - which by the way pretty much guarantees that I will keep the picture up until 2099 - BECAUSE I AM STUBBORN! While my love for Kiki Von Vellum is endless, my patience for his annoying anti-monkey picture crusade is not! Had he never brought it up, I would have changed pictures by now - as I get bored with the same old picture -- as anyone who has seen how many times I change avatars on Google + or Twitter can attest to. But noooooo, Kiki Von Vellum had to turn this into his own personal crusade as if he was being morally wounded by the Indian monkeys; thus guaranteeing their permanent spot on my blog. So if my picture of two monkeys offends you, you only have Kiki Von Vellum to blame from now until 2099. The problem with using my blog to complain about people in my life is that many of these same people also read my blog! Ack! Kiki Von Vellum is going to have a hissy fit! But even worse, now that I have thrown myself head first in the dating pool - men who are interested in my writing (and I am interested in them) ask to read my blog. But my blog is filled with stories about dating other men! Awkward! For example, there is a tall, insightful, intuitive, very caring man who I have code-named "The Commissioner." He wanted to read my blog and I want to flirt up a storm with him. It's hard to flirt and be the innocent coquette when the blog has all the tales of my dating disasters and reactions to men in general! I may need to create a second blog that has been edited! "Lily On The Lam - Sanitized Version." Sure I could stop writing about my dating disasters, but I think they are HYSTERICAL! And so do most of my readers, so I don't want to stop. Just like I don't want to take down my monkey photo because one person complains. Stubborness, thy name is Lily! Happy Friday!
Hello LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers: My Monday was long and chaotic, which is pretty much my usual work mode in the new job. I had some levity mid-day texting with a charming man I will refer to as "Mr. Gehegten," which brought a smile and a must needed respite from trying to calm down people lost in a sea of business process transformation. When finally my work day came to an end, I went to my personal laptop and pulled up CNN.com. I saw news reports that alleged that actor/comedian Robin Williams had killed himself earlier in the day. I sat staring at the screen. Surely this was a mistake, right? Whenever I hear of someone killing themselves - whether a local resident or celebrity, I always have the same reaction in the first few seconds. The feeling that "we" as in some "universal we" fell asleep on the job. I picture all the world's human inhabitants as forming a safety net - to hold, to cradle and to protect each other. When I hear that someone has killed themselves, I feel like somewhere there was a break in the net. That we lost someone we were charged to protect. That they fell through. On one hand, I can understand someone wanting to decide when to go - when to leave this world on their own terms. But I can't help but think how many people regretted the decision too late. I watched the horrifically mind-blowing documentary "The Bridge" which shows people jumping off the Golden Gate Bridge. I remember watching one man talking on his cell phone, seemingly laughing - and then in the next instance he hurled himself off the bridge. There are only a few survivors from a jump from that great height and many regretted jumping after they took the leap. I know that during particular bad bouts of PMS when my body chemistry and hormones are raging that I cannot see anything past the current moment. Everything seems bleak and annoying and awful. But if I make it past that moment, it's like coming out of a fog. Everything seems so much better. So with suicide is it a calculated, well-informed decision or is it a hasty maneuver made at the lowest point? Regardless of the root cause, it is very sad to me. I grew up watching Robin Williams in a variety of roles. I know many comedians have a tortured soul, so I was not surprised to hear of his addictions. I still was in awe of many of his performances. Monday night after hearing the news about Robin Williams, I went on iTunes and rented "Dead Poets Society." I haven't watched it in years namely because it makes me very sad. Even the ending, bittersweet, does not take away the sting. Watching it while thinking of Robin Williams' last day on Earth, made it even more bittersweet.
