Something Old

Today's the last day Blogtember and the prompt is: Share a photo of something old. Maybe something that has personal history for you, that was passed down to you, and that has special meaning to you. Tell us about it and why it's special.

With all the unpacking I've been doing lately, it's no surprise that I've been unearthing things that I didn't even remember I owned. It's been fun, but also stressful, trying to organize everything. Do I throw things out? How do I store certain things like my Barbie dolls? I am proud to say that I have thrown out a good amount of stuff  I've been holding onto for years (why do I do that?).

My mom gave me this tea set (a very good example of something I'll never throw out) when I was little, maybe around the age of 4 or 5; neither of us can remember. What's amazing about the tea set is, even given the dilapidated state of the box, it's in perfect condition. I love taking out the little cups and saucers just to marvel at how tiny they are (the saucers are only about 3" in diameter).

Thanks Jenni, for such a fun month of posts!

Shephen King- On Writing

The first thing I have to say about On Writing is that, after all the books on writing I've read in the last few years, I wish I would have read this one first. Or maybe not. Maybe I wouldn't have felt such a connection, such an understanding of King's words if I hadn't read all those other books first. It's so great to finally read something put into words so perfectly that I have always felt/known, but have been unable to articulate. At the end of the book Stephen King talks about an accident in 1999 that nearly killed him. I found myself crying, thinking what if he had died? I wouldn't have been reading his book, not to mention the book he wrote a few years ago, 11/22/63, that got me hooked on his writing in the first place.

I'm just in awe of this man. Not just his writing--because he's an amazing storyteller--but Stephen King as a person. He's been through some crap in his life, which he talks about in the book. The first half is his memoir of sorts. He talks about growing up and the moments he remembers as being important in how he became a writer. Then the second half is the 'on writing' part where he describes the tools writers need to create a novel, very geniusly using a comparison story from his childhood about an actual toolbox. Seriously, the man knows how to use comparison. It's like an artform, one that I'm not very good at.

Even if you aren't interested in writing novels, and even if you have never read Stephen King's novels, I would still recommend this book. One of my favorite things he says about writing goes something like (and I'm paraphrasing), "we may be talking about carpentry and tools, but we are also talking about magic." I just love it.

Oh, and another good one: There is a section titled "What is writing?" and his first sentence is "Telepathy, of course."

So true.

Thank you, Stephen King.

Lately

Lately my life has consisted of cleansing and packing and organizing. First off, I told you a little while ago about my terrible neighbors and the anxiety they were causing me. I was at my wits end and I didn't know if there was a solution.

Then, in August, we found a new place, a much better place which just happened to be located down the street. We moved on the 14th and it is blissfully quiet. So far, the only night with any noise was last Friday and it was from the neighbors below us. I know there are always going to be people who make unnecessary amounts of noise, but I have to say, it's a world of difference when it's coming from below instead of above, like the world is crashing over your head and there's nothing you can do about it.

The move was intense because we went from a bottom floor to a third floor unit, but thankfully we don't have a lot of crap. My mom and I have been purging, and it feels so liberating to just get rid of stuff you've been dragging along with you for years.

I stupidly didn't take photos of the new apartment before we moved in, but I'm sure I can get some from another unit. Until then, here are some photos.

the old place. I hated those ceramic floors.

 

 new place. it's a work in progress.

 



my room. I didn't even bother taking pictures of my little shoebox of a room in the last place. I'm just glad I have a normal-sized room this time and that I get to use my curtains I've had forever.

 

More pictures to come once everything's been organized and put together. I'm actually enjoying unpacking everything. I just got a new little bookcase from Target that fits in my closet so I can have accress to books that have been stored in boxes for years. One day I'll have an actual library in my house.

 

 

 



Comfort

Day 14 of Blogtember: React to this term: comfort.

The Autumn Equinox is this Sunday. Looking forward to most of the things on this list.

