Here I am sitting in the Beverly Connection, with a laptop so hot it could melt cheese. Watching all the pretty girls and boys go by.
I've decided to move my blog to word press. Why? B/c if I buy a Kindle, I will be able to blog with it. And, a book told me to do so. I like books what can I say? But since I have to move it and get a domain name and all this other stuff; sit tight. This may take a while.
Sunday, July 22, 2012
Wednesday, July 11, 2012
Just a Sign of the Times
How is life with bangs? Actually, its pretty awesome. I got my new look because I was so excited about a new job. This work was supposed to start Monday and last for a month or two. So I got my hair done, my eyebrows waxed, and my clothes pressed. Got there bright and early for... the project cancellation.
Yup. It happened again. Another lawsuit cancelled or settled. They even had a case. And now... well now I'm back where I started from. But with a fantastic new do!
What is all this leading up to?
Yup. It happened again. Another lawsuit cancelled or settled. They even had a case. And now... well now I'm back where I started from. But with a fantastic new do!
What is all this leading up to?
Tuesday, July 10, 2012
Thursday, July 5, 2012
Thursday
Today is another fabulous day in Los Angeles, CA! I want to tell everyone that I had a wonderful birthday on July 3rd and spent a wonderful 4th with friends. This birthday was the best yet: my friends took me sailing; we ate out; I tasted the best flan I have ever had; I got a cupcake from Crumbs; the cupcake man flirted with me; and the good times just keep piling up from there. Plus I have decided to start blogging again.
Who could ask for anything more?
I'm healthy. I'm living in my own apartment. I'm excited about the future.
Who could ask for anything more?
I'm healthy. I'm living in my own apartment. I'm excited about the future.
Friday, June 15, 2012
I may never marry.
This one is filed under men and relationships. If I am way too hard on myself, then you know I'm really hard on other people. Lets just say I'm judgmental. I mean, honestly, I've made young men cry over not using their knives and forks. Therapy has given me the insight that those people cried not because they were ashamed, but because I'm harsh. I should be more accepting. I am not more accepting because I'm even harsher with myself.
The prescription: Lighten up!
This week and last week has been spent mostly with a new friend. He used to live in my apartment building and he is from the South. In fact, I am storing some of his (no adjective here) possessions while he finds a new place. I'm so nice huh?
Not really; because I notice I want to snap his head off in our discussions. And it really is the tiniest things that set me off. I made him dinner. (no comment) And I said to him "Dinner. Dinner is ready." He didn't acknowledge me. Of course, I lost it. I then took a step back made eye contact and said "I said dinner is ready. This food ain't gonna dish up itself and bring itself to you."
Yeah. Can you say flashback. I loved cooking for my family but I was a kid; and sometimes didn't want to cook. What would make me furious is if I cooked; called my family to dinner; and they did not come. A tiny bit like I have described above.
The prescription: Lighten up!
This week and last week has been spent mostly with a new friend. He used to live in my apartment building and he is from the South. In fact, I am storing some of his (no adjective here) possessions while he finds a new place. I'm so nice huh?
Not really; because I notice I want to snap his head off in our discussions. And it really is the tiniest things that set me off. I made him dinner. (no comment) And I said to him "Dinner. Dinner is ready." He didn't acknowledge me. Of course, I lost it. I then took a step back made eye contact and said "I said dinner is ready. This food ain't gonna dish up itself and bring itself to you."
Yeah. Can you say flashback. I loved cooking for my family but I was a kid; and sometimes didn't want to cook. What would make me furious is if I cooked; called my family to dinner; and they did not come. A tiny bit like I have described above.
I am way too hard on myself
So what's new with you?
I broke up with my therapist. Cry at night from sadness about my grandparents passing. My meds have been upped. And I'm waaay too hard on myself.
Lately, I have been seeing just how other people make mistakes, drive their romantic partners crazy, and still wind up with higher self esteem and a happier existence. And it has finally hit me like a brick: I am too hard on myself. My standard is not perfection but it may as well be. I need to do some work and try to get on with my life.
I really don't have anything more to say than that. This entry shows I'm restarting my blog. Why? Why not!
I broke up with my therapist. Cry at night from sadness about my grandparents passing. My meds have been upped. And I'm waaay too hard on myself.
Lately, I have been seeing just how other people make mistakes, drive their romantic partners crazy, and still wind up with higher self esteem and a happier existence. And it has finally hit me like a brick: I am too hard on myself. My standard is not perfection but it may as well be. I need to do some work and try to get on with my life.
I really don't have anything more to say than that. This entry shows I'm restarting my blog. Why? Why not!
Monday, January 9, 2012
All Good Things Must Come to An End
Today, a lovely woman with expensive highlights and irritated eyes that come from marijuana smoke, came to the near deserted floor on which I was doing my legal review work. "Gather round everyone, I have some news. Your done." She carefully explained that the judge had ordered other side had agreed to take discovery without redaction. They will be held to a 'Do Not Contact' Order.
Thus ended almost three months of steady, fair wage labor that I was qualified to do with no future employment or job prospects in sight. A double whammy, I was just starting to feel good about myself: competent, qualified, capable. Oh well....
I do feel lucky and blessed. Getting this contract work in Oct. last year was the answer to my tear-filled pleas to God. I called out in my despair and instead of sinking, I was lifted up and stood on the waves and suddenly all was calm. In fact 2010 was the year that, when I look back, I know God was walking with me.
A Brief Bit of Background
A personal miracle happened in November 2010, I was offered and accepted employment. Angels, took hold of my life and pulled it into a small place of shelter. Shelter from the category 5 economic hurricane employed politicians and economists named Recession. Sadly, it was only a resting place. Somewhere to stand and wait out the torrential downpour: an open door to a safe house in the middle of a hurricane. But, you can't live in a shelter. And in September 2011, I had to leave.
With no place to go and a severance check which would substantiate my demand for at least $40,000 in salary, I filed for everything. I was not going to repeat 2009, a year that introduced me to the paperwork amusement park called public assistance.
Have you ever been to Six Flags or Disneyland? (Heaven forbid) Then you know what it is like to apply for public assistance. As you may recall, you stood around waiting and waiting and waiting en orderly mass, for the same thing: to be allowed a turn on the ride. You tolerated and came prepared for the heat, but not the hunger, boredom, and muscle strain. This backache was endured with resolve b/c you had a ticket to ride. A ride that would last just slightly longer than it takes to make it to the bridge of your favorite song when you start to sing it from the top. Maybe you had even saved up for weeks to spend hours of your short life with your children, friends, or loved ones, not talking or laughing but staring ahead at all the other heads in front of you.
Well, the welfare office is exactly the same experience. Except the small children, teenagers, strange adults, and yourself are all waiting, not for pleasure and amusement, but for money to buy food and maybe pay for running water. Not housing or rent, that is section 8, a completely different department with a waiting list that stretches 2 maybe 3 years into the future. FYI, the first requirement for receiving housing assistance, as it placidly called, is that you have to be on welfare. But at least, you didn't have to pay to be there. Admittance was free because no one wants to be there.
Then, out of the clear blue sky one morning, that was just as beautiful as the morning I was fired, a voice mail and an email about possible work.
Which turned out to be real and not just some headhunter trying to justify their employment existence to their boss. A real contract work assignment. Work that you were uniquely qualified to do after spending 3 years and $89,000 obtaining a law degree. And were restricted to doing because you had no law license and could not afford to attain. Talk about a catch-22.
Thus ended almost three months of steady, fair wage labor that I was qualified to do with no future employment or job prospects in sight. A double whammy, I was just starting to feel good about myself: competent, qualified, capable. Oh well....
I do feel lucky and blessed. Getting this contract work in Oct. last year was the answer to my tear-filled pleas to God. I called out in my despair and instead of sinking, I was lifted up and stood on the waves and suddenly all was calm. In fact 2010 was the year that, when I look back, I know God was walking with me.
A Brief Bit of Background
A personal miracle happened in November 2010, I was offered and accepted employment. Angels, took hold of my life and pulled it into a small place of shelter. Shelter from the category 5 economic hurricane employed politicians and economists named Recession. Sadly, it was only a resting place. Somewhere to stand and wait out the torrential downpour: an open door to a safe house in the middle of a hurricane. But, you can't live in a shelter. And in September 2011, I had to leave.
With no place to go and a severance check which would substantiate my demand for at least $40,000 in salary, I filed for everything. I was not going to repeat 2009, a year that introduced me to the paperwork amusement park called public assistance.
Have you ever been to Six Flags or Disneyland? (Heaven forbid) Then you know what it is like to apply for public assistance. As you may recall, you stood around waiting and waiting and waiting en orderly mass, for the same thing: to be allowed a turn on the ride. You tolerated and came prepared for the heat, but not the hunger, boredom, and muscle strain. This backache was endured with resolve b/c you had a ticket to ride. A ride that would last just slightly longer than it takes to make it to the bridge of your favorite song when you start to sing it from the top. Maybe you had even saved up for weeks to spend hours of your short life with your children, friends, or loved ones, not talking or laughing but staring ahead at all the other heads in front of you.
Well, the welfare office is exactly the same experience. Except the small children, teenagers, strange adults, and yourself are all waiting, not for pleasure and amusement, but for money to buy food and maybe pay for running water. Not housing or rent, that is section 8, a completely different department with a waiting list that stretches 2 maybe 3 years into the future. FYI, the first requirement for receiving housing assistance, as it placidly called, is that you have to be on welfare. But at least, you didn't have to pay to be there. Admittance was free because no one wants to be there.
Then, out of the clear blue sky one morning, that was just as beautiful as the morning I was fired, a voice mail and an email about possible work.
Which turned out to be real and not just some headhunter trying to justify their employment existence to their boss. A real contract work assignment. Work that you were uniquely qualified to do after spending 3 years and $89,000 obtaining a law degree. And were restricted to doing because you had no law license and could not afford to attain. Talk about a catch-22.
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