I was graduating high school the first time I saw "Dead Poets Society." The character played by Robert Sean Leonard feels he is trapped by his father's expectations of who he should be, career-wise. He feels he has no out - either do what his father wants or else. Whereas I, personally, on the other hand was 2 months away from leaving for college in another state. Suddenly I would have no parental supervision and could, within reason, really do anything I wanted. For better or for worse, I was technically "an adult." And I remember that this scared the crap out of me. I was overwhelmed by it all. It was hard to "seize the day" when the only thing I felt seizing was my heart in my chest, with panic. I know many people wish they were younger or could go back in time and redo moments of their lives. Whereas for me, I am quite content to not be in that moment. When I think back to this particular time in my life, I remember so much fear of the unknown. I desperately wanted some sort of reassurance that all would work out OK and that my actions in the present wouldn't screw me completely over in the future. But there are no guarantees in life and sometimes even the worst situations brought weird rewards down the road. As Mr. Gehegten told me, you cannot plan certain things - you just have to see what happens. The one thing that made me smile when "Dead Poets Society" came out, despite it's bittersweet, sad ending is the heroic love of poetry. I used to write poem after poem. That stopped when I finished high school. It wasn't a deliberate choice. I just stopped. I continued to write, but it was as if my poetry "phase" was over. I might have had to write one for a college English class but my heart was no longer in it. But every now and again, I still read poetry - some classics, some modern day. I have William Carlos Williams' "This Is Just To Say" memorized (it's very short) from when I recited it in 11th grade English class. My own personal life motto comes from Rainer Maria Rilke's "There are no classes in life for beginners; right away you are always asked to deal with what is most difficult." And my first love, the French poet Arthur Rimbaud: It is found again What? Eternity. It is the sea Gone with the sun. Even through the melancholy sadness both old and present day, I enjoyed watching "Dead Poets Society" again. It was like a trip to the past - which has both joy and sorrow. The film had its 25th anniversary in June. I hate that this occasion of a great film is now marked by a sad end to a great life. Forever a footnote in the history of the film. But I suspect Robin Williams' life will far outshine the manner in which he chose to exit the stage. I am glad for the life I have led, even though it may not be the one that I set out for myself or dreamed of all those many years ago. I am glad to not be so scared of the future or making a mistake. Whether time has created confidence or apathy, I am not exactly sure but I do know I am not the paralyzed scared soul. I end this post with some more Rainer Maria Rilke ... I could read his words a million times and still feel the meaning pulsing through each syllable. Let everything happen to you Beauty and terror Just keep going No feeling is final
Happy Monday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers: "The Grass Is Always Greener On The Other Side of The Fence" - this adage keeps popping up lately in conversations with friends. Many a time I have thought someone was very lucky, fortunate or blessed; only to realize that the rosy picture I thought I was seeing was really a grisly nightmare. Which of course reminds me of another adage: "Be careful what you wish for, you just might get it." Or the more poetic: "Getting what you want can break your heart" lyric from Matt Nathanson. I used to travel a lot - week after week after week after endless week for work. Landing in a new city by myself, orienting myself and showing up to companies I have never been to, meeting people I did not know and trying to get them to think we were the best thing since sliced bread. It was a lot of song, a lot of dance and a lot of forced extroversion. I knew a woman, who at the time used to brag that her entire life - work, social, family- was confined within a two mile radius. She was astonishingly quite proud of the fact. I say "astonishingly" because having my life confined within a two mile radius would be my own personal definition of hell. One night, probably over beers in a dive bar within a two mile radius of her home; this woman looked at me in awe when I returned from an international business trip. She leaned in with a puzzled look on her face and asked: "So you go places by yourself, places you have never been and you just get a car and you drive to where you need to go - and you just do it? How do you have the courage to do all that on your own?" Her eyes scanned mine as if surely I must have magical powers to be able to accomplish such a heroic feat. I looked at her, kind of dumbstruck. After years of doing a road warrior lifestyle, I realized no one had ever asked me this question. Nor had I ever asked myself the question either. Usually, I answer questions right away. And usually faster than my brain can work. My mouth has a way of running off with itself. But for this particular question, I stopped and stared at the ceiling as if the answer was written on one of the drooping acoustical tiles. I remember my lips started moving - chewing the air- but no sound was coming out. It was like her question had completely severed my brain from my mouth. I was slack jawed. Finally I said "I just do it. If I stopped to think about it long enough, I would probably never do it. But I don't give myself the option. This is my job. This is what I have to do. So I just do it." I think there's a lot of things in my life where if I slowed myself down and said "Hey, can you really handle this?" I would freak myself out into complete and utter paralysis. So much of my life has been "sink or swim" from a very young age. I never had the luxury to say "No thank you, I'll pass on this one." Or "No thanks, I don't have the cojones to take this on. Find someone else." There was never the option. Or at least I never saw any other option. If I had to guess the origin story on this particular foible of my multi-faced, multi-foibled self, I assume it all comes from growing up with my single mother (my father ducked paying child support and then died). My mother worked full-time and went to school at night. English was not her first language. She would pour over nursing textbooks