Smells of Fall (cinnamon, pumpkin spice, pine, thanksgiving dinner)
Sleeping in
Winter sweaters and boots
Clean sheets
Hot chocolate
A day at the bookstore
Hugs
Chocolate
Music
Falling asleep to the rain
Hot bath
Books
Relaxing to a good movie
Sounds of football on Sunday
Long walks by myself
Sound of the ocean
A long talk with my best friend
Living in peace and quiet
Sound of the fog horn on the beach
Bare feet on carpet
Having enough money to buy things I want
Room service
Getting lost in a good story
No obligations
Spa treatments

Fiction fun- Dinner party

I have no idea what to call this story for Blogtember because there just isn't enough of it yet. I hope you enjoy.

To say that I was dreading the dinner party was the understatement of the century. First off, it was raining buckets and Lida's house was all the way up in the Hollywood Hills. Then there was the matter of my wardrobe, or lack thereof. I hadn't planned on putting so much effort into my outfit; that is until Lida invited Henry. And Juliet.
    What in the hell did Henry see in her anyway? I mean, she was nice enough. Lida seemed to like working with her, but that didn't mean any of us really knew her. And she certainly wasn't good enough for Henry.
    Maybe if I had taken my chance at the Christmas party, it would be me going with Henry tonight.
    Yes, I definitely needed a new dress. A sexy dress. One that said, "I don't need you. I can have any man I want!"
    I needed a miracle.
    Work could only be described as my own personal hell where every task went straight through my consciousness and into the pit of anxiety that was my stomach. By the time I left I had the strong urge to puke, and call Lida to tell her I was too sick to make it to her party.
    But then everyone would know I had chickened out due to the presence of Henry because everyone seemed to know about my long-standing crush. Everyone except Henry.
    "You already said you'd be there," Alex reminded me when I met her at the Beverly Center and told her my sorry excuse of an idea to get out of going. "It's going to be fine," she said in a tone that clearly said she thought I was being ridiculous. "We'll just ignore Henry and flirt shamelessly with Lida's brother."
    "Right. Lida's brother. I forgot he was going to be there."
    "Kinda the reason she's having the party. She wants to introduce him to new people."
    "Uh huh." I was looking at a dress that I thought might down play the extreme curves of my backside. "What was his name again?"
    "Uh, Luke, I think." She grabbed a dress from a nearby rack with an appreciative "Oh! You should try this one. It'll make your boobs look bigger."
    "Gee, thanks Alex."
    She shrugged, amused by my sarcasm. This had to be the cheeriest mood I'd seen her in in months.   
    "What else are friends for?"


Lida and Robert Cole lived in a luxurious sweep of concrete, marble, stainless steel appliances, and floor to ceiling windows with panoramic views of Los Angeles that stretched all the way to the ocean. Of course, with the rain, not much of that view was visible at the moment. Robert worked in the music industry, so their house was decorated with photos of musicians, vintage albums, and electric guitars. Once through the gigantic front door, a white baby grand piano greeted guests on a raised platform which separated the kitchen and dining on the left from the living on the right.
    Sometimes (hell, all the time) I wished I had Lida's life.
    The hostess came to the door looking fabulous in a simple, but perfectly-fitted red dress while Alex and I dropped our soaking umbrella to the floor. I felt like my hair had already frizzed out.
    "My girls!" She gave us both one-armed hugs. We all joked that Lida's left hand was perpetually occupied with a glass.
    "Clara, that is lovely," Lida said, noticing my dress. I ended up with the first one I'd seen, a dark indigo that looked great with my pale skin. I still felt like I might puke and wasn't sure how I was going to make it through the night, but I had to admit the dress was helping. It had better, it had put a good dent in my credit card.
    "And Alex," Lida said, "my stylish rocker chic."
    Alex was wearing tight black pants, stilettos, and a backless top that showcased her tiger's head tattoo which took up most of her upper back. She just smiled and said, "Where's the booze? This one needs a drink, stat." She jerked her head in my direction while I rolled my eyes at her.
    Lida was serving drinks in the kitchen with her cook bustling around behin her, when her brother joined us. The resemblance was immediate, the same black hair, the same olive skin.
    "Luke! Meet Clara and Alex."
    "Hello," he said. His smile seemed natural--and such a nice smile--but he seemed uncomfortable. I couldn't blame him. I wouldn't want my sister trying to set me up with a bunch of strangers; maybe he just wasn't as social as Lida.
    Then the doorbell rang, and my heart jumped into my throat.


