SLAAwesome!

I am a brand spankin new fresh faced addition to the field of dependency and/or addiction, emotional and/or chemical. I literally come into the rehab holding a clipboard or folio or macbook or coffee cup, all super smiley, shoulders back, perky face, bright like a diamond. Then I'm like, oh wait, need more counselor face. As if the clients, the team and I are just having lunch and planning a day. As if the clients, the team and I, didn't live and fight and know the work. As if the clients, the team and I, didn't live and fight and know the ugly. 

Sometimes it's just like barista-ing at the coffeehouse around 6am, BEFORE anyone's had their coffee and sugar. A gauntlet of sneers. Addiction seems to be made up of a million things, and at the same time, it can be the same five things. Over and over again. Until, . . . . something. 

It's more like walking into the animal shelter, maybe? Some of the dogs find that just your presence in front of their particular cage can fill them with relief. 'Optimism is close! I here her heels clicking closer down the hallway! The counselor is here to calm the blizzard of emotion that is my heart right now!' 

You walk past the next cage, there are great toys, food, water, friends even. But mostly the cage is just filled with puppy eyes that say, "I know what's up. Can you really affect my future? I feel like I have no control. I don't have much time."  

Actually, today I just did paperwork in a cold office with some good soup. No real healing. But I did run into the site for SLAA - Sex and Love Addicts Anonymous. Even in the small minute that I've been in this job, this is not a new subfield for me. But I'd like to share some insight that I found in their literature, because even to those unaffected by this disease, I think it was plain and profound. This wasn't from my instructor, or my boss, or my textbook. This was from someone who is not a writer, someone who is an addict struggling with their program, who is sharing her experience, hoping that it can be of service to someone else. 

"Addiction: Fear; running from self; not knowing how to love one's self." 

She defined her disease. I know most people think that sex and maybe even love addictions are a bunch of bologna, but maybe you can at least accept that these essentials to life - Love and Sex - can be real problems to people. She's more on to it than a lot of us. 

Can we just collectively agree that, either way, love of self and acceptance of self is paramount to ANYTHING? Thanks. I felt the community there.

Soooooo, If your relationships never seem healthy, or if your sex is dangerous/compulsive/life-threatening, try to find a meeting. You can even listen to them online, or participate on the phone  . . .  www.slaafws.org

On a lighter note, hang tight, I'm working on a 7+ minute long video of Cody eating a carrot. I'll holler when it's ready.

Credit to The Journal. Free here.

!!!

There's a TURTLE! And a BLUE, HIPPY BEAR! And there's a cat with a really big FACE!

I can't take it. . . . I need more.

Ten miles, four hours

Original date of post: January 15

Trying to just sit and get it out there and write, very quickly, as in, 'in a flash'. style. blog.

I had a great day! I jogged to a doctor's appointment, saw some friends at my coffeehouse, cooked chicken curry and looked forward to seeing one of the favorite babies I am so lucky to have in my life! Seriously, the potential cuteness overload levels of this little guy make can create a scream/squee blended noise that I will probably make until I start wheezing. But I'm 30 now, and have now learned that this scares people. Mostly, the baby, the parents, and me. So I must keep my feelings inside. Another sad part of being an adult(?) I'll try to spread out my crazy Auntie noises over the hours we spend at the zoo tomorrow. We're going to the zoo tomorrow!!! AHHH!    =D

That's right. The sheer and absolute EPICnosity of West LA traffic this afternoon was mindblowing and thus, it took me four hours to drive 10 miles to come home from dropping Lonny off at his Westwood area hotel. arg arg arg arg arg. So I had to take a raincheck on my baby squishing! arg arg. 

To be fair, I stopped many times during this commute. Post office stop, potty break/raid the Vons meat clearance section, and ofcourse a little stop to the Tokyo stuff store on Sawtelle and Olympic! So many different cool stuff, i got a back massager.