with our battered red Webster's dictionary and a medical dictionary next to her. There was a small lamp illuminating the white textbook papers and creepy anatomical drawings. She would study late into the night. She would never stop, no matter how tired she was. There was no option. There was no taking a break. There was no "I'll pass on this, it's too difficult for me." There were no options - just sink or swim. So I work hard, but I also reward myself in an equally grandiose fashion with material goods and travels - and that can draw some good-natured envy or some cold-hearted jealousy from some around me. It's human nature and I would be a liar if I didn't say I was envious or jealous of others at times too. But of course, be careful what you wish for ... For better or worse, I am used to some jealousy. It's usually not meant in a malicious spirit and even when it is, it is rarely soul-shattering to me. I live my life in good times and in bad. Whether that garners me jealousy or pity, envy or sorrow; it has no effect on how I live my life. I live my life for me, not anyone else; so the opinions of others rarely resonate a course correction on the pathway on which I steer my ship. However, I will say that the rare moments of "animal jealousy" have made a much longer lasting impression than any "human jealousy" experience. Allow me to elaborate on this ... A long, long, long time ago, I had a boyfriend who lived in San Francisco. I would pick fights with him and threaten to leave him whenever I wasn't getting enough attention. I was a very, very immature girlfriend. He would beg me not to break up with him and I'd feel secure that "ohh, so he does really care for me." But one can only cry wolf, so often. I was in grad school and I knew the relationship was going south. He was afraid I would cheat on him and desperately wanted me to marry him like NOW. Which come on, if I were the type of person to cheat (which I am not) - would a marriage license stop me? I didn't understand the logic. I moved to San Francisco to be with him for the summer and told a close friend that the summer wouldeither make or break the relationship. I knew in my heart it would be the latter, but I wanted to at least try. The boyfriend had a big white hunting cat. This cat was huge - all muscle, death on four legs. He was fast, strong and had an attitude. And he was pretty angry that I was moving in for the summer, taking away his owner's time and attention. One day I walked into the bedroom and it was like an aviary exploded. There were feathers and bird guts EVERYWHERE. I let out a scream and ran out to the living room. Apparently the cat had brought his owner a gift - a bird he had killed. Maybe he thought the gift of the bird would get his owner to dump me? I refused to go back into the bedroom until my boyfriend cleaned up all signs of the carnage. I had no idea how one bird carcass could be shredded into so many pieces! The cat was not happy. And neither was I. My boyfriend was caught in the middle between his cat and his girlfriend! If there hadn't been bird entrails everywhere, it might have been comical. Later that week, the boyfriend and I were sitting in the living room when the cat walked by. It looked like it was carrying a purse. My slow-moving brain was thinking "Why does the cat have a purse in its mouth? Wait that's not the handle of a purse ... that's a tail. What? OH MY GOD, THAT'S A RAT!" The cat had killed a rat and was carrying it back to our bedroom. I started shrieking and pointing and shouting. My poor belabored boyfriend probably had blood streaming from his ear drums. "GET IT! GET THE RAT BEFORE THE CAT SHREDS IT!" The boyfriend who I will affectionately name "The Schlub" ran to the bedroom and grabbed the carcass of the newly murdered rat. The cat came out of the bedroom and glared at me. I was pretty sure the cat was going to kill me next. Later that week, I grilled salmon for dinner. In this particular relationship, I was Julia Child. The cat came over to me - both hating me and yet curious as to what the delightful smell was. I had never had a cat before. I was pretty sure I liked cats, but this homicidal one had me a bit scared. I cut off a piece of my salmon and shoved it over to him. He sniffed it, then devoured it. I gave him some more. He inhaled it. I held a piece in my hand and he came over and gently ate it from my finger tips. By the time we were done, he had eaten over half my filet. From then on, the cat loved me and no more dead animals showed up in our bedroom. I was shocked by the 180 degree turn in the hunter cat's personality. If only I had known before how easy it would be to win this cat's love! I ended up dumping the boyfriend however. No amount of salmon could fix that relationship! Back to present day ... I have been putting off getting back into the dating world. I have not been in a "real" relationship since The Grizzly Bear I dated last year. A very sweet guy who is very, very lost. Story of too many guys I have dated! Since then I spent some time with a previous ex, because to quote my own Lily-ism "It's always easier to go backward than forward." But there is a reason the ex is an ex, so I extinguished the flames on that reunion pretty quickly. However life is short, so I finally decided to go back to the tempestuous waters that is dating in Florida. (Oh so many rednecks! Oh so many smokers! Oh so many hillbillies!) I kept stumbling upon a side show of carnival freaks - and absolutely no one I wanted to date. Oh well, at least it should make for some funny (or sad) blog posts! As I waded out into the dating waters, I developed a deep crush on an extremely wonderful, yet also extremely emotionally unavailable man. Which was really sad, because I very much like him. Perhaps it's just masochism on my part or even my own deluded form of commitmentphobia, in falling for this particular person ... I am not really sure. There's a part of me that hopes that one day the stars will align and it will just happen, but the more realistic part of me knows there is an inherent danger in hoping that much. Sadly I have found many times that the bigger the dream, the bigger the potential to crash and burn. And this particular gentleman is definitely someone who has the potential to shatter my heart. I drove my convertible north listening to Matt Nathanson's "Last Days of Summer in San Francisco" over and over again trying to figure out why I was so strongly fixated on something that was not even there. But the only conclusion I could come up with was that the heart wants what the heart wants.
