Surreal.

I've been trying to get inspired. I want to re-vamp my bloggity blog very soon but I need a very epic idea for this drastic transition.

I'd ask you for your input but I know how you guys like to remain anonymous. I have close to 5,000 page views, and only about 10 comments. Blog stalker.

Anyway, I'm thinking my new blog will be titled Certified Ridiculous. I think it's gonna have tales from all of my current gainful employment endeavors ...from spilling coffee on customers at my cafe to the silly things my girls tell me while nannying, and soon enough, there might be some incredibly incredulous factoids about the friendies that frequent the bar I'll be working at. Get excited.

I've been writing a lot, although it doesn't seem like it since I've neglected this poor bloggy of mine. Again, I blame it on trying to get inspired. I apologize dear reader. You know I love you, whoever you are. Stranger.

But anyway, I've been writing a lot. I'm working on a freelance project right now that I'm sort of in love with. I'm fortunate enough to have earned the privilege of writing a Santa Barbara Guide. I'm writing all of the content that will soon be a website that all you friendies can indulge in, and then come visit me in Santa Barbara and I'll take you on one of the adventures I wrote about. So this guide, it's exactly what it says it is, a guide. It's directed at people who are looking to move to Santa Barbara, and of course, tourists. So I'm writing about the myriad of neighborhoods, and beaches, and hot spots to hit if you're only in town for a brief stint. I submitted a couple pages to the boss man and he digs my style, he likes my witty at times nonsensical style, you know how I make up words and such? He loved it. Big fat boulder off my shoulder. I thought I was going to have to do that super professional boring lethargical terrible no one really enjoys reading this kind of a thing. But no! I get to make it fun. And believe me, it's got some inside scoop on this place called Santa Barbara, so you're gonna wanna check it out.

I'm currently, as I type to your eyeballs, sitting in a posh mansion in Montecito, getting paid to write, while I await the awakening of precious 15 month old Max. I'm baby-sitting and these people got some monaaayyyy. Dang. Homegirl Libby's got a rock on her finger that will dazzle the eyeballs right out of your skull. I had to chase mine out from under the dining room table. I'm currently listed on University Sitters and so I get text messages allll the time about baby-sitting gigs in Santa Barbara. It's pretty legit because you just say no if it doesn't work with your schedule and then they find someone else. And it's a bonus when it works out because you then you get paid to write while you sit and wait for babies to wake up.

Life is good. I get to play softball tonight. For the first time in ages. I've been dreaming about joining a league and then an opportunity falls right into my lap. Ages ago, I created a profile on the rec league softball website here in SB and have never heard anything from it. And then last night I get an email, an urgent request for a chick softball player, one who knows how to play and wants to win. So I'm joining a co-ed team where the contenders are all 28-35. Hence I'll be the baby. I'm a little nervous, because I'm a bit rusty. But I think I can hang. And I'm stoked. The park where we're playing is literally around the corner from my house. Hello Jesus. Thank you so much for appeasing all my heart's deepest desires.

And on that note, I've been writing a lot. Back to that. Last week I was on craigslist. Ok, I have a confession. I think I'm addicted to Craigslist. Whoever Craig is, well I'd like to meet him, because he's responsible for these fiending feelings, cravings, scratching their way through my bloodstream. I go on like 20 times a day. Browsing. Browsing everything from childcare, to free, to furniture, to domestic, events, tickets, food/bev/hosp, and of course the writing tabs, both under the gig byline and the job byline. Those are all the purple links on my craigslist page, oh, and there's one more. The other day I had the audacity to click the men seeking women tab. Who let the crazy girl loose?

People put some weird ass stuff on the personal ads section of craigslist. And if you've never clicked the missed connections tab, you gotta try it. Hysterical people with lofty hopes. But hey, I won't fault them for trying. They amuse people like me at the very least, so have at it hopeless romantics.