...to be continued.

Just once more

Today’s prompt (actually it was yesterday’s) for Blogtember is 'a memory you would love to relive', so here it goes.

 

Andrew and I, our junior prom

 

February of 2001 to February of 2002 marks the only year of my life that I've ever had a boyfriend. I was in high school and my boyfriend, Andrew, and I were both in marching band. For one reason or another that I can no longer remember, the band did some sort of performance for back to school night (at least, that's what I think it was for). Most of us were hanging out in the small gym, which was adjacent to the main gym, while waiting to perform. Some of the guys, Andrew included, decided to go outside to play basketball. He gave me a kiss before he left, like he always did, but as he turned to leave he grabbed my arm and pulled me back for another kiss saying, “just one more.” I think he did this about three more times, at which point everyone in the gym was watching, but I remained in this blissful state where only the two of us existed.

I’ve been kissed very few times in my life, especially by someone who truly loves me.  It might all sound corny, but that’s the moment I would want to relive right now. To feel everything I was feeling right then, to recognize the slight envy from my friends at my luck of having such an amazing guy, and not caring at all that everyone is watching.

 

 

To my mother

To my mother, who is the best mom anyone could ever ask for; who is my best friend and is always there for me no matter what.

I love you.
Amanda


P.S. On a side note, today is the 4th anniversary of my blog!

The day that changed everything

Day 6: Describe a distinct moment when your life took a turn.

This is one of those extreme life-changing events; one that rearranges everything you've ever known and worked for, and leaves you questioning whether you had your life as figured out as you thought you did.



Three and a half years ago (I'm shocked at how long it's been already) I was living in my own studio apartment in Santa Monica, five minutes from where I worked for an interior designer. I'd had my job for almost two years at this point and I thought I was getting pretty good at it (though my boss was actually very creatively stifling. Everything was always the way he wanted it; he never tried to nurture what my strengths were.) It was my first job out of school in high-end residential design, a field which takes more than just two years to learn the ins and outs of.

It was the last Friday of January in 2010, and I was planning on painting my apartment that weekend, which I excitedly told my boss. My boss called me in at 4:30p to meet with him about the projects I was working on, as was our custom. I told him about the projects and then he fired me. Apparently, he'd been diappointed with my work for some time, much to my surprise. (It is my understanding that superiors at work are supposed to give warning when an employee's work is not up to par; something like, if this doesn't improve, we'll have to let you go. No such warning for me.) Such was my surprise that I, of course, started crying. How in the hell was I going to pay my rent?

The worst part was that I didn't have the time to put together a portfolio for future interviews. After firing me, my boss proceeded to follow me to my desk and stand there while I gathered my things like I was a fucking criminal.

It took me a while in my haze of humiliation and rage to come to terms with the fact that I couldn't keep my apartment. It was like everything I'd ever worked for was crumbling to pieces and there was nothing I could do to stop it. In 2010 the design industry was in the middle of an economic recession, much like every other industry. I knew I wouldn't find another job in time to pay my rent, and whether I really wanted to stay in design was the question of the moment. My boss and his snobby clients hadn't done much to booster my opinion of the residential design industry.

I immediately signed up for unemployment, moved back to Oxnard to live with my mom, and spent the next few months in a daze, trying to figure out what the hell I wanted to do with the rest of my life.

It turns out that a break was what I really needed. I was on unemployment for over two years and this is what I learned: (1) I really hated residential design and never wanted a job there again (I'll only get into that industry again to design my own house), (2) that I really lost my job because my boss is bad at teaching (that would be putting it nicely), (3) that working a nine-to-five job does not suit me because (4) all I really want to do is write novels.