But the realization was still getting me nowhere. I decided to lock up my hope into a box and move on. I felt that the universe was telling me that I needed to spend my energy in a more positive direction. Then the universe sent me a man I shall call "Mr. Key." A northern transplant with relatives in Minnesota (where I am from) and Western New York (where I went to school). It was like he and I were forged from the same pop culture kiln. We shared so many commonalities, experiences and viewpoints. We kept finishing each other's sentences. It was definitely like we were two peas in a pod. I felt like I had known "Mr. Key" all my life. He is very comfortable to be around. I enjoyed spending time with Mr. Key. We seemed to play a game of who could make whom laugh the hardest and we were both amazingly good at it! A very delightful game indeed. And he has the prettiest eyes and eye lashes that women would kill for! He is all around very handsome and stylish. For my plunge back into the dating world, I had selected a chivalrous cutie. It has been fun getting to know him. So one night, Mr. Key and I decide to watch a movie at his house. Being a gentleman, he let me pick the movie - and I did not pick well. The movie was supposed to be suspenseful but we kept guessing each twist and turn before it happened. I kept making Mr. Key high-five me each time we guessed the correct twist. I'm surprised our hands weren't burning the number of times we high-fived! Mr. Key has a two year old, fifty pound dog. She is very cute, but I could tell she was not happy that I was there. I looked at Mr. Key and said "I'm sitting in your dog's spot on the couch, aren't I?" He said "Yes, but don't worry about it." You would think given my earlier experience with animals who are not happy that I would have been more alert about potential mayhem. But I was cuddling on the couch with a very good-looking man, watching a very bad film ... so my mind was elsewhere. The dog kept climbing on top of me, pushing me out of the way to try to sit on her master's chest. Mr. Key pushed her off several times. Again, you would think I would have been more aware that this could all go badly. But noooo - I was a little too involved with thinking about kissing Mr. Key to be concerned with his dog! After the movie ended - with a twist that I think was supposed to be shocking and instead just made me roll my eyes and groan. Mr. Key and I got up and walked into the kitchen. We were talking and laughing. I walked back into the living room and stared at the couch. I'm a little slow at times ... OK plain stupid sometimes. I said "Um, did you spill water on the couch?" as I looked at a splattering of wet spots on the couch. Mr. Key let out a groan. The dog had peed exactly where I had been sitting. Well, doesn't take the dog whisperer to understand that this bitch didn't like another bitch making out with her owner! Whoops! As I titled this post - it's always fun until someone pees on the couch. You know what completely sucks the spicy libido out of a date? A couch that has been peed on. I don't think this is a very good omen for my return to the dating world. Although I guess I should be happy that the dog peed where I had been sitting versus peeing on me! Maybe I should start dating guys who don't have pets. While I continue to muse over my crazy dating life and try to unbend the mental knots I seem to create for myself; I have been listening to Matt Nathanson's "Annie's Always Waiting (For The Next One To Leave)" on endless repeat. It's a song title that hits a little too close to home for me. There's a line in the song that says "She has a Masters, in disappointment." I met a man recently. We were discussing our education. I said I went to grad school ... which is what I usually say since when I say "law school" I usually hear a bunch of annoying lawyer jokes. I find most men don't stop to ask me what I went to grad school for, so I never have to explain that I went to law school. But this guy was different and he actually asked me what I had my Masters in ... and I laughed and stole Matt Nathanson's line and said "In disappointment."