But anyway, tangential, back to my point. I was on craigslist last week and found a blurb about The Arlington Theater. They needed a writer to do a review on a show that was happening that night. The Arlington Theater is this pretty swanky spot in SB where people like David Sedaris and Ziggy Marley and random fun really awesome people perform and such. I called up the dude from the ad and told him about myself. He didn't even need to see a sample of my work. He gave me the gig and I got two third row center stage tickets for Mr. Gabriel Iglesias. He's a comedian. His tagline is I'm not fat, I'm fluffy. I got to write a review about 5 hispanic comics and I was in the third row for it all. I had a blast. The bossman loved my review and told me he'd "like to use me again." I'd prefer a different choice of words, but I'll take what I can get here. So I get to go to shows for free, sit VIP, and get my words published on a site. It's a win win I'd say.

So I'm writing a guide. I'm writing reviews. And I just landed yet another gig that I found on craigslist.

This one's pretty important and a little bit intense. My title is editorial intern. My pay is a measly penny per word. I'm writing for a New York based site. And guess what it's called? timessquare.com.

Huge.

I write about things happening in New York, from Santa Barbara. I'm a little nervous about how that's gonna pan out. The editor and chief told me he would reimburse me for long distance charges accrued from interviewing artists in New York. I don't even know any artists in New York. This calls for research and time and results in clout and credentials. I'm nervous. We'll see what happens. I have to turn in an article every two weeks. I'll keep you peeps posted.

I moved into my glamorous apartment a little over a week ago. And boy is it legit. I'm one block from the ocean. Literally one block. My apartment is super 70's status and I'm obsessed. We have pink tile in the bathroom with a showroom vanity mirror and the flooring has pink black and gold flecks. The kitchen has a retro refrigerator complete with a guide of things to know about it. I think I might frame the paper instructions. That's how vintage and awesome they are. The living room is huge. I have my own room with giant windows and a vast closet. It's only an 8 unit apartment complex and all my neighbors are oldies. And I love it.

Which brings me to my next topic of interest.

I'm officially a volunteer at Vista Del Monte. It's a retirement community in Santa Barbara. I get to shadow various fitness activities and help out where necessary. This has been a dream of mine since I got my personal training certification. I just want to be a trainer focusing on functional fitness for the elderly. So now I am. I get to do aqua aerobics in onesies and practice with stability balls in the open air fitness classes. We go on walks and do all sorts of precious moments kind of stuff. I'm sooo excited. And I talked to the director about my newly acquired passion for all things video so she took me right over to the activities director and we're looking into getting me a stipend to do some promo/marketing work for the website. And they'd like me to compose a fun dvd for all the residents that they can give to them for Christmas. I love my life.

It's quite full.

But I love it.

And now I want you all to come visit me. And experience this full life by my side.

Deep.

I have a tale to tell you. It's not a tall one. Promise.

These past two weeks have been hard. Really hard. You got a taste of that in my last morbidly depressing fiasco of a blog. Woof.

Anyway. This tale's got all the fixin's for a proper story..ya know, remorse, atonement, hope, revelation, reconciliation, some parasitic invasion, and one very well placed expletive.

Forward march.

I opened this morning at Goleta Coffee. Ya know. The ush. That's supposed to be the abbreviation for the usual. But I haven't quite figured out how to spell that sound that that s makes. So yeah.

Opening at Goleta Coffee. I do it four days a week. I love my job. But four days a week at 5:15am is pretty rough. But alas, that's not a point of interest in this tale. I opened at Goleta Coffee and worked a whopping four hours...I finaggled my boss into letting me off early so I could go hang out with my campy peeps that are down doing the Disney thing and calling out prices for Mr. Carey...so I got off at 9am this morning...thinking that I was driving home to stay the night in Riverside, hit up Knotts Scary Farm, ya know, just some good times with some good friends...but that plan backfired awhile ago, but I still had the time off since once you work the schedule out at GoCo, you don't go back on it. My boss is pretty cray cray. So I got off at 9. Went and took my second to last bartending class, I graduate tomorrow. That's a whole nother story we can get into at a later date. So work, then class, then work again, oh, after a brief stint at the thrift store, where I purchased some Patagonia corduroy shorts. Legit.

