hairy premonition

Sometimes I think God has a sense of humor and/or is making me learn a lesson about comparisons. This is nothing new. Now, before I continue, please don't comment or tweet or email that 1. God doesn't test people or 2. God doesn't test you about stupid things such as _____.

I get it.

Over the years, it feels like my pity or sympathy is an activator for some awful thing to happen to myself. When I was about nine or so, my mom, brother and I were at Tom Thumb grocery shopping. It was a pretty average shopping trip, though I probably begged to be taken in to the fake Blockbuster-type rental store in the front with overpriced VHS tapes and knock off Cowboys jerseys. Mom was standing dutifully with her checkbook and pen, while I was hanging on the side of the lane, admiring the skill and precision which the bagger could fit so much crap into one small plastic bag.

Then, I saw her.

I tried not to stare because I know there was a good chance Mom would lecture me on not being rude or worse--not take me to the fake Blockbuster. As I clung to the check-writing counter, my mouth on my folded hands, I saw a bearded lady.

Probably 16 or 17, this young woman had patchy wafts of hair swooped across her neck and cheeks. Looking back, she resembled someone who could have been part of my mom's side of the family. Or even future me.

As we walked away, saying our 'thank-you' and 'see you soon's, I remember looking at that girl and thinking, "God, I hope I'm never like that."

This is where God comes in a smacks me with something. Again, metaphorically or whatever.

Mom always told me that you have control over your future. Your believing, whether negative or positive, can change your life. She also told me about putting out good "vibes" to get people to like you, which I still have yet to master, but that is a discussion for later. I wonder if I have created self-fulfilling prophecies for myself, such as this poor-bearded girl.

Did, or does, she have the same disease that makes my face rough and scratchy every morning? The same disease that makes her have belly pains for no reason, anxiety, depression, weight gain, and the inability to naturally conceive children? Perhaps I did not invite the self-fulfilling prophecy in but became aware of the similarities between us and let it frighten me. The bulbous nose that sat on her face, thinner lips, wire-rimmed glasses, and brown poofy hair might as well have been a mirror into the hell I knew as puberty.

Or just being a teenager.

This curse or blessing has had a strange impact on me over the years. I used to have premonitions that would come true, but always of stupid things like seeing a cool girl's pair of Adidas slip-ons at Girl Scout camp. Three weeks later? Same shoes, same girl, same camp. Woah. I even had a voice, ever so clear, tell me one day I might as well give up my life because I will have to take care of my parents. That voice has haunted me more than the ones that allude to failed potential.

Lately, my thoughts have been more controlled and positive. Thanks to the invigorating conference I attended a few weeks ago, many things in my life have begun to turn around and my beliefs along with it. Perhaps God does still exist and maybe his promises are true. Maybe I'm not so much of a failure. Today, though, the bad thoughts came back and when they do, I think of the girl at Tom Thumb and if she triggered this self-aware doubt spiral otherwise known as my life.

Maybe I will never know if my thoughts do control my circumstances. The skeptics, of which many are my friends, will assure me of my superstition. Others will assert that I can change my life if I want, that my attitude and mindset must change for me to succeed.

I am starting to rebuild those brain pathways with good things, I think. Let's hope I can rebuild the ones that lead to the hair follicles on my chin.

woah.

Though Chicago was incredible, I'm glad to be home in Dallas. I'm still digesting all the incredible things I learned at Storyline. Man, I wish my husband had been able to come with me since this was the last conference (!) but I think I've relayed stuff to him the best I can.

Which I will do here, on my blog, soon. 

The processing part is still happening. It will be for awhile, I think.

I mainly wanted to write tonight because I could not believe how many readers I had last week. Do you want to guess how many visitors checked me out on Wednesday of last week?

250.

YEP. That's a pretty big number, right?! I haven't had readers in those numbers since, uh, well, never. Nope, never. That's definitely encouraging and you will be seeing plenty more out of me in the days/weeks to come.

Thanks, you guys. It means the world to me!

-c

Chicago: Day 1.5

Hi. I'm not sure how to start this entry because of the crappy 24 hours I've had. Well, not 24 hour but more like since 5 PM yesterday after I found my flight to be delayed. From there, it was finding the car rental place, being coaxed into spending way more money than necessary I'm sure on insurances and pre-paid gasoline. Guided by my trusty Google maps app, down through the seedy and actually quite "country" parts of Illinois towards my destination. I was told by a nice Sikh convenience store owner to "take care of myself".

I wish I could have had his foresight.