Last night (Sunday), I did a sunset meditation overlooking the intercoastal. My friend "The Mysterious Madame Chu" had urged me to do it. Evidently Sunday was the "full moon something something aquarius something" and it is a time to shed all old, bad ways and begin anew. Which makes me think of that line from the book "Fight Club": "If you wake up at a different time in a different place, could you wake up as a different person?" The Mysterious Madame Chu led me outside with a handful of meditation instruments to get me rocking into an altered state. I sat under a sail shade in the drizzling rain, staring at the flame from a little pink candle resting in a virgin coconut shell that reminded me of too many birthday candles long since blown out with wishes unfulfilled. By the way, don't ask me what a virgin coconut shell is. I wouldn't know the difference between a virgin coconut shell and a slutty coconut shell, if you paid me a million dollars. I had had three cocktails before going to The Mysterious Madame Chu's house. I usually don't spend my Sundays liquored up, but there it is. As I stood in The Mysterious Madame Chu's backyard on the water, I couldn't help but have lyrics from the Gin Blossoms' song "Lost Horizons" going through my head: She had nothing left to say So she said she loved me I stood there grateful for the lie Drink enough of anything to make this girl look new again Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves
I physically shook my head as if that could turn off the song between my ears. "Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves ..." "Focus!" I whispered to myself. I had The Mysterious Madame Chu's iPhone and headphones in my hands. I put the headphone buds in my ears, pressed play and hoped for some rapid transformation into "Lily the Meditative Monk." Although it was more like "Lily the Meditative Drunk." "Drunk drunk drunk in the gardens and the graves ..." I was listening to some wayward low buzzing that was overlapping quieter beach noises via The Mysterious Madame Chu's meditation app. (Who knew there were meditation apps?) I concentrated on the sounds crackling through the head phones and the Gin Blossoms song stopped its endless repeat. The mooing buzz made me think of cows getting electrocuted, which is not exactly the most meditative of thoughts. Eventually I gave in to the meditative app soundtrack and the flickering flame of the candle in the hollowed out coconut. The Mysterious Madame Chu had told me that the flame was supposed to represent me. I stared into the short yellow flame. If this flame was me, it was decidedly lackluster. I kept staring but the flame was annoying me. So I closed my eyes. With my eyes closed and just the electrocuted cows and beach noises buzzing in my ears, I was surprisingly able to just release myself. I willed all the baggage and road blocks within me to dissipate into the air and leave me fresh, anew and reborn. I could feel my heart clench in my chest as if it didn't want to release any emotions. I was startled as I heard a voice, that was my own but unrecognizable, bark "Let go!" My chest collapsed as if someone had cut away chains and an anvil. I could breathe fully. Maybe there was something to this meditation app, after all. With eyes still closed, I started inhaling deeper and deeper, as if I were a bottomless cavern. I felt lighter and more optimistic, almost as if I was about to rise out of my chair. Then I felt a lot of rain pelting me in the face. I opened my eyes. The flame on the candle was out. That didn't seem like a particularly good omen if the flame represented me. A storm had kicked up and was driving needles of water into my skin. It was as if all the negative energy had left my body but was now assailing me via precipitation trying to get back in. Maybe I needed an exorcism too. It was time to get out of the rain and get moving with my life. And hopefully no one would pee on me.
Happy Tuesday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers: I adore Stephen Colbert and this video blog is just a colossal reminder why that adoration is so well-deserved. It's a video blog with advice for teen girls, but it's a great reminder for anyone slogging through the dating world! Take a peek!
Happy Monday, LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers! Having a California King bed in Florida means that whenever I want to buy new sheets I have to go online and order them. (Why am I being punished because I like a looooong bed?) So now I have these lime green almost sponge-painted like sheets that I just love and which totally say "Spring!" to me. Then I remember that it is August! Seriously, where did the time go? Speaking of "where did the time go?" It is my Mother and Step-Father's 25th wedding anniversary. Although I may look 19 years old (bwahahahhaha!), I was actually around at the time of their wedding. Although to be honest, I was most excited for the wedding cake. Since starting my new job I have been working like a fiend. Not getting enough sleep, not working out as frequent as I would like, not drinking enough water, drinking too many diet Cokes, sitting at my desk for hours straight without moving and eating a ton of microwaveable processed food. It's no wonder I felt like CRAP. So this weekend, I cleaned out my fridge and freezer and restocked it with whole foods. My refrigerator looks like a produce aisle. I am determined to detox my body from all the processed food, sodium and lord knows what else. I declared today Vegan Monday and have eaten all fruits and vegetables today. Sadly I think it is going to take a while to get all this crap out of my system. I sent a picture of my Vegan lunch to a friend via text. She responded back "we had two kinds of cake at work today." Sigh ... cake. I'm eating dry-roasted (no oil) brussels sprouts and she has two kinds of cake at her disposal. Oh well, I have the joy of knowing I am detoxing my system! Being healthy! Feeling good! I'd rather have some cake. Happy Monday!