Work. Class. Thrift store. Work again.

This is where the tale starts gettin' good.

So a couple days ago I made some purchases. I bought a bed and some saaaweeeeet bean bag chairs. At a thrift store of course. Well, although I don't have much of a problem with used furniture, my boss does. Other boss. I have two bosses right now. One is a chick. That's GoCo boss. The other is a dude. An older dude. That's the nanny boss. I care for his children. And I love them all with my whole heart. Edson, Jemma, Rovenna.

Edson called me last night, in the middle of bartending class, warning me about...bed bugs. Apparently it's an epidemic. I had no idea. So here I am, learning how to make 'screaming orgasms' and 'gorilla tits', when my boss chimes in about bed bugs. So I freak out. I really had no idea about this whole epidemic and now he's basically threatening to fire me if I come to work having slept in a bed that could potentially have bed bugs. Because it will cost him upwards of 10,000 bucks to fumigate his house. All completely hypothetical. So today, I got to work after thrifting...I have to be there twenty minutes early to have a discussion with Edson. I thought it was going to be about the bed bugs.

Little did I know, it was time for me to be confronted about a terrible wrong I'd been doing.

I get into the house and Edson's at the computer. I'm feeling nervous because I don't want to just ditch the bed I bought because I paid good money for it. Hard earned cash ya know? So I'm getting ready to get defensive, I've got my gun loaded with all sorts of excuses and methods of denying these hypothetical bed bugs any sort of existence in our lives.

And here come's Edson ducking in on the blindside. No milfy Sandra Bullock here. Just a 64 yr old man, playing father to more girls than he bargained for.

He starts out talking about how his family loves me, they appreciate me, that I'm great and blah dee blah...you know the shpiel right before you're about to get snipped? So there's a whole lotta internal turmoil threatening explosion right now. And then Edson starts talking about Jemma. Jemma's the older of the two girls I nanny. She's 15. He goes on to say that Jemma is a lot of things but she's never been much for lying.

And then the words, "Jemma tells me you've been texting while driving with them."

You know how in books and in the movies people talk about how their stomach just fell right out the bottom of them, their heart seizes up, the tears are on the cusp of the lid, waiting to well out....yeah, all those and more, racking my body. I've created a terrible habit when I'm alone in my car. I text because it's simple for me. My legs are so long that I can drive with my knee..in fact, even when my hands aren't occupied, I sometimes prefer to drive with my knee. It's risky. Thrilling. Dangerous.

Reckless.

I'm stupid. Incredibly stupid.

There's no excuse for my behavior. I let a bad habit carry over into not only endangering my own life, but endangering the lives of two people that I love the very most in this world. And when Edson railed me, literally pelted me with words I haven't heard since I was 12, I nearly lost it, because I never thought twice. I'd become so accustomed to texting while I was alone in my car, that I just continued to do so with my girls in the car. And duh, even when I'm alone, I'm still endangering others. Edson reamed me with all the laws I'm breaking, the prison sentence I'd face should an accident occur, garnished wages for the rest of my life when I get out because of how hard I'd get sued, all the scare tactics parents use, but his weren't simply to scare me. Edson cares about me. He's sooo incredibly genuine, warm, kind, compassionate. And although he's my boss, I value his opinions as a daughter would her father. And today I had one of those moments. I felt like a little girl, being chastised by her father, and I appreciated it so much. Obviously his intentions were to protect his own children, but his concern for me was just as evident. And that was huge for me. I might cry right now as I'm typing...yup, there it is, tears on the cheeks. To have a man care that much for my well-being is pretty much unheard of in this life of mine. Craig did a phenomenal job of it this past year, and Johnny tries, bless his heart, he loves me so, but Edson, for a man that doesn't believe in Jesus, he sure is living an authentic and compassionate life. And I adore him.