So far the best part of this trip has been collecting all the street passes on my 2DS. What a grown up thing to say, I'm sure. The seedy hotel with people screaming, a bed-bug infested room (I have bites now but could just tell last night. I was so tired I couldn't do a thing about it) was the last straw. This morning I swore on my Bible that I lost my keys somewhere mid-flight only to find Sleepy Christine had safely tucked them away in her bag, in a small little compartment.

Traveling and I are not close friends; we meet once and again, in hopes of kindling something beautiful and inspiring. Most of the time that's the case. Perhaps its the state of mind I've been finding myself in as of late that is causing such a rough go of things.

I do know that I am running myself into the ground, which is partially the cause, and that this conference will help me sort out that whole thing. I don't know what to give up. Hopefully God will make that abundantly clear because I am not completely focused on this trip, for obvious reasons. Upon reading the entry packet for the conference, I am amazed at the beauty this experience offers and am doing my best to focus on such.

Tonight there is a movie showing of Risen. Its about an account of Jesus' early years from the perspective of a dude who was not a Christian. It sounds good but the best part is Tom Felton is in it. I'm all about seeing a new Draco Malfoy picture. And I'm sure he would hate to hear me say that.

The instructions in our beautiful binder that was given to us were clear: this is a spiritual journey and it is best to treat it as such.  I'm going to try to focus on the positives, like my husband also suggested this morning.

I am a live.

I am here.

We actually have money so I won't just be stranded here.

I'm in a new place.

I'm doing something for me.

That doesn't happen that much anymore, really.

God is already stirring something great in my heart and has been for the past few weeks. I have more motivation to complete the tasks I have been too scared of for a while. I'm revisiting my religion and spirituality because I don't want it to be what my parents' have--I want it to be greater.

Here's to a great Storyline conference. I'm looking forward to starting the sessions today.Will write again upon inspiration/break time.

oversaturation.

Justin sent me a link on Facebook last night, but he prefaced it by saying it might make me super excited. What could it be? The WNBA team moving to Dallas is a reality? He got a new job? We won the lottery? I had no idea what this exciting news would be.

I opened the blinking message box; my heart sank. New super arcade and restaurant opening up in Richardson. You. Are. Kidding.

Part of me is excited, but that is the most miniscule part of my being. The majority of me is so so angry. That had been a dream of mine for almost a year now, and I've been silently doing research, planning menus, making lists of beer and alcohol to serve.

What the hell?

So, with this monstrosity opening up in practically my own back yard, the dream I had for my own arcade mean nothing. There's not a place I think it would succeed, except maybe Denton or another college town. My heart hurts over something that I really wanted to pursue but was too scared. First the building in downtown Carrollton, now this? 

This has sent me in a tailspin since last night about what I want to do with my life. Why bother with anything? Everything has already been done and there's nothing new under the sun. Oversaturation, especially in a market like this, will not really let any one person succeed, true, but it will make it harder for others to follow.

What's next? I guess this is the point where I shove all those stupid business ideas and plans in to the toilet and move on. To what, though, I don't know.

the sea of blogs

I've been thinking about my future as a writer a lot lately. The well of inspiration is fleeting lately, where ideas that I have appear and then disappear only to be found on other websites or blogs. Justin found a job for me on one of my favorite film blogs for a writing position, requiring 3-5 (!!) articles a day, 200 words in length. Holy. Cow.

The writing market seems so intense and intimidating to me. Like with all things, I've thought that maybe I should invest in my own blog. Not necessarily like this one but more focused on fashion or film or religion. Or all of it?

This blog is great but I don't really want to monetize my own personal problems. I mean, maybe, but that's just really weird.

hello, harvard

I gave it the good college try. Well, more of the please-just-let-me-pass-algebra try. Its not that this culture is new to me or that I detest it; the detesting goes to the people that make up the bulk of this establishment (pun sort of intended). That's right--THE GYM.

Believe it or not, I used to be thinner. Well, when I was a kid and played sports I was not thin exactly because, you know, being a kid, a Polish-homeschooled-TV loving kid. Despite those things I was freakin' active and my dad would tell you that I had fun jumping on the carpet while watching The Lion King on VHS. Puberty is a vicious bitch and caused my body to go berzerk. Well, so did thinking I had to be a certain size, depression, being made fun of by everyone in my family about it but my mom. You know.

Let's see, I'm guessing it was 6 years ago now that I entered a contest at the Galleria to guess how many whistles there were in a jar. Whoever won would be given a free month at a boot camp held at the mall. Guess who won? I liked it so much I invited my friend Emily to do it, and for awhile it was just us two in the boot camp. After awhile, I lost 30 pounds, started dating for the first time in my life (yes, at 22), and had confidence that I never had before. I finally pursued acting again because people told me I was pretty and I finally believed it.