Happy Saturday LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers: If you're a longtime reader, you'll know that I have a deep love for the singer-songwriter Ani DiFranco. (And if you're not a longtime reader, read this somewhat crass blog post about blow jobs, pieces of hay in all the wrong places and my stalkeresque devotion ...) (Side note: I originally wrote "stalks of hay" but this seriously sexy Farmer/Sailor told me I was using the wrong term; that there are no "hay stalks." He also said that those skilled in the art would recognize "stalks of hay" to be an incorrect term. As we all know, 97% of my readers are skilled in the art of hay. (Hey!) I certainly did not want to offend 97% of you. The last thing I ever want to be on this Earth is a "Hay Fraud." So I acquiesce to the superior hay knowledge of a certain undeniably intensely sexy Farmer/Sailor and changed it to "pieces of hay." Not to be confused with the album by Jewel "Pieces of You." Please do not feed horses or cows Jewel's CD.) In Ani DiFranco's song "Half Assed," she has a lyric that goes: "down in the Texas of my heart" which I always thought was an interesting phrase. I think she means down in the Texas that she loves, but I prefer to think that the bottom borders of Texas are like the tip end of a Valentine heart ... as if there is a part of our own pulsating heart that rides around in pick-up trucks and sounds a little too much like George W. Bush by way of Yosemite Sam.
I don't know if there is a Texas in my heart, but there certainly is a San Francisco of my heart. A section of my heart that smells a little too much of patchouli, eats ginger ice cream and wears tie-dye. I briefly lived in San Francisco when I was too young (early 20's) and too dumb (really too dumb) to appreciate it fully. Now when I go to San Francisco, I get this wispy melancholy feel. It's like all the promise I had for myself is still in the air, like electrical residue of emotions long past dead. It's like visiting a museum of your younger self. You can experience and touch, but you cannot resurrect and you cannot go back. When I listen to San Francisco musicians like Matt Nathanson or the band Train, I feel that wispy crackle in every note. Especially Matt Nathanson who paints such portraits of emotion with his words. When I listen to certain Matt Nathanson songs I am transported back to earlier times where I wish I would have known then what I know now. But sometimes it's better to live in ignorance and step into the potholes, then to be bubble-wrapped safe and protective all your life. Sometimes you have to experience the low points to better and truly appreciate the high points. And sometimes you have to get run over by an emotional truck, just to remember that you are strong enough to get back up again. I recently ran into someone who is educated and very accomplished (Mr. Jackass). He thought very highly of himself and he filled every cubic meter of air in his space with talk of how great he was. Which is absolutely fine in my world. Toot your own horn. You've worked hard, toot away. (Toot, toot!) But he also felt the need to be very condescending, patronizing and downright rude. As if attempting to make other people feel small, insignificant and/or stupid somehow made him smarter. (Um, wrong and not so smart!) Not to sound too terribly conceited, BUT ... I'm a pretty smart cookie. Pretty strong in book smarts, very strong in street smarts. I've spent my entire career being paid for my advice and counsel, so I think it's a little better than average. (Toot, toot!) But whether I am in a room of dullards or Nobel Prize winners, I am still equally as smart as when I walked into the room. I don't need to put down others to make myself feel intelligent and grand. I already know I am a smartie! My intelligence is not inversely connected to other people's intelligence or self-esteem. Inbetween asking Farmer/Sailor (who has now earned the nickname "Mr. Land and Sea") about the correct terminology for HAY, I told him the story of a long ago former relationship with a man ("Mr. Springfield") who felt very threatened by my life experiences and opportunities. Mr. Springfield was very jealous because he wanted to be well traveled and yet even though he and money and time, he never seized the courage to do it. Because he didn't have the cojones to do it, he didn't want to be reminded of my experiences and accomplishments. He told me he preferred if I didn't share all my stories. He told me that everything with me was "been there, done that" and that he would prefer if I would not talk about all the things I have done and places I have been in my life. (What a douche, right? I was young, stupid and thought I was in love ... or at least deep lust.) (Side note: I am a natural born storyteller, for Baby Jesus' sake! To tell me not to tell my stories-- you might as well just gag me now, because I won't be able to do it any other way!) When I look back at this terrible relationship, I am angry with myself for sticking with it for so long. (Obviously the "no travel stories" prohibition was the mere tip of the iceberg of dysfunction). When I listen to Matt Nathanson's song "Earthquake Weather," I feel the "San Francisco of my heart" crackle with disappointment. There's a line in the song that says "It comes natural to be so cruel/To be an asshole to someone as good as you ..." - and that line definitely makes me think of Mr. Springfield and his sicko low self-esteem. Sometimes it's important to take in the sadness, experience it fully and deeply and then let it go. To hold it too long in your heart is only asking for the death of your heart. And hearts were meant to beat strong in one's lifetime, not to be lugged around like a box of broken glass and dreams. As I talked with the educated, accomplished and yet very rude man (a.k.a. Mr. Jackass) recently, I said to him "I'd like to meet someone who is nice ... who treats me nicely." But he didn't hear me because he was too busy blathering on about himself and how he is better than most people in this world. He may have received a double order of brains, but he was short-changed in the nice department. I cannot change the past, but I can make sure I don't repeat it! I was definitely not going to be signing up for a relationship with someone who needs to drag others down to feel good about himself. I've already been there and done that. Happy Saturday LilyOnTheLam.Com readers! I hope this weekend you are putting yourself first and making strong, healthy decisions for yourself. I hope I will be learning more farming vernacular ... because if I am going to work farmers' hours, I might as well talk like one too!