That one day turned my life upside down and nothing has ever been the same. Much of this is a good thing. I should thank my ex-boss for firing me and taking the pressure off. I did tons of work on a series of novels over those two years on unemployment, but didn't finish it. Until the day comes when I can somehow support myself solely on my writing, I have a great job as a designer in a niche of interior design I never would have even thought to consider, and, go figure, I'm actually pretty damn good at it.

Jung test

I took this test a while back and when I took it again today I got the same result above. That's pretty reassuring in my book. I've had the idea for a long time that I must be introverted, but I have times where I'm extroverted (which is completely normal). That threw me for a loop for years, until just recently, I've come to the conclusion that I really am an introvert and I'm completely satisfied with that. I'm getting to know myself pretty well in my old age.

This test is really amazing. It's crazy to think that answering yes or no to a list of ridiculous questions could somehow summarize your personality so accurately. But it does. Here's a little bit about me and my fellow ISFJs.

ISFJs are characterized above all by their desire to serve others, their "need to be needed." In extreme cases, this need is so strong that standard give-and-take relationships are deeply unsatisfying to them

they are notoriously bad at delegating ("If you want it done right, do it yourself"). And although they're hurt by being treated like doormats, they are often unwilling to toot their own horns about their accomplishments because they feel that although they deserve more credit than they're getting, it's somehow wrong to want any sort of reward for doing work (which is supposed to be a virtue in itself).

In the workplace, ISFJs are methodical and accurate workers, often with very good memories and unexpected analytic abilities; they are also good with people in small-group or one-on-one situations because of their patient and genuinely sympathetic approach to dealing with others.

Like most Is, ISFJs have a few, close friends. They are extremely loyal to these, and are ready to provide emotional and practical support at a moment's notice. (However, like most Fs they hate confrontation; if you get into a fight, don't expect them to jump in after you. You can count on them, however, run and get the nearest authority figure.) Unlike with EPs, the older the friendship is, the more an ISFJ will value it. One ISFJ trait that is easily misunderstood by those who haven't known them long is that they are often unable to either hide or articulate any distress they may be feeling.

Fascinating stuff.

 

 

Update: October 24, 2013

Just under two months later and this is the outcome of my test, which I feel is truer to me:

 

 

It would be fascinating to take this test again in a year to see if anything changes drastically.



Three months

If I could take three months off from my life and do anything in the world, I would:

Travel. Everywhere.

Well, maybe not everywhere, but all the places I've always wanted to see like:

 London (all of the UK really)

Ireland

                     

Paris

Greece

Italy

Egypt

Hobbiton, New Zealand

                   

I would go ziplining, and I still haven't seen the Grand Canyon

                   

Florida: Disneyworld, and the World of Harry Potter at Universal Orlando

 

Of course, my best friend would have three months off too, so she would come with me. I'm not sure one could actually fit all of these destinations into three months, but it would be worth trying.

 

And I think the first and last weeks of those three months would be spent catching up on sleep. 

 

 

 

 

 

 



 

Where I come from

me and my brother on Hollywood Beach, Oxnard around 1992

Jenni from Story of My Life, has put together another awesome challenge for the month of September: Blogtember. The first topic was to describe where or what I come from; the people, the places, and/or the factors that make up who I am. September 3rd was just not a day I felt in the right frame of mind to discuss this topic, so I'm making an attempt now.

I come from California (I was born in Provo, Utah, but moved to Cali when I was 2). I come from spending my days outside in the sand, in the pool, in the sun. I come from Saturday morning cartoons with my brother (Batman and Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles come to mind), legos, polly pockets, and a time when Barbies were still cool. I come from Michael Jackson, The Rolling Stones, and Madonna. And then there was Nsync. I'll never forget Nsync, nor will I ever stop loving their music.

I come from a broken family; my parents were divorced when I was 5. I come from split Christmases: step-siblings and presents I didn't want, to mounds of presents for just my brother and I (and everything on my Christmas list). I've seen both sides of life: being broke and having everything money can buy; and everything in between. I come from learning to pack a suitcase for every-other weekend from elementary school to high school. I come from a pieced-together family (because blood related doesn't always equate family). I come from two parents who are such polar opposites I had to find my own middle ground, which, in a nutshell, describes me perfectly.