Drama. It's everywhere. Not the kind you see in movies but right there in front of you every day. Your friend, your parents, your siblings, your life. If you have a lot of it, and it keeps coming like a freight train, it's probably your fault. And no, it's not bad luck. Sorry. The truth hurts and no one said life would be easy. Drama is an addiction. Like cigarettes. Like pot. Like coke. Like shopping. Like drinking. Like suffering. Yes suffering is an addiction too. Like all addictions they hold on tight and fight back when you try to get away.
I’m no minivan mama. Didn’t he know that?
“I want it blacked out.” I said. I'd confused the dealer. Me ready to pop with three months to go.
“We can’t do that,” the dealer said. “We could damage the car.”
Head tilt, “Who does it then?” I asked. He gave me a name.
Anonymity was what I needed, twin privacy. One large, blacked out SUV. Thank you. I didn’t need anyone peering into my life. Yukon happy. Good for kids. Good for me. Good for hubby.
Where do I start?
What is the line I draw?
Is this too far?
Where is the big, green GO button?
Why can’t I touch it?
Why can’t I hear the roar of the crowd?
Why can’t I see where to fall?
Why can’t I feel the sand scraping my face?
Can anyone hear me?
Am I screaming too loud?
Should I whisper?
I’m usually an all-or-nothing person and walking has always seemed like a waste of time; that is until I overheard these women in a San Francisco Starbucks talking about losing 30 pounds by walking an hour a day. I thought about what those women said as I was hiking up Powell—the nosebleed street—for the second time that day, carrying Starbucks for my three girlfriends.
So yesterday, I was in line at a bookstore, and I zoned in on a particular cover behind the counter, Shape magazine. I worked for them a couple of times when I was a model. I don’t know what it was about that cover, but, it put me in some sort of trance.
“Hot Body Jump Start.” I need a jump start. I need a hot body. I need to look like that in a swimsuit.
SNAP. I managed to levitate back to earth long enough to glance over at the woman behind the counter. She was smiling at me. Not the big, toothy type smile, more like the I’m here when you need me, close-lipped, friendly smile. She hadn’t said anything. She was patiently waiting in all her grace and beauty. My eyes widened, and I felt the need to explain.
OK. I’ve had my ups and downs with friends. I’ve dumped a few. I’ve taken a break. I’ve held on for dear life for better or worse. But, I’m wondering are friends for life? Are friends like a marriage? I mean am I supposed to put up with all sorts of shit, and get through it, for the sake of the friendship? Til death do us part? I don’t mean to put marriage in the shitter or compare a bad marriage to a typical friendship, but it’s the only relationship I can think of, other than family, where you force yourself to stick it out.
I feel like I’m quickly going crazy.
Not slow crazy quick crazy.
The urgency to get into the bath is palpable.
It’s the rain. The rain makes me this way.
I’m sitting here in the family room on my Crate and Barrel 15-year-old sectional. It’s 10:23pm. I just spent the past hour in my 8 year old daughter’s room reading “The Secret Garden” to her, in bed – trying to convince her that it really is a great book, if she would give it a chance. I tell her that my mom read it to me when I was little.
Her response, “They didn’t have that book when you were little.”
“Of course they did.” I said, trying to hold back the sarcasm.
What I really wanted to say was “Well, it wasn’t a printed book. My mom read from the carvings on the wall of the cave by the light of the fire.”
I recently came upon a book titled French Women Don't Get Facelifts: The Secret of Aging with Style & Attitude (Grand Central Publishing, December 24) by author Mireille Guiliano. I loved the title immediately, as here in Los Angeles, youth rules. I myself have thought about a facelift mainly because I have heard that getting a facelift in your 40s gives you the most “bang for your buck” — words used by my dermatologist, who I adore simply because she is in her 50s and is, in my opinion, naturally beautiful.
Representing one's own needs comes naturally to some people and not to others. Representing my needs has never come naturally to me. In my journey to self-discovery and fulfillment, I have been exploring, without judgment, my natural abilities. In the process, I've discovered that I am a people pleaser … a junkie for external praise, if you will. My focus, in my work and my personal life, is to please everyone.