Happy Friday LilyOnTheLam.Com Readers! With my new job, I feel like each week I am just holding on until the weekend to recharge. On Fridays, I feel like I am a marathon runner ripping through the Finish Line tape. Luckily this week was only 75% as intense as usual and I had a lot of great social events. I don't feel like I have been run over by a truck like I have been the previous six weeks in this new role. Earlier this week, Ms. Toledo and I headed over to Orlando to catch a mid-week Andrew McMahon-Matt Nathanson-Gavin DeGraw concert at House of Blues. I think this is the fifth or sixth time I have seen Matt Nathanson in concert. I love his music - and his crazy snake man style slither dancing.
I also had the opportunity to spend time with a wonderful friend "The Seductress" in her newly remodeled pool. (And yes, there is a story behind why I call her "The Seductress" and twist my arm, I will totally share!) If you are a regular LilyOnTheLam.Com reader, hopefully you realize my blog posts are incredibly, absolutely, 1000% percent tongue-in-cheek. Posts like the recent one where I declared myself the best gift giver EVER (in the history of all mankind) or my endless statements that I am 974 years old (I'm really 973) are just a few examples of my faux delusional writing style. My college friends understand that my "Faux Diva Persona" is a humorous reaction from growing up incredibly poor, being a latchkey child from age 4, living in a one parent home (father died) where my mother worked all day and went to school at night. I had to pull myself up by my bootstraps from an early age. There was no choice. But I like to make myself laugh portraying myself as a pampered princess (and frankly, I do like to pamper myself - but because of 25 years of struggling so very hard.) It is certainly not the childhood I would have selected had I had the opportunity. But it made me strong and independent ... most likely too strong, aggressive and independent, but frankly I'd rather be too strong than too weak. (Someone call a therapist!) Sometime in college, I started feigning, on occasion, a faux diva persona that I still haven't managed to shake. It is a joke between my friends. Like my fabulous friend Ms. Wheaton who likes to scratch her throat and make a slight cough - which implies "Baby is thirsty, fetch me a cocktail." It's funny and irreverent - and it makes us all laugh. But I forget that most people who meet me - did not know me when I was poor and struggling. They didn't know the girl who had two jobs while in college her senior year. They didn't know the girl who worked nights in a gigantic room doing mind-numbing data entry entering people's tax returns in the Wisconsin Department of Revenue. (Proving to me that I am not dyslexic. I'm actually quite good at data entry, but I want to kill myself every moment that I am doing it.) Most people who know me today didn't know the girl who worked full-time during grad school and lived in a rat hole apartment 6 blocks from a crack neighborhood, who had to cover her windows with heavy comforters to ward of the bitter winter cold. Most people who know me today didn't know I lived in Hollywood, CA next to an alley where transgender hookers turned tricks. I'd drive home only to see various johns getting plugged or plugging away. These are not the stories that endear most people to someone. It's not as fun or amusing to talk about that girl who struggled for so many years as compared to adventures driving around in my convertible, flirting with waiters who draw unicorns and rainbows on a to go box for me. But both sides of the picture are me - for better or worse. I forget that most people in my life really don't know "the true me." They see the surface and the occasional "faux diva affectation" and they think that's who I am, 100%. One person, a miserable, sad soul who I will refer to as Lady Buffoon - actually believed that I was this pompous ass who thought I was God's gift to the world. (Really? Do you freaking know me at all?) This struck me as absolutely bizarre that she would think this because most people who know me would describe me as loyal, caring, comforting, empathetic and incredibly generous. But I learned long ago that you cannot control what other people think of you. Judgers are going to judge, haters are going to hate - and they'll eventually drown themselves in their own sea of misery because they're too busy looking at others versus looking inside themselves. However with all that being said, I love a good story infused with a thick ribbon of hyperbole. So while I do hope people know the "true me," I do enjoy telling a tall tale that makes people convulse with side-aching laughter. My friend "The Seductress" once invited me over for dinner and a swim in her former house that had a lovely landscaped tiki hut pool deck. Her husband was away on business, so it was just the two of us. We had a lovely dinner and then it was pool time. She had put on a music mix that she had made for her sister's birthday party. I was in the pool and my friend "The Seductress" was standing on the pool deck. Her old house had an uncaged pool, so she grabbed a long pole with a net to scoop out some leaves. Suddenly Barry White started booming from the speakers. I clutched my chest with mock horror and screeched: "WHAT IS THIS? YOUR HUSBAND IS AWAY ON BUSINESS AND YOU'RE CHASING ME AROUND THE POOL WITH A BIG POLE AS BARRY WHITE IS SINGING SEDUCTIVE SONGS!" My friend almost fell into the pool, she was laughing so hard. Obviously I did not think this was some sort of bisexual initiation, but I do like to tease "The Seductress" that she is a new world Mrs. Robinson. I don't miss a chance to throw in "remember that time you chased me around the pool with a big pole while your husband was away?" I especially like to ask this question loudly when there are lots of strangers around us. On my paternal side of the family, my cousins and I have a theory that if a joke is funny one time; it is HILARIOUS the 8,702,346th time you tell it. I am pretty sure that we're the only ones who believe that though. So this week when "The Seductress" invited me over for dinner and time in her GORGEOUS remodeled pool while her husband was away, I knew I would be cracking the seduction jokes all night. We had a great dinner ... and then once again it was pool time. I hopped right in. Since all the tiles on the pool are new, "The Seductress" has to scrub all the tiles with a very long pole with a big brush head on it on a daily basis for the first thirty days. Or at least that's what she told me she had to do. I let out a sigh and shook my head. Once again, being chased around the pool by a big pole! It is really tiring that so many people want to seduce me. Sigh. ;-) However, I will note that there was no Barry White seduction songs booming -- is "The Seductress" losing her touch? I was mesmerized watching her wield the big pole - I mean pool brush - bwahahahhahah! Finally "The Seductress" stopped chasing me with the big pole and jumped into the pool. After paddling around and catching each other up on stories, it was time for dessert - big wedges of cheesecake dusted with cinnamon. "The Seductress" really does know the way to my heart.
I asked "The Seductress" where her husband was on business. She said "He went to the women's prison to interview a witness." I dropped my fork. "SO YOU INVITED ME OVER TO CHASE ME AROUND THE POOL WITH A BIG POLE WHILE YOUR HUSBAND IS AT THE WOMEN'S PRISON? WHAT KIND OF CRAZY, KINKY COUPLE ARE YOU?!?" "The Seductress" started laughing hysterically. This, dear readers, is my life. I have friends who like to hang out at women's prisons while their wives chase me and try to seduce me with big poles and cheesecake. I bit my tongue and didn't ask if there was a conjugal visit with the witness "Big Booty Judy" at the prison. I didn't know if "The Seductress" had a quid pro quo "open relationship" weekend where I was the tasty side treat. My booty's not that big! It is really difficult being the pawn in a sexually ravenous uninhibited couple's wild life! Sometimes life just throws some weird circumstances that are actually quite normal and innocent! But come on! Why just accept them as perfectly innocent when you can infuse them with hyperbole and make grandiose statements alleging weird seductive maneuvers with pool implements and cheesecake? I love to laugh and I love to make other people laugh. I hope everyone is in on the joke, but I am sure someone out there is rolling their eyes thinking "Oh Lily thinks she's so hot that she actually believes married women are trying to seduce her." Sigh! I certainly don't believe that. I know it! Hahahahhahah! Have a wonderful Friday, dear readers! I hope you continue to read my posts in the tongue-in-cheek, comedic, irreverent spirit that they are VERY much intended to have. And I hope you have a fun weekend where married people chase you around the pool and then give you extremely good cheesecake! Thanks for reading!