Edson goes on to tell me if it happens again, kaput. I'm done. Out. Ba bye. And then he goes on to drop the expletive.

He's talking about how I have all these incredible qualities that he wants to bleed out onto his daughters and then he says it, first time I've ever heard him say it...he's 5'1', 64 years old, a  precious older man...and there it was, "you're so FUCKING bright. Gosh." Emphasis on the expletive. This is not sarcastic in the slightest.

Legitimately, the most endearing and uplifting thing anyone has ever said to me. He speaks truth into my life. In an honest and unabashed way.

He goes on for a little bit longer and then we talk about bed bugs for awhile. Problem is solved because the epidemic hasn't reached this side of the country yet.

The bean bag chairs are incredible. Sorry, I just had to throw that out there, retail value is close to 300 bucks. I got em for 20 each. Cheeyaah.

Blah blah blah.

This public confession is my means of atonement. I'm a terrible person. Stupid. But also my means of appreciation. As often as Satan tries to tell me otherwise, people love me. People care about me. These past two weeks have been lonely as hell. Although hell probably isn't that lonely of a place. But lonely all the same. I have two groups of friends here in SB. The one's I got drunk with. And the ones I proclaimed Jesus with. Since I'm not much of a drinker anymore (bartending school would speak otherwise, but don't listen), I don't really want to hang out with the folks I drank with. And since I'm not leading YoungLife this year, I don't get to proclaim Jesus with all the leader friends of yore.

Hence the loneliness.

Oh, and I moved into my new apartment but my roomies are gone for the week. One in Boston. One in San Diego.

So big grand incredible apartment. With one occupant. Yours truly.

Hence the loneliness.

But today feels better. There is hope. There is confession. Revelation. Redemption. There is authentic love. Deep guttural love and compassion, choked out in speech bubbles all over the world. Speak life dear friends.

Speak life.

Bleak.

My page views have peaked in the past couple weeks. Average view time is seven seconds. Well here's something to cheer you little cherries up.

So first, my deepest apologies...

Sorry for leaving you hanging...I picture you guys hanging from a tree branches, trying to reach up and pick the juicy fruit, but alas, your fingers are just a little too stubby. Silly image. But it's there.

Well, The Giving Tree has arrived and I'm ready to dump all my rotten fermenting fruit at your feet.

I'm feeling low. Down. Dirty.

The low has to do with my incessant desire to jump back in the ring, to jump back into the ring and scrap with big bully Mr. Transition. I'm really having a rough time here people. As the tears roll down my cheeks so the waves of emotional distress roll through my insides.

I hate this.

I'm back in Santa Barbara. I longed for it for so long.

And I'm alone. Alone. Lone. One.

The low has to do with transition.

The down has to do with my lack of exercise. I stopped running a long time ago because I was developing a stupid stress injury. So I cut out the hardcore Boston Marathon training program as to not completely obliterate my running career for the rest of my life. For once I decided to actually care for this wretched body of mine. And so I feel down. Unhappy with the rolls that are not only rippling through my insides, but the rolls that are settling onto my outsides, oh hello extra five pounds.

And the dirty...the dirty simply has to do with my vagrancy. I'm a hobo. Living out of my car. My clothes are all dirty. I've been running around commando for days now. My vehicle smells like ass. Legitimate ass. I believe it's a combination of old food, soiled clothes, dead skin cells.

Sorry this blog isn't the uplifting glimpse of hope you were looking for.

Aside from the low, down, dirty...well, the bad news just keeps rolling in. Received some more of it this evening, so that's fun.

Well if you need me, I'll probably be weeping on the couch. The green rumpled couch that serves as my home for this week. Don't feel bad for me. I'll climb out from under it soon enough. I always do huh?