They had those stickers that you put on your eyelids so that you can have a crease without getting eyelid surgery    0______o 

Second fun thing that happened today! The lady before me at Vons potty took an explosive green shit! I heard and saw it! What is she? A tropical plant that exudes chloryphyll??? And then I thought, wow, in LA, people try all kinds of diets and foods. It could've actually been cloryphyll.å

bags

Original date of post: December 30

I’m at a stoplight. I’m in a car. A man with one large bag crosses. It’s plastic and it’s for trash. It has a hole, and it’s gonna break. 

Thoughts flood me. . . I look around instinctually in the car for something to give him. Do I ever have anything worth giving at these moments? I wish I always remembered to have bananas, or croissants or more sturdier trash bags . . . .

Some of my bags have holes. And I’m lazy and scared and too stupid to fix them. I have so many bags. Some were given to me. Many were given to me. And, still. My only problem today is choosing a place to kiss my love on New Year’s Eve. Is it really a problem, choosing a shiny plastic bag place to look cute on New Year’s Eve?

It’s the 30th and I’m still sorting through all the gifts Lonny and I received. Still! We are loved, remembered, thought of. That's a big deal. I've cried twice going through them - funny as hell things, useful things we need and used right away, random things that just felt good to bring home that cold night. Even the Dr. Scholl’s shoe gels Joe got me (with cash tucked into them, hehehe). Even the funky socks and crazy pants my mom gave me. My father's gift this Christmas was a choice. Of cars. 

I’m grateful that so many tell me to keep writing. This also matters.

Today I’ll actually remember to put bananas in the park for those who wake up there. I always tell myself to but this time I will. I’ll leave the bag, too.

The cels

Original date of post: December 3, 2012

Today I sent the Celica to the junkyard. I was emotionally prepared, and did not cry. Because it has been such a trusty little thing, I was always prepared for her to either last 2 more years or two more weeks. I'm also big on recycling so not all felt lost . . . But I still felt a lot of emotions. Gee whiz! I realized I couldn't really go somewhere to "visit" her. I don't even think I took a souvenir at all. Just pictures of her leaving me. I went through all the old repair orders from the glove compartment, pocketed every last nickel left in the seat crevices, and told her that I was sorry if her next home was mean to her. 

Just kidding! I hold on to a TON load of memories with that thing! Ok, let's see. Auntie Luisa bought it new in 1991, drove very nearby to work and back and Miss Daisy-ed Lola Luz around town. She never took it on the freeway for like almost ten years. Then she got married, upgraded, and my family acquired adorable little Celie and all her fine powder blue-ness. Then Joe drove it in high school, and blew through like 5 radiators before he got his cool Subaru.

So for almost the last decade Celie has been zipping me around to school and jobs and to all the other activities of my 20s fun life - I've even moved somewhat long distances in that car. Maybe 4 or 5 times, Huntington Beach, The Bay area, Oceanside, back to Cerritos then to Koreatown. I once clocked 42 miles per gallon on a trip to the Bay! I've transported many clients in it as well, despite the tinyness of the car and how low she sits. A few of those clients peed in it. Every morning. 

In the end, when Lonny's car turned out to be an absolute lemon of the worst rind, he ended up giving it up and we've been sharing good old Celie - something that was very easy to do because we live centrally now to just about everything that matters, transit actually exists here, and biking is fun again.

That Celica might be the best car I'll have ever owned. It averaged a minimum 33 miles to the gallon, cost about $300 or less to fix a year on average and ran for eons despite existing mildly serious engine problems. Even as she passed the 200,000 mile mark, I realize now that she never really left me stranded and I hope she rests in peace at the junk yard and that people are somewhat gentle with their tools when they pick parts out and off of her one by one. If it hurts a little bit, just hum one of our old tunes, Celie - you have to agree, we bumped some true bangers. Always remember the family that loved you and thought so very highly of you.