After a rough period in my life, I gained it back and then some. Like, a lot. I will give you my stats now, just to cut through any BS:

Weight: 235ish
Dress size: 18/20
Goal weight: 170
"Ideal weight": 130-150

So, this doesn't include my measurements for one reason and that is because some mystical nymph stole my measuring tape. Or I lost it. Same diff.

I am going to the gym for me. Not to lose all the weight of my person, not to show off for lunkheads or prove some skinny bitches that they have nothing on me, because frankly they don't. My ass is still better than yours and always will be no matter how much you're on that stairmaster, honey.

I'm going so I don't have to be on high blood pressure medication anymore.
I'm going so I can be strong when lifting babies at the daycare on Sunday mornings.
I'm going so I can fit into my own clothes again.
I'm going so I can love myself.

Yes, part of me is proving my dad wrong; I can love myself at 235 even if he can't. I can see myself as beautiful and talented and, yes, an actress because I am.

Moreover I am proving myself wrong. There have been many times that I've given up. People may think I obsess over people like Melissa McCarthy or Tess Holliday to tell myself its ok to be "what I am" as opposed to what I should be, aka fat or lazy. That's not true. Those women are my heroes, they have encouraged me to take care of my life and my self because I have dreams and I am not going to die saying I never gave it the "college try".

This will probably feel like Harvard. My knees are bad from working at the deli for so long and now working at a desk job, and yeah probably extra weight. My arms are just weak because I play video games, duh. I get tired easily because I work full time, go to school full time, and wife/daughter/friend full time too. Its a lot.

This is the first time in my life someone like me has been famous. They're probably more beautiful or whatever but they have such joy about them and love life and people. They are not wonderful because of or despite their size--they just are. That's what I want to be and I am fighting to get back there.

Thanks, Tess, for posting pics of yourself with your personal trainer at the gym. You have no idea how much they have motivated me to get back in to shape.

Hello, Harvard. Time to get an A.

father.

Compliments are as rare as precious gems, often shoved between passive aggressive comments regarding bulge and the future. When they do come, they are cherished and savored as one would savor a mirage in a desert. It exists, but barely and most of it lies within your own imagination.

There has never been a time that the words you are beautiful or you are precious, worthy, loved have left my father's lips; never on a special occasion, Girl Scout dance, and definitely not at my wedding. The praise he gives to everyone else, my sister, his so-called friends, or the potentially former drug addict he has informally adopted as favorite amongst the three he already has. I do not even know if he considers my brother his child, though I know genetically he is not.

Compliments about my appearance stopped when puberty hit. There were no more how cute/special/sweet are you. Instead, more passive aggressive fights. More ignoring. More prodding to stop being so fat, so weird, so ugly. Me growing up was not something my dad had ever considered.

Now I feel as though he believes I abandoned him for pursuing my own life. I no longer am at his beck and call, because my husband is my family now. The incessant calling to check on Mom daily for over six months, the nagging on sorting through their possessions as well as my forgotten ones, the disgust at my physical appearance. This is not melodrama, this is my life.

I do not feel attached like I once did. My view of God has changed because it is too closely related to my earthly father that belief in a celestial one becomes difficult. I voted for Obama and believe in gay marriage and I'm pretty sure my father knows but denies. He is in denial about life.

When I was a child, my family went furniture shopping. Mom and I went to the restroom, while Dad, my brother and sister were out looking at things. I told my mom, at age three, that my dad did not love me as much as Tracy. My mom looked at me, shocked, and this is probably why I still remember this. I could feel a trembling in my tummy and from the look upon her face to the he loves you, too, he just doesn't get to see her much, this was when I realized he did not love me as much as my sister and never would.

No matter how much he said he was proud of me after winning basketball championships four years in a row, nor when my drawings were accepted into an art show. He acts excited when he sees my commercials on TV or I tell him about my plans, but I don't know if I can trust that he really cares. This is the man who, upon my telling him I said yes to marrying my then boyfriend, he had to stop and tell me that Tim Curry had a heart attack.

Tim fucking Curry.

Ever since then, I realized my earlier suspicions were true. My mom loved me most, and while my dad might I certainly could not tell you if I believe it or not. He says I love you after we have conversations on the phone but sometimes seems embarrassed by it. Its not my choice that I don't have Mom to talk to anymore.

I miss her.


Though he comments often on how my sister should have went into modeling and how gorgeous, lovely, and wonderful she was, and how she could have been somebody, I realize I am already that somebody. His approval is the last thing I need because I never even had it. I am somebody; I am a model, I am an actress, I am a writer, I am a wife, I am a daughter and a damn good one at that.

I do not need the approval of a man who calls himself my dad but who acts as a cowardly lion.