Sorry about all the spilled coffee . . . and ofcourse, thanks for the ride. 

Finding higher gears

Original date of post: September 19, 2012

I been making friends with the family who live across the hall. Once, Cody barked at the mother/abuela who lives there, and she got so scared! I felt terrible! But she tossed her head back and laughed with careless glee at it all, as I hastily tried to extend as many explanations and apologies I could with my broken Spanish. Both the older lady and the little sister looked very surprised when they figured out I knew Spanish. Like, glad surprised. The lil boy is cute and smiles big with both two front teeth missing. The big sister loves Cody, but Cody doesn’t pay attention because we see them usually before a walk. Or after a walk, when Cody knows it’s dinnertime.

When I have seen into in their studio, there are 3 mattresses. Late at night I hear the dad come home, I’ve never seen him, I just know his sound of his keys going into his door. I think teenagers live there too. Not sure. I just know that when the kids run out of space and start to play and get loud and laugh in the hallways, Lonny and I don’t complain.

Today, I took them some extra pastries and other sweet things from work, which they throw away by the dozen at the end of the night. But I bring home only as much as I can carry on my bike - a half bag for Lonny and I, a whole bag for the homeless on my ride through 7th. I stare at our half bag and halve it. I'd had my calories for the day and Lonny's stomach is small. I still ended up with three cranberry bars, two bagels and two muffins.

I think it’s time that I get more storage on my bike anyways.

Quick Forever 21 rant

Original date of post: September 6, 2012

Dear Persons Who Control Graphic Tee Production Especially at Forever 21,

Cats are great and all, but actually, they're not really. Certainly, not as great as dogs.           

Please stop all your production and ALL your thoughts about cat shirts and start making dog shirts. And when I say dogs, make them look like my dog and/or Snoopy. No ugly little rat dogs who are actually more like cats. Time for substance here - pits, labs, mountain dogs - but poms and corgis ok.

Do what you do best and photoshop them with Hello Kitty or city skylines and all that bullshit. But, for reals, I just want a 3/4 sleeve pullover tunic with a huge 10"x10" smiling dog face plastered on the front. Thanks! Appreciate it!

Currently saving my $13.80 to buy the first one,

Carolynn  

bus

Original date of post: April 16, 2012

I feel just ok. Worked late. Hungry. Someone was subtly mean to me. Not going to entertain it any longer. Good thing is i don't need her.

Found the only song that I really wanna listen to right now. Ricky Martin live duet, 'Te Recuerdo'. Does it bring me somewhere else? A cafe at the edge of a street, a warm tea in my hand, spring coolness, the dark part of dusk, dog at my feet, my man, happy, sitting across, after a table full of half eaten calamari and breads. Yes, something like this.

Watching another lady cry on the bus. Always a sight. Times I've blogged about this same sight: 2. She's working it out with someone on the phone. Trying to find how both people can lessen the pain for the other. Even though it doesn't look like they're going to be successful. She had a salad for lunch, maybe tea and then strawberry ice cream. She is trying. She has no idea that someone on the bus is imagining and writing about her. She doesn't know what to do.

16 Apr/4:21pm | 704 Metro Rapid, eastbound

The green way

Original date of post: May 11, 2011

Another transit story! Well, mostly. . . I was commuting home the other day and it was boring. But oh man! I am surprised to find myself driving alongside a cyclist as we were both going down the on ramp for the freeway! I perked up, eager to witness something that I thought I would only ever see in an internet video. 

Just in that moment, all that footage rolls back in my mind. The new youth of Los Angeles bombing through the lanes with the rawest of strength. Their message is clear. The machines they power are of simple design. Whose gonna stop them from weaving through the 10 freeway traffic with their war cries and fever hot energy. For once in this town, the cars do not drive the moment, they move no one. Because for right now, something completely menacing weaves through like an infection. They cut through like they are cutting through bullshit. These guys have finally found freedom on the freeway. Anyways, im getting lost, sorry. Simple put, what i'm trying to tell you is that these guys are completely badass and what they do is important. 

Hold. The cyclist slows and turns. I see his worn face and an expression that's familiar. I take in more details . . . The bike is not a good one. Shirt isn't dark dirty, but the hair is overgrown, almost matted in places. Everything else calms, my car slows to a stop and so do all my prior thoughts. I'm actually still a little puzzled but if you know me you know I'm always a little slow to pick up what people are putting down. His expression turns to one of kind thanks when I signal for him to cross the lane, in front of my car. Into the freeway bushes and out of sight. In less than a second, out of sight. I actually have a little girl unicorn rainbow moment and imagine that he just entered a time portal and is now in the foggy drizzly mountains of some neverland where everyone eats pink goo and has wings. I begin my way back to the very adult place where i should be and say out loud to no one at all, 

"He just went home." 

I'm all the way back now. Into the world of conscious freeway driving, the world of so much lost time, the world of clog, the world of stuck. A car approaches my rear view and I continue on.

Original date of post: Wednesday, April 20th, 2011.

I've had a long transit commute for 2 years now and I have, with little doubt, seen all the nonsense and all the greatness that our society can dish up. Oh, the diversity! Gee whiz people. Indeed, to be twice daily amongst this march of characters may be a prevailing reason why I do it in the first place. Other than to travel to and from the job that I love, simply because it changed my life. Actually, I spent my first months on transit trying to sum up the experience of transit. Trying to find the perfect way to describe that the bus was a microcosm of whatever it is a microcosm of. Everyone thrown in like pinballs entering the glass-enclosed machine only to get completely shoved into each other for reaction, all being tested to not react; sneaking looks at each other's text messages, how the hell do bus drivers do this job oh my goodness it's gnarly, analyzing outfits, trying to remember what we're supposed to remember, trying to forget what we would like to forget . . . we doze and drown out, get low but look alive.

Entering a bus or train requires darting, quick visual scans of each and every rider to try and assess what you really got yourself into today. All this while trying to look cool. As if your really just reading watching a TED lecture on your phone. Eh. I could go on forever really, but I'll stop. Save it for another day. I'll talk just about today.

There's a few things that I've seen only very few times. I'm talking like maybe 3 times total, maybe. So, uh, great work day today, then shopped for great stuff, got a great snack and then left the city for home. Varied up the ipod a little more, enjoyed that muchly. Different crowd on train cuz it's a little later, cool, i get to bump up the people watching. And then I see it. It's always on mute cuz she's not close to me and I have headphones on. She's on the phone and it's not bad yet, but I think even then I knew. Is it because I been there before? But I haven't. She's older, old enough to have little grandchildren. She's done so much more. If she looks at me will we see that we are the same? 

Maybe it doesn't matter cuz all pain is the same. Wait, that's not true, that's not smart. well, how can anyone really know anyways. I look to see if anyone else sees it. I look at her knowing that she's not looking at anything because she wants everything to turn into nothing for a long time. Or at least until she gets to her car or her home. . . because this woman is standing up straight because she is strong, she has grace in her face and she has experience in her eyes. She is fighting back large tears. She is fighting them not because of you or me or them, she is just fighting them because they have come and she wants them to come and she wants them to go. She is sadness AND peace AND strength AND power. And they have nothing and everything to do with her tears. She's known for a long time that she can't even start to dream of salvation, only for the winds to not blow away every single leaf. She's lived with just one before. Above all this, she knows like a parent knows it's child's eyes that her roots will always do their job, just as long as she can keep looking out the window and allow the nothing to take her until she has to meet the fight again. I'm amazed at this sight. It's not new nor is it even certain, but I know only that it is amazing and that I cannot help but let it stop my day, if only for the two minutes in between train platforms. I am amazed because it is amazing. It looks beautiful because it is